In a literary landscape increasingly shaped by dominant feminist narratives, Bengali writer Sayantani Putatunda emerges as a distinct and fearless voice. Rejecting formulaic gender biases, she brings a nuanced, humanist lens to her storytelling—one that transcends the confines of gender-based expectations.
From her debut novels Anandadhara and Chhayagroho, Putatunda challenged the conventional notion that women writers must focus solely on female victimhood. Instead, she dared to portray women who exploit men, subverting typical narratives and highlighting the complexities of power dynamics. At the same time, her works such as Nandini, Krishnaveni, Jolshoi, and Swaha unflinchingly depict the brutal realities of violence against women, proving her ability to portray both sides of the spectrum with equal empathy and depth.
Her storytelling isn’t limited by trend or gender allegiance. In novels like Jingle Bell, Shishmahal, and Sorbonashini, Putatunda delved into intricate human relationships, predating public discourse around real-life cases like those of Atul Subhash, Pragati Yadav, and Sourav Rajput. These stories emphasized that women, too, can be perpetrators—a controversial stance in a society often reluctant to acknowledge such roles.
One of her most powerful short stories, Apala Bhalo Achhe (2012), chronicles the journey of an acid attack survivor reclaiming her identity. The narrative remarkably mirrors the 2020 film Chhapaak, showcasing Putatunda’s foresight and sensitivity toward trauma and resilience.
Equally bold is her story Chupi Chupi Aschhe, which addresses male rape and molestation—a topic society still struggles to confront. By shifting the lens of empathy to often-ignored male victims, she calls for a broader, more inclusive dialogue around abuse.
Putatunda’s writing often precedes popular media in tackling difficult subjects. Her stories Eksho Baaro and Mrigotrishna, written over a decade ago, explored marital rape and psychological captivity long before mainstream works like Thappad and web series like MRS took center stage.
Despite criticism, Putatunda remains unapologetically neutral. “I write about the problems of human beings,” she says. “Whether it’s male chauvinism or hard feminism, I’ve portrayed what I’ve seen.” When asked if society is ready for such balanced perspectives, her response is simple and defiant: “I don’t care about all that. One voice is enough. Ek bandi kaafi hai.”
Sayantani Putatunda’s voice is not only brave—it’s necessary.
