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AC MeiN SeataN Garam
The Story
Aamir, 30, a young filmmaker, once set out to portray his community with honesty, dignity, and care. He believed cinema could be a space for truth, complexity, and ethical representation. Over time, however, working within a cinematic landscape increasingly shaped by commodification and market logic, that belief has begun to erode, leaving him cynical and emotionally withdrawn.
Aamir works with his partner Sheeba, 27, who is developing her own first feature set in her neighbourhood. While Aamir offers help in theory, his absence from the process is hard to ignore. His disengagement slowly begins to strain both their creative collaboration and their personal relationship. Frustrated, Sheeba confronts him with the realities he has been avoiding. The need to work, to take responsibility, to be present. Aamir does not argue. Silence becomes his defence.
A documentary opportunity arrives that involves revisiting the work of Darshan, an Ahmedabad-based cultural organisation founded by veteran activists Hiren, 65, and Saroop, 73. For decades, their lives have been shaped by cultural resistance, street theatre, and people’s movements. They want to look back at a programme they initiated years ago and examine what remains of its impact today. Aamir begins working on the project with a single, practical intention. To earn money and get through the days.
As he starts interviewing participants of the programme, listening to their stories of continued resilience even after two decades, something within Aamir begins to shift. The conviction with which these individuals speak, their persistence despite erasure and fatigue, slowly unsettles his cynicism. The certainty of his disillusionment falters, not through grand revelations, but through sustained exposure to a belief that has survived time, failure, and neglect.
As Aamir continues working, still largely driven by survival, the film gradually turns its gaze inward. It begins to reflect on the act of storytelling itself. On who controls narratives, how stories are shaped, diluted, or abandoned altogether. And on what is lost when cinema becomes only a product, even when it claims to speak of truth.
A Personal Note
It has been almost five years since I first thought of making a film. With the support of our co-producers at Kayo Kayo Colour?, my first feature felt unexpectedly possible. Their support was unconditional: financially, morally, and emotionally. Making that film took a little over a year. Since then, for the last three years, my life has largely been about trying to sell it.
In that time, I wrote another film. More ambitious and larger in scale than the first. Once again, the process became about pitching, waiting, selling, applying for grants, and repeatedly explaining myself to rooms full of people. After finishing my first film, everything slowly turned into a waiting game and a selling game. The irony was difficult to ignore. As filmmakers, we often critique capitalism, yet we survive by constantly performing within its structures.
From an anthropological perspective, much of what we live by is constructed through stories: nations, religions, cultures, identities. Stories shape how we see ourselves and how we see others. Cinema remains one of the most powerful storytelling tools of our time, yet it is increasingly shaped by commodification. Market logic often determines which stories are allowed to exist, how they should appear, and how much truth they can carry. This affects not only filmmakers but also communities that are repeatedly simplified, misrepresented, or erased.
AC Mein SetaN Garam emerges from questions around this process. It reflects on the power dynamics between the filmmaker, the subject, and the viewer; on who gets to tell stories, who gets to be seen, and what is lost when authenticity becomes inconvenient. While the film follows a filmmaker’s internal crisis, it is ultimately concerned with a broader condition: creative burnout, economic precarity, compromised ideals, and the quiet pressure to make work more palatable. These pressures are not limited to cinema alone; they are part of the world we are living in.
I have always been interested in the idea of truth, and in how complicated it becomes the moment we try to shape it into a story. Recently, sitting at home, which is also my workplace, watching the ceiling fan spin endlessly, I found myself thinking: To hell with it. I just want to make a film.
The situation is tragic, but I am not interested in mourning it. I want to laugh about it. I want to laugh with the audience, not at them. I want us to feel together, think together, and participate together. The questions I struggle with are not abstract ideas; they grow out of everyday frustration, exhaustion, contradiction, and doubt.
I am surrounded by these questions constantly. About cinema, about truth, about belief, and about survival. This film is my way of asking them honestly now, before learning how to ignore them.
