56 Years On, Revisiting Satyajit Ray's Classic 'Aranyer Din Ratri'

Aranyer Din Ratri, made by Satyajit Ray in 1970, and watching it in pristine cinematic quality in 2026 feels like a dream realised. I am older now, and I understand gender dynamics far better than I did when Baba sat beside me to watch the film while Ma cooked in the kitchen.

The film is lyrical and sparse—a slow burn of life’s expectations—where one sits helplessly, absorbing betrayals and revelations of men and women, rendered with a seriousness softened by humour.

It is truly one of Ray’s finest works: a profound exploration of the masks we wear through a lifetime. Who are we when we take them off?

Or more unsettling still—do we ever take them off at all? I am left clinging to utopian ideas of gender that shatter like tiny shrapnel, piercing the heart.

A '70s film that remains poignant today

We travel with four jaded male friends—city men on a holiday in the tribal forests of Palamau. As viewers, we become entwined in their vulnerabilities, but also in their misplaced entitlement as urban men in a tribal landscape.

They believe it is acceptable to exploit class and hierarchy—to coax favours from unsuspecting watchmen, to accuse an errand boy of theft and having sex with a tribal girl who drinks, dresses scantily, and is therefore presumed to be of “loose morals.”

The film sharply exposes the politics of respectability through the Tripathi women and Dhuli, the tribal woman from Palamau, where her revealing clothes become the sole measure of her worth in the eyes of society.

Ray carefully traces the shifting attitudes of the four men when they come face to face with women from the city.

The narrative flows into a subtle study of human character when people are removed from their comfort zones—into spaces where the fear of judgement momentarily recedes.

It also reveals the quiet cruelty of middle-class morality when an older widow seeks physical companionship, and one of the four men freezes, unable to cross his own moral boundaries, leaving her wounded by rejection.

What lingers most is the moment when Aparna tells Ashim that he has never truly known deep grief—laying bare the depth of her inner life against his narrow ideas of success and conformity.

Aranyer Din Ratri remains deeply relevant even today—a timeless study of human nature, identity, gender politics, and the fragile line between empathy and apathy.

Mohua Chinappa is a poet and an author. She runs two podcasts, The Mohua Show and The Literature Lounge.