Woodworms in the Social Fabric: A Theatre That Disturbs, Questions, and Reflects

Prashanta Chakraborty

April 14, 2026   

At a time when incidents such as the Obhoya, Nirbhaya, Hathras, and Unnao cases continue to trouble the nation’s conscience, Sanjay Kar brings this unsettling reality to the stage through his play Ghun (Woodworm), performed at Muktodhara.

 

Disha, a college student and the only child of her parents, is seen studying late into the night in preparation for her examinations. The stillness of the hour is repeatedly disrupted by calls from an unknown number. Each time the phone rings, she answers, only to be met with an ominous silence. Irritated and increasingly uneasy, she eventually switches off her phone.

 

The following scene presents an intimate domestic tableau. As Disha prepares to leave for college, her mother feeds her with quiet tenderness while her father reads out answers to assist her revision. Through this portrayal, the playwright underscores the depth of parental care and affection. At the same time, the audience feels a satirical undertone. Beneath this warmth lies a subtle but critical question: in their effort to nurture and protect, are they inadvertently fostering a sense of dependence that may leave their child ill-equipped to face the harsh realities of the outside world?

 

The atmosphere shifts when Disha’s father comes across a news report about a young woman—also named Disha—in Hyderabad, who has been brutally raped and murdered. The news casts a pall of anxiety over the household. Her mother, deeply shaken, begins to impose restrictions, forbidding Disha from stepping out after dusk.

 

At college, Disha shares a relationship with Debesh, her boyfriend, a student leader and the son of an affluent and influential man who envisions a future for him in active politics, perhaps as an MLA or even a Minister. After completing her examinations and engaging in light-hearted conversations with her classmates, in which Debesh is also present, Disha returns home. Relaxed and relieved, she looks forward to resting, eager to surrender herself to a long and peaceful sleep.

 

Yet the calls persist—arriving late at night from unknown numbers. Each time Disha answers, she is met with an unsettling silence, a void that only intensifies her growing anxiety. She considers blocking the numbers, but before she can take any decisive step, a far more disturbing development occurs: she begins to receive her own private photographs and videos. A deep sense of fear grips her.

 

Disha and her father begin to suspect Sunu, the painter’s son, who is working at their house during this period. His manner of speaking—ambiguous and somewhat evasive—further reinforces their suspicion.

 

In search of support, Disha turns to her aunt, a socially prominent and influential figure in the locality. However, instead of offering protection, her aunt responds with indifference and reproach. She places the blame squarely on Disha—reflecting a troubling societal tendency to hold the victim responsible. Concerned about safeguarding her own social standing, she chooses to distance herself from the situation.

 

Disha then reaches out to her boyfriend, hoping for reassurance. Yet he, preoccupied with club puja arrangements and college elections, remains largely indifferent. Increasingly isolated and distressed, Disha, along with a few close friends, finally seeks the assistance of a human rights activist.

 

Together, they approach the police to file an FIR against one of their classmates, whose identity is disclosed in a letter written by Debu to Disha. Meanwhile, the situation takes a tragic turn: Debu dies by suicide.

 

It is subsequently revealed that he had been clandestinely capturing images of Disha’s private moments. More disturbingly, he himself had been ensnared in a larger web of manipulation—trapped by the Sohel, a close associate of Debesh, who lured him with the promise of a guaranteed opportunity in an upcoming dance show. Further inquiry reveals that Debesh’s father is a wealthy and influential figure, whose position enables him to shield and perpetuate such criminal activities, making him complicit in the unfolding events.

 

The play, however, adopts a somewhat conciliatory tone towards its conclusion, suggesting a resolution where “all ends well.” This closure appears at odds with the harsh realities of our society, where such violations rarely find neat or reassuring endings. The dissonance between the play’s resolution and lived experience leaves behind a lingering sense of incompleteness, raising critical questions about the adequacy of its moral and social vision.

 

Pallabi Deb, in her portrayal of Disha, delivers a remarkably compelling performance. Having been associated with the group for a considerable period, she brings both experience and depth to the role. Yet what stands out most is the natural ease of her acting—so simple and convincing that it effortlessly draws the audience into Disha’s emotional world, earning her genuine appreciation and applause.

