As an Indian-Australian journalist living in Melbourne, watching My Melbourne felt like looking through a mirror—one reflecting stories echoing the voices of many in the diaspora. This anthology, crafted by some of India’s most celebrated filmmakers—Onir, Rima Das, Imtiaz Ali, and Kabir Khan—is not just a film; it is an experience that intertwines identity, resilience, and self-discovery.
Each of the four stories in My Melbourne is rooted in almost true incidents, making the emotions feel raw and the characters all too real. For someone who has spent years navigating the intersection of two cultures, the film’s nuanced take on the migrant experience is deeply personal and universally relevant.
Nandini – The Quiet Revolution of Acceptance
As I watched, I found myself holding my breath—not in anticipation of grand revelations, but in quiet acknowledgement of the reality it so delicately portrayed. Directed by Onir, with co-direction by William Duan, and a screenplay by Gregory Francis and William Duan, Nandini doesn’t scream for attention. Instead, it moves with an unspoken intensity, gently peeling back layers of grief, estrangement, and, ultimately, quiet acceptance.
For me, stories of identity, belonging, and cultural expectations are deeply personal. Nandini too is not just about queerness—it is about lifting the weight of tradition, the burden of unspoken words, and the spaces in between where love either survives or fades.
Arka Das delivers a raw and nuanced performance as a queer Indian Australian man who reunites with his estranged father played by MOULI GANGULY for the Asthi Visarjan of his mother, a Hindu ritual of ash immersion. This ritual becomes more than just a religious act—it is a moment of reckoning, forcing both father and son to confront years of silence.
Onir’s direction is masterful in its restraint. He doesn’t force dramatic confrontations, nor does he offer easy resolutions. Instead, the power of Nandini lies in its unspoken moments—a lingering glance, a hesitant movement, a deep sigh that carries years of unexpressed emotion. Mouli Ganguly’s presence adds further depth, embodying a maternal absence that is both deeply felt and yet a catalyst for reconciliation.
What struck me most was how the film doesn’t seek validation for Indraneel’s identity—it simply exists. This is a quiet revolution, one that doesn’t rely on protest or defiance, but on a father’s gradual understanding. Acceptance, when it finally arrives, is not in grand gestures but in the simple act of acknowledging one’s child for who they are.
In a world where acceptance still comes at a price, Nandini is a much-needed whisper of change—a whisper that, if listened to closely, carries the strength to rewrite generations of silence.
Emma – A Dance Beyond the spoken language
A breathtaking fusion of movement, resilience, and self-discovery, Emma is a cinematic triumph that challenges perceptions of disability and the power of self-expression. Inspired by true events, it tells the poignant story of a young deaf dancer confronting doubts about her identity while fighting for her rightful place in the professional dance world.
Directed by the visionary Rima Das (Village Rockstars, Bulbul Can Sing), alongside co-director Samira Cox, Emma is a story of passion and perseverance. The screenplay, crafted by Samira Cox and Monique Nair, brings authenticity and depth to the struggles and triumphs of its protagonist. The film stars Nathan Borg, Rynna Lawson, and Mikhaela Ebony, each bringing raw emotion and nuance to their roles.
Watching Emma, I found myself immersed in a world I had never truly understood before—a world where movement speaks louder than words, where silence isn’t emptiness, but a powerful force of self-expression. This film wasn’t just a story; it was an experience that challenged me to see and feel beyond the spoken language.
As a journalist of colour in Australia, I have often observed how representation matters—not just in terms of ethnicity or culture, but also in the way we portray human struggles, triumphs, and identities. Emma does something remarkable—it brings to life the journey of a deaf dancer with Usher Syndrome, navigating a world that constantly underestimates her.
I was struck by the sensory storytelling—the moments where external noise was deliberately muted, allowing us to step into Emma’s world. It was a masterstroke in film-making, making us feel the rhythm through vibrations, movement, and sheer determination rather than sound. It was in these moments that I realised how powerful dance is—not just as an art form, but as a declaration of identity and defiance.
What resonated with me most was the subtle yet powerful portrayal of resilience. Emma’s journey isn’t just about being a dancer—it’s about fighting for visibility, for acceptance, and for her place in an industry reluctant to embrace difference. Her meeting with Nathan, a successful deaf dancer, was a turning point—not just in the film but as a larger commentary on the importance of representation, mentorship, and breaking systemic biases.
Emma reminded me why stories like these need to be told. It’s not about empathy—it’s about understanding, respect, and the right to dream without limitations. It is a film that lingers, that forces us to confront our perceptions of disability, talent, and what it means to truly ‘listen’.
Jules – The Voice of Resistance
The weight of Jules sank deep into me, pulling me back to Adelaide—back to Uncle John, an Indigenous homeless man I met nearly 17 years ago while covering a story about how he helped an international student survive on the streets for six months.
