Hindi
A Death In The Gunj (English- mixed): Still born
A Death In The Gunj is one of those films which reminds one of the mystery novels and movies from the British black-and-white era. A bunch of people, usually friends, family and extended family gather at a lonely — as in far from a civilisation — place for a vacation. Seemingly, there is laughter and bonhomie yet, the vibes are not good.
For such a story to be told, a film’s roster needs to be talented. And, on that count, the film is well equipped. The writer director being Konkona Sensharma, an industry person herself, her goodwill counts to this end to put together a good cast.
The characters of Om Puri and Tanuja live in a remote place called McCluskieganj, in Bihar (now Jharkhand). During the winter of late 70s, the couple’s family comes to visit. It includes Gulshan Devaiah, Tillotoma Shome, Arya Sharma, Vikrant Massey and Kalki Koechlin. Ranvir Shorey, Jim Sarbh, their local friends also join in.
The makers dont deem it necessary to enlighten you as to how they are related or what their connections are. They know each other from before but we, the viewers, don’t and that does not seem to matter! So one assumes, Om Puri and Tanuja are a retired old couple living a life of seclusion but peace in this far off place in a huge cottage surrounded by jungles. The character of Gulshan is their son and Tillotoma the daughter in law with Arya being the granddaughter. Vikrant is Tanuja’s nephew from her sister’s side. There is no way of placing Ranvir, Jim and Kalki except as family friends.
Among those gathered, Vikrant comes out as the odd man out. All pranks are made at his cost.
The place has no TV and the only transistor radio is monopolised by Om Puri for cricket updates. It is an open house and there is no taboo on alcohol or smoking. The crowd gets around to play old-fashioned games. Being of Bengali origin, the first try is planchette, a board game (?) about calling the souls of dead folks who are asked to reveal family secrets.
But, they are not really playing a game, they are all together in targeting Vikrant for no rhyme or reason and making him the butt of a practical joke. Next, they play kabaddi and, again, Vikrant is almost throttled when he seems to be winning.
Vikrant, who has had a bad time in college, is avoiding his widowed mother and is a total wreck mentally, comes to terms with the fact that not only is he not welcome here but also nobody cares if he lives or dies.
The script of the film expects the viewer to understand a lot without being told. What is happening and why stops mattering because if you ask your companion next to you, he/she is as much at loss as you are. By the time the film reaches its conclusion, which lacks logic, it makes the whole lot out on a vacation look like a bunch of sadists who derive more fun out of teasing and torturing an innocent young man looking for a shoulder to lean on than their planchette and kabaddi. Direction is average as in what could have been a 75 minute narration is stretched to 110 minutes and yet failing to establish connections as well as the purpose of torturing a down and out youth! There is no comic relief, music or visuals for distraction. Only sadism.
The casting is good as mentioned earlier, but the characters lack background. Om Puri and Tanuja, the two stalwarts, have nothing to do and they do it ably. Rest act well but to no avail. Vikrant Massey is the one excels.
Producers: Honey Trehan, Abhishek Chaubey, Raagi Bhatnagar, Ashish Bhatnagar, Vijay Kumar R Swami.
Director: Konkona Sensharma.
Cast: Tanuja, Om Puri, Gulshan Devaiyah, Tillotoma Shome, Vikrant Massey, Kalki Koechlin, Ranvir Shorey, Jim Sarbh, Arya Sharma, Promila Pradhan, Ashok Pathak, Saraswati Devi.
Hindi
Remembering Gyan Sahay, the lens behind film, television and advertising
From a puppet rabbit selling poppadums to Hindi cinema, he framed it all.
MUMBAI: There are careers, and then there are canvases. Gyan Sahay, the veteran cinematographer, director, and producer who passed away on 10 March 2026 in Mumbai, had one of the latter. Over several decades in the Indian film and television industry, he turned lenses, lights, and the occasional puppet rabbit into something approaching art.
A graduate of the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII) in Pune, Sahay built his reputation as a director of photography across a career that stretched from the early 1970s all the way to the digital age. He was the kind of craftsman who understood that a well-composed shot is not merely a technical achievement but a quiet act of storytelling.
For most Indians of a certain age, however, Sahay will forever be the man behind the rabbit. His direction of the iconic long-running television commercial for Lijjat Papad, featuring its now-legendary puppet bunny, gave the country one of its most cheerfully persistent advertising images. It was the sort of work that sneaks into the national subconscious and takes up permanent residence.
His big-screen credits as cinematographer include Anokhi Pehchan (1972), Pagli (1974), Pas de Deux (1981), and Hum Farishte Nahin (1988). In 1999, he stepped behind a different kind of camera altogether, making his directorial debut with Sar Ankhon Par, a drama that featured Vikas Bhalla and Shruti Ulfat, with a cameo by Shah Rukh Khan for good measure.
On television, Sahay was particularly prized for his command of multi-camera production setups, a skill that made him a go-to technician for large-scale shows and reality programmes. In an industry that has never been especially patient with complexity, he was the calm hand on the rig.
In later life, Sahay turned teacher. He participated regularly in masterclasses and Digi-Talks, often hosted by organisations such as Bharatiya Chitra Sadhna, sharing hard-won wisdom on cinematography, the comedy of timing in a shot, and the sweeping changes brought by the shift from celluloid to digital. He was also said to have been involved in a project concerning a biographical film on Infosys co-founder N.R. Narayana Murthy.
Tributes from the film industry poured in following the news of his passing, with colleagues remembering him as a senior cameraman who served as a rare bridge between two entirely different eras of Indian cinema. That is, perhaps, the finest thing one can say of any craftsman: he kept up, and he brought others along with him.
