Onir-directed anthology film ‘Nandini’ is set to open the Indian Film Festival of Melbourne. Other directors contributing to the anthology include Imtiaz Ali, Kabir Khan, and Rima Das. Set in Melbourne, the film tells the story of a queer Indian man and his estranged father who reunite to complete a ceremonial ritual, exploring their strained relationship and the power of forgiveness amid grief. The world premiere of the anthology will take place on the opening night, August 15.

In an exclusive chat with IndiaToday.in, Onir discussed his experience working on the film, co-directing, and why queer films remain an exception globally.

Excerpts from the interview:

What did you learn about yourself while working on Nandini with an all-foreign cast and crew?

Yes, it was an all-Australian cast, and my co-director Willian was really such a delight to work with. He is an Australian of Chinese origin and very young, so you get to discover aspects of how someone from another culture looks at you because this film is about a queer Bengali boy coming to Australia. It was interesting to see how how certain aspects were demystified. Co-directing in this way, where every opinion contributes to the filmmaking process, was a learning experience. Through this film, I learnt to improve my capability as a creative person to listen to other perspectives, which is valuable. I also feel more attuned to setting a film in Australia and have gained a deeper understanding of the audience’s sensibilities there through my collaboration with an Australian cast and crew.

The film deals with the sensitive subjects of grief and forgiveness. Did you take any special precautions or exercise restraint while directing it?

I don’t have to keep any of that in mind because they are ingrained in me. I don’t have to make any conscious effort to be sensitive about what is essentially a part of my identity. It is something I practice every day. When you come from a space of being a minority in a way and have faced various forms of discrimination as a queer person, then you become sensitive to anyone from the minority communities and acts of discrimination or oppression. This sensitivity is almost a part of my nature.

Absolutely, but my question was not about being sensitive towards the queer community but more about dealing with the subject of grief and forgiveness, because it is a very sensitive subject in itself.

What I meant is that, while being queer makes you more attuned to issues of discrimination, it doesn’t mean that sensitivity is limited to queerness alone. Overall, you become more sensitive to these themes. This film addresses loss, which resonates deeply because, as someone who has faced denial of identity for a long time, that experience itself can feel like a form of loss. Even my first film dealt with themes of loss, so exploring this subject is not new to me; it has been a part of my work from the beginning.

You’ve long championed LGBTQ representation in film. While progress has been made, do you think it’s enough?

I think the biggest change is that when I was young, there was zero representation, but now people are seen coming out through social media. There are enough references for people to research, understand, and reach out for support. Of course, there’s a lot of hate that also comes with it. I find that our world has come a long way, but we still have a long way to go because there are so many countries where we are still criminalised by law. Also, in our own country, we are still not equal citizens, and fighting for equal rights, for marriage, adoption and things which are connected to marriage equality. So, there are lots. I mean, the process is on.

Given that the audience today is so much more receptive, do you feel you can mount a film like this in a more mainstream format?

I always believed there was an audience who was willing to watch (such films), but there were not enough people who believed that they should be given an opportunity. Stories are often boxed into labels like “gay story” or “queer story,” whereas no one labels a story as “straight.” It’s treated as a token gesture rather than a genuine representation. In the heteronormative world, our stories are often constrained by such labels.

I’d love to remake Hamlet here, but which mainstream actor would be open to exploring intimacy in the same way actors do in Hollywood? Now, all the stories are only about acceptance, but my life is beyond acceptance. So why is everything around my existence and my story geared to that story? Why aren’t they letting us tell our own story, just like everyone recognises how important it is for women to be behind the camera? How come these same people don’t recognise that queer people must tell their stories.