In 'Jaya Aar Sharmin' The Sisterhood Isn't Sweet. It's Sharp, Uneven & Real

There’s something hauntingly familiar about the world of Jaya aar Sharmin. Not because it’s set during the height of the pandemic but because it dares to hold up a mirror to our society, our biases and what we chose to forget the moment lockdowns were lifted.

Directed by Piplu R Khan, the film isn’t just about two women navigating a crisis, it’s about unlearning what we know about class, kinship and survival.

Set against a ghostly Dhaka drenched in Hexisol and heartbreak, Jaya aar Sharmin brings together two characters who aren’t supposed to connect.

One, a middle-class woman. The other, her domestic help. But in a city gripped by isolation and illness, they find something rare: not just companionship, but a shared humanity that quietly resists the systems built to divide them.

A photographic memoir by @rehnuma_suraiya @lenzkraft_official

A Pandemic Tale with a Pulse

Jaya Ahsan, the megastar, and Mohsina Akhter, the theatre veteran, step into their roles with an almost eerie naturalism. Over cups of black coffee and rong cha, they recount the rawness of embodying Jaya and Sharmin, not just characters, but fragments of a time we all lived through.

“We learned nothing from the pandemic,” Jaya says, her voice laced with both frustration and honesty. “It should’ve taught us empathy. Instead, it faded like a bad memory.”

Mohsina, who gives a breakout performance in her film debut, echoes the sentiment with warmth and resolve. “I expected Piplu bhai to restrain me, like most film directors would. But instead, he gave me full freedom. He said, ‘Go for it.’ That trust allowed me to live as Sharmin.”

Cinema with No Pretence

The intimacy of the film is partly by design. Piplu set up the camera work to dissolve into the background, letting the characters breathe on screen as if no one was watching. “We weren’t acting. We just were,” says Jaya. That authenticity spills into every frame, every silence, every moment where their bond seems to transcend not just class, but time.

With a stripped-back crew - no glam squad, minimal technical support, the film leaned into its limitations. It’s this very rawness that makes it so unforgettable. “It reminded us of what we can do without the usual trappings,” Mohsina says.

A photographic memoir by @rehnuma_suraiya @lenzkraft_official

A Cultural Resistance in Disguise

Jaya aar Sharmin doesn’t just chronicle two women’s bond. It arrives at a moment when cultural figures, artists and progressives are increasingly under fire. The timing is crucial. The message is clear.

“We have to resist,” says Mohsina, responding to the undercurrent of cultural silencing in today’s climate. “Through art, through dialogue, through being more human. That’s our duty.”

Jaya, meanwhile, continues her long-standing advocacy for animal rights, gently reminding the public of the humanity required during Eid-ul-Azha. “There are real heroes working on the ground for animals. I just want us to treat them with kindness. That is the true spirit of sacrifice.”

Beyond the Box Office

Produced by C te Cinema and Applebox Films, Jaya aar Sharmin is drawing critical acclaim and audience love alike. But what lingers isn’t just its performance or its script - it’s the way it reminds us of a collective tenderness that many of us lost along the way.

It’s a pandemic film but not a trauma dump. It’s a social commentary but never heavy-handed. Most of all, it’s a quiet rebellion. Against forgetting. Against division. Against the urge to return to “normal” without reckoning with what that normal cost us.

Jaya aar Sharmin is here to remind us. And if we’re willing to remember, maybe we can finally begin to change.