Directed by Imtiaz Ali with co-direction by Tammy Yang, this section of film My Melbourne is a quiet storm—one that creeps up on you, lingers, and refuses to leave. Written by Arif Ali, Shivangi Bhowmick, and Monique Nair, Jules is not just about one woman’s battle; it’s about all the silent battles fought behind closed doors and for that matter right in front of all of us.
At its heart, Jules is the story of Sakshi, a 23-year-old newly married woman (played by Arushi Sharma) who has recently moved to Melbourne. Lost in the unfamiliar streets of a foreign city and trapped in an even more suffocating marriage, she finds herself drawn to Jules, a 52-year-old homeless wanderer played brilliantly by Kat Stewart. Jules is unpredictable, sharp-witted, and carries the wisdom of someone who has been through hell and back. She speaks in poetry and crosswords, yet her words cut deeper than anything Sakshi has ever heard.
What makes Jules so unsettling is its raw honesty. As a journalist, I have heard/written about stories like Sakshi’s before—women who arrive in this country full of hope, only to find themselves trapped by the very restraints they thought they had left behind. Imtiaz Ali captures this suffocation with an unflinching gaze. There are no dramatic speeches, no over-the-top confrontations—just a quiet, simmering defiance that finally erupts.
Jules isn’t just a mentor; she is a mirror—reflecting back to Sakshi the courage she doesn’t yet realise she has. And when Sakshi finally stands up for herself, it’s not just a victory for her. It’s a victory for every woman who has been told to endure, to stay silent.
This is Jules—a whisper, a scream, a reckoning. And I, for one, will never forget it.
Setera – Cricket as a Language of Hope
Setara, directed by Kabir Khan and co-directed by Puneet Gulati, felt like stepping into the countless stories I’ve covered in Melbourne’s migrant communities. It’s not just a story—it’s a testament to resilience, a love letter to cricket, and a mirror to the struggles and triumphs of young refugee girls searching for belonging.
Setara, a 15-year-old Afghan girl, arrives in Melbourne with her mother and older sister after escaping Taliban rule. She is displaced, not just from her homeland, but from everything she once knew. But then, she finds cricket, again. The bat and ball become her language, her bridge to this unfamiliar land, her way to reclaim a life that was ripped away.
Cricket, a sport deeply rooted in both Indian and Australian culture, takes on a greater meaning here. It’s not just about the game—it’s about identity, empowerment, and the right to dream. The screenplay by Monique Nair and Nazifa Amiri captures Setara’s journey with quiet strength, balancing the weight of displacement with the uplifting power of sports. Her interactions with Brad Hodge, who plays himself, highlight how mentorship and opportunity can change lives.
I’ve met young girls like Setara in my years as a journalist—girls who arrived in Australia with nothing but their hopes. Setara gives them a voice. It’s a story of courage, of fighting to belong, of rewriting one’s future. It reminds us that home is not just a place—it’s where you find your passion, your people, your purpose.
The Soul of My Melbourne
I feel, My Melbourne is more than just an anthology film—it is a heartbeat, a pulse that echoes the lived experiences of migrants like myself. Watching it felt like looking into something that reflects not just personal journeys, but the struggles, triumphs, and quiet revolutions that define Melbourne’s multicultural soul.
What sets My Melbourne apart is its authenticity—the stories are not imagined, but drawn from real lives, woven together to create a cityscape where identity, belonging, and self-discovery take centre stage.
The stellar cast only adds to its impact. Kat Stewart (Offspring) and Arka Das (Lion) bring gravitas, while cricket legend Brad Hodge and Hindi film actor Arushi Sharma lend a seamless crossover between Indian and Australian narratives. The presence of Nathan Borg, the first deaf actor on Neighbours, and Setara Amiri, an Afghan refugee and rising cricket star, makes the film even more poignant. These actors aren’t just performing—they are living their truth on screen.
From script to final edit, the mentorship provided by these celebrated directors ensures that every frame breathes authenticity. The cast and crew mirror Melbourne’s diversity, making this a deeply personal and collective experience for all who call this city home.
Even the soundtrack is a revolution. Janaki Eshwar, The Voice Australia’s youngest-ever contestant, teams up with Parvyn Kaur Singh, formerly of The Bombay Royale, to deliver a title track that pulsates with energy. Meanwhile, Aryana Sayeed, often referred to as ‘The Taylor Swift of Afghanistan,’ lends her powerful voice to Azadi, a song that embodies the theme of freedom in both Hindi and Dari.
Producer Mitu Bhowmick Lange AM encapsulates the vision of My Melbourne perfectly: “We wanted to create something contemporary, honest, and deeply personal while nurturing the next generation of diverse filmmakers.”
“With these stories, our local talents have found their voice, without losing their cultural authenticity.”
But for me, My Melbourne isn’t just a film—it’s a movement. It is a conversation, a statement, a reflection of the unspoken and unheard voices of our community. It is for every migrant who has ever wondered if they belong, for every dreamer who dares to carve a new path, and for every fighter who refuses to be silenced.
This is ‘My Melbourne.’ This is our story.
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