- Shahrukhkhan Sherkhan Chavada
The Language of the Film
I'm drawn to storytelling through an objective lens, taking inspiration from directors like Lav Diaz and Edward Yang. I prefer using mise-en-scène and long takes to invite viewers into an active interpretation of the work. This approach is rooted in my belief that art should encourage a dynamic interaction rather than dictate thoughts, creating a more sincere and personal experience for the audience.
Tonally, my work moves towards tragic comedy. In this regard, I find resonance with filmmakers like Radu Jude. I want humour to emerge from discomfort, irony, and contradiction, allowing laughter to exist alongside fatigue, failure, and disillusionment.
Self-awareness is central to my practice. Many Iranian films openly acknowledge their own construction, often blurring the boundary between fiction and reality. I am interested in cinema that does not hide the presence of the camera or the process of storytelling, but quietly reflects on it.
LEt mE fumbLE
“There is something in the air, and I can’t put a pin on it.”
I like the idea of embracing the unknown. There are things I don't know, and sometimes I don't have the answers because having everything figured out ruins the sense of discovery for me. I find joy in getting lost and exploring, allowing serendipity to play a role in my journey. Even when something seems precise and specific, I believe there still need to be some potholes and imperfections. These gaps allow for spontaneity and unexpected turns, offering someone like me a new way to navigate life and my creative practice. This “uncertainty” allows me to be vulnerable.
Why Now
We live in a time where images are everywhere, but attention is scarce. Stories are constantly produced, consumed, and replaced, often before we have time to sit with them. In this environment, it becomes harder to tell where belief ends and performance begins.
This film matters because it slows that process down. It asks what happens when storytelling is shaped more by survival than conviction, and when sincerity begins to feel impractical. These are not questions limited to filmmakers. They reflect a wider condition of working, creating, and living within systems that reward speed, clarity, and marketability.
The film also looks at how communities, movements, and histories are remembered or forgotten. Not through grand statements, but through everyday encounters, silences, and choices. It pays attention to people who continue to speak, act, and resist, even when visibility is limited and recognition is uncertain.
At a time when stories are expected to be easily readable and instantly meaningful, this film insists on ambiguity. It invites the audience to slow down, to observe, and to reflect on how images shape understanding. In doing so, it creates space for participation rather than consumption, and for listening rather than conclusion.
The Team So Far
Shahrukhkhan Sherkhan Chavada - Director
Shuchi Kothari — Executive Producer
Tajdar Junaid — Music Director
Wafa Salim Refai — Producer
Aamir Aziz as Aamir
Sheeba Malik as Sheeba
Hiren Gandhi as Hiren
Saroop Dhruv as Saroop
Making the Film
We plan to make this film in the same spirit in which we made Kayo Kayo Colour? … aaram se, allowing things to unfold.
The process will be slow, instinctive, and rooted in improvisation. We will work with a minimal crew, allowing space for listening, observing, and responding to what unfolds rather than imposing fixed outcomes. The freedom to afford time, to stay with moments without rushing them, is central to this film. It is not a luxury, but a necessity for the kind of questions the film is asking.
This film will also mark a shift in how I work with performance. We plan to blend professional actors with non-professional actors, allowing lived presence and crafted performance to exist together. This approach opens up uncertainty, risk, and unexpected rhythms, which I see as essential to keeping the film alive and porous.
Rather than controlling every detail, the film will be shaped through attention, instinct, and collaboration. The process remains open to accidents, silences, and contradictions. These imperfections are not obstacles, but part of how the film finds its form.
Total Budget: INR 30 Lakhs
Stage
Description
Budget
Timeline
Pre-Production
Writing, research, location recce, casting, rehearsals, and preparation before the shoot
INR 2.5 Lakhs
Nov 2025 – Feb 2026
Production
Principal photography, crew fees, equipment, locations, travel, food, and logistics
INR 17.5 Lakhs
Feb 2026 – Dec 2026
Post Production
Editing, sound design, music, colour grading, and DCP Export
INR 10 Lakhs
Jan 2027 – Mar 2027
Thank you for taking the time to read about this film and sit with its ideas.
This website is not an announcement of answers, but a record of where the film stands today. If you stay with it, return to it, or think about it later, that is already meaningful to us.
With gratitude,
Shahrukh​ and the Team
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