In Songs of Forgotten Trees (Orizzonti), Indian filmmaker and screenwriter Anuparna Roy explores the emergence of an unexpected bond between two women in Mumbai, within a society still shaped by patriarchal structures and lingering memories. Following her debut with Run to the River, Roy confirms her distinctive voice with an intimate, delicate film that turns everyday gestures into visual poetry.
The song at the beginning reappears throughout the film almost like a refrain. How did you come across this song and the popular saying connected to it?
The song is very close to my heart. I first heard it from my beloved friend Naaz Shaikh, the actress who plays Thooya. I’ve known her for such a long time, and the first time I heard her humming it, it touched me deeply, even though I couldn’t understand the words. Then she told me it was her late mother’s song – something she used to hum herself – and when I asked about its meaning, I was completely amazed. Naaz and I were already talking and dreaming about the film, even before anything was finalized, but that song had been part of it long back.
Thooya, an actress from Mumbai, rents a room in her apartment to Swetha, a young corporate employee. Despite their deep social and personal differences, an unexpected and intimate bond forms between them. In the bustling, noisy city of Mumbai, Thooya and Swetha rediscover each...
The film follows the lives of two young women in Mumbai. It is about friendship, love, nostalgia, dreams, and choices – all at once. What did you want to convey to the audience through this story?
Answering to the question of what I as a filmmaker tried to communicate became secondary once I finish making the film as I always desperately seek for new perception from every audience whosoever giving an opinion rather than putting it in my structural answer. But yes, one thing was very much pre-decided: I wanted to showcase a platonic relationship between two women within a patriarchal, man-made society, women’s detachment from sex, and obviously the complexity and burden of memories. It’s a beautiful love story I always wanted to explore as a writer.
The portrayal of the relationship between the two women is very delicate and gentle. What do you think is the key to representing intimacy and complicity on screen?
What and how I tried to capture intimacy and complicity on screen is less about grand gestures and more about subtle, truthful moments. This was my plan from the beginning. The script allowed room for silence, unfinished thoughts, and actions that suggest more than what is said. So, I avoided anything too direct in portraying their intimacy; instead, I tried to create an atmosphere in which they both gradually open up to their feelings.
How does Songs of Forgotten Trees relate to – or fit within – your previous cinematic work?
Definitely, my first film Run to the River differs from Songs of Forgotten Trees in almost every way, except for one particular aspect: the personal connection to the story. Run to the River is dedicated to my grandmother, who never saw a river because she was not allowed to cross the boundary of her village. Yet, when she died, her body was taken there for the funeral. The main idea came from her. Of course, I fictionalized it and shaped it as a period drama, but at its core it was a personal portrayal of a woman and her dream. The same goes for Songs of Forgotten Trees. Some parts are drawn and inspired from my own life. Every woman portrayed in the film is someone I have seen around me, in the same society where we live; women I have met, women I have felt. The Jhuma Nath angle, the relationship between Thooya and her father – it’s all a combination of experiences we have seen or felt. That is why the personal connection remains the common thread between my two films.