 

Rameswar and Rama emerge as two of the most seasoned characters in the play, lending it a sense of stability and emotional grounding. Sanjay Kar, in the role of Disha’s father, embodies the quiet dignity of a teacher with restraint and credibility. Supriti Ghosh, portraying Rama, Disha’s mother and a homemaker, offers a nuanced performance, capturing both the tenderness and the underlying anxieties of a parent caught in distressing circumstances. The play is further enriched by a diverse ensemble cast. Antareep Roy appears as Debu, while Tomoghno Dhor portrays Protyush, and Subhrashis Bhattacharjee takes on the role of Rupam. Debarpeet Chakraborty plays Sohel, and Diptanu Nag appears as the personal assistant. Bishnupada Chakraborty embodies Sunu, with Asim Kumar Roy as Biman, and Chadrasnato Kar portraying Debesh. The female characters are brought to life by Porshiya Choudhury as Rimpi, Arnisha Acharjee as Shalini, Protikhha Debnath as Shinjini, and Sumita Bhowmik as Soma.

 

Chadrasnato Kar, in his dual role as assistant director and actor, has firmly established himself as a significant presence in Tripura’s theatre landscape. His portrayal of the antagonist is assured and engaging, marked by a strong command of stagecraft.

 

Porshiya Choudhury also deserves special commendation for composing the music for the lyrics, thereby endowing the production with a distinctive aural identity. Her contribution enhances the emotional texture of the performance, even if, at certain moments, a more organic alignment with the dramatic progression might have yielded a subtler effect.

 

Debapreet Chakraborty is impressive in his role as Sohel, delivering a performance marked by vitality and commitment. However, his reliance on rapid movements and frequent leaps, while visually dynamic, at times appears excessive, momentarily disrupting the dramatic equilibrium and eliciting concern for his physical safety.

 

Despite the brevity of his role, Asim Kumar Roy, as Biman, leaves a lasting impression. His controlled and precise embodiment of a half-paralysed patient reflects careful attention to physical detail. Simultaneously, his portrayal of Biman’s unsettling curiosity about the scandal involving his niece Disha—particularly her private images and videos—introduces a disquieting moral tension that deepens the impact of his otherwise limited stage presence. The stage designed by Asim Babu is simple, allowing people the space to imagine more.

 

The judicious deployment of blue and red lighting—especially in sequences where masked figures hover around Disha—imbues the production with a heightened symbolic charge. This visual strategy operates suggestively, evoking the insidious and deeply entrenched presence of the ‘woodworm’ within the social fabric. The image of Disha being ensnared emerges as a compelling metaphor for her entrapment from all sides, while the intermittent red flickers effectively signal the escalation of crisis, underscoring the mounting suspicion and moral scrutiny directed at her by relatives and neighbours.

 

The musical arrangement, executed by the Nandy Brothers, provides a cohesive aural framework to the production. The background music, arranged by Sukanta Sankarshan with assistance from Tamoghna Dhar, aligns well with the dramatic progression, though at certain moments a more measured use might have prevented a tendency towards overemphasis. Playback contributions by Pallab Nag, Swarnali Debnath, Porshiya Choudhury, Supali Das, Sani Sarkar, Chandrasnata Kar, and Sa Re Ga Ma Pa's famous Ananya Sarkar collectively enrich the sonic texture of the performance.

Saptadeep Majumder’s choreography remains functional, occasionally rising to moments of evocative expression that resonate with the thematic concerns of the play. Supriti Ghosh’s costume design is contextually appropriate, maintaining a quiet fidelity to the narrative without seeking undue prominence. Arnisha Acharjee’s management of materials ensures a smooth visual execution, while lighting, handled by Anirban Banik and Khokan Miah, stands out as one of the more effective technical elements of the production.

 

The production is further sustained by the committed efforts of Subhas Das, Chandan Barman, Pranab Majumder, Pradeep Deb, Khokan Sarkar, Jaisankar Bhattacharjee, Diptanu Majumder, Jharna Halder, Sourasnato Kar, Daipayan, Supali, Ananya, Ayusmita, Amartya, Dinaj, Ridhhiman, and Debayan, whose collective contribution underpins the overall coherence and execution of the staging.

 

What is particularly striking from a critical standpoint is that the actors are not confined to performance alone. They extend their involvement across multiple dimensions of the production—contributing to costume design, singing, the background music, and stage preparation. This collaborative ethos not only reflects a commendable versatility but also lends the production a sense of organic cohesion, where the boundaries between performer and creator are meaningfully blurred.

   (Tripurainfo)

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