Barnali Ray Shukla: Joon

Writer, filmmaker, and poet Barnali Ray Shukla wears many hats. Her new film, Joon is an absorbing and unpretentious film depicting human experiences in their rawest form. Starring Neha Dinesh Anand and Akshay Sharma, Joon is a welcome change for moviegoers who long for good storytelling that avoids excessive dramatisation. With an expressive and soulful soundtrack that you can listen to on repeat, the film has over 17 awards under its belt in countries including Norway, Sweden, Japan, USA, Indonesia, France and India.

I sat virtually with the talented Barnali Ray Shukla for a candid conversation about her movie, writing, and more.

Barnali, let’s start by going back in time. I only recently learnt that you graduated with a degree in microbiology and were one of the top students in your graduating and post-graduating classes. When and why did you move to films and writing?

Yes, I was a topper and was charting out a good route to studying further and eventually working in the US of A.  I was excited about the pursuit of biotechnology, but then a debate came by during my final semester at my Master’s program at the University of Delhi. I took it rather seriously. For this debate, I had to pitch the darker side of biotechnology, which conflicted me. I was always in favour of a sense of inquiry and supported progress in the sciences, and I was especially in awe of biotechnology.

Until then, I considered biotechnology to be only a boon for humanity, but my professors urged me to go against the motion. I had to work hard as I wasn’t ready to be converted to the subversive; I had seen/ sensed no problem with the field.

Once the research began, I was exposed to a minefield of terrifying realities in this field. Bio-ethics was the new mantra for anyone with a conscience. The most prolific and successful Bio-Tech companies were exposing countries in Asia, South America, and Africa to all possible perils in the most unethical ways. I was finding out such horrors which eluded me just as when you are in love you choose to miss the red flags. By now, I had made up my mind: working for the USA was out.  

Take a look; this was published earlier this week. This is what the 22-year-old me didn’t want to succumb to. Who funds you, tells you what to do, in any field. Nothing has changed. 

Also, it wasn’t just one debate that changed my plans overnight. In my final term at the university, I was beginning to get skeptical of the empirical nature of science. The stripping bare of all that was matter, to its last unit. That wasn’t the picture of life that I wanted to make in my corner of the world. It was my personal break-up with the formal study of science. I didn’t have an existential crisis back then, but I didn’t want to grow up saying, “It’s finally all carbon, hydrogen and oxygen. Everything else is an opinion!”

Thus, my life with the Humanities began, though not formally.

Moving on to your latest movie, how did the idea for Joon come about?

An idea is like a window you didn’t know you’d left open. I live with an idea (among many) and understand that this is something I’ve got to work on. In the early stages, you don’t chase it, just let it be, and if it doesn’t leave you, you take notice and make mental notes. Then the stage of being the devil’s advocate seeps in, so why does this idea not need to be out there? While I was weighing the odds, this (below) is what happened for Joon.

I received a phone call from a friend that summer, around midnight. I had met her at her wedding just two months earlier, and I learned she wasn’t in touch with most of our friends, so this call felt special. Minutes into the call, I sensed something odd; she sounded suspiciously cordial. When I asked how she was, she brought it on. She started asking me about marriage and alleged that, of all people, she expected me to be truthful about what it entails.

I was taken aback and almost felt guilty. That was the turning point, and I was certain I needed to share what many women go through regarding marriage with a much wider audience. Most of Asia still considers marriage central to a girl’s existence, putting aside everything else about her.  I was born here in the same milieu, but things have changed. I choose not to have excuses in my filmmaker shoes.  I had to find the courage and resources to respond with a film, and I did.

Joon is a film highlighting an unexpected, unusual romance with the tagline, “How do you know who is the one for you?” It allows the freedom to discover love after marriage and explore the possibility of finding “the one” when you’re already committed to another. Given how our society feels about marriage, talk to us about these themes and why they’re essential to discuss.

Joon has no authority to sanction or allow. Joon (the character) follows her chosen path with the man she has chosen. She doesn’t depend on anyone to rescue her. No heaving bosom, no clandestine attempts pining for detours. For Joon, integrity is important in the seamless and truthful bonds she has, yet somewhere she had remained in denial. But as in life, as time passed, the meanings she gave to people and relationships evolved, and she realised that she had ignored many red flags. She then chose to stand up for who she was becoming.  What happens next in the movie is how paths in life cross, with the people we wished we had met before.

Writers say what others can’t. It’s a terrifying role, no doubt, but those are the difficult conversations one needs to have. In a recent screening of the movie at a university, what was remarkable in the audience’s response was how they saw innocence play out on screen. I made my notes and am still making more. Writing is a dynamic process; enjoying the uncertainties and where it may lead is good.

With Joon, you address a few social stigmas, divorce and marital rape, especially. Divorce is still taboo in many Indian families, and your movie not only shows divorce as a viable and logical option but also shows the woman living a vibrant life after. Did you face any hurdles with such a script?

The toughest threshold to cross is getting to complete the script and not stand in its way.  As a senior once pointed out, it’s only us and our conditioning that stand in the way of something we want to speak about, however slant. You have to deal with yourself first, and that duel affects me. Where do you draw the line? I am not driven by my fears but by the need to tell a story in the best way I can.

The next litmus test was the ‘hearing’ (that’s what it is called) at the CBFC ( Central Board of Film Certification) Mumbai. As the producer of Joon, I was representing/defending the film in person.  The date: 9/11, circa 2023.

I waited in the corridors of validation while the film was viewed; it was well over the runtime of 126 minutes. Nearly 45 minutes later, I was called into that room, which felt closed and slightly alarming; interrogation scenes swam at the back of my head. I noticed that all were staring at me without saying a word, giving no nod or greeting. Men and women alike, perhaps sizing me up.  Their identities can’t be disclosed, so all I can say is that there were three women and three men. If I am allowed to judge by their attire, they seemed to be from varied walks of life. And then he spoke, the RO, Regional Officer. I stood there across his table, upright, a fat cloth folder clutched close to me, swollen with documents I expected to submit, though the needful had been submitted online.

He graciously gestured for me to take a seat. Finally, he spoke in a gentle but firm tone. I tried hard to peek at the file in front of him. If the last 45 minutes had felt like a lifetime, this was the next.  He ran his pen across the dotted line. I sat down and listened. Every detail, pitch, dialogue, sound effect, and body language was under scrutiny, but I had warmed up to the fact that this audience didn’t miss a beat. This is the moment for any filmmaker, making the journey complete. I remember responding without any fear or anguish. It was like standing with your baby, by your baby.

They talked about the film for nearly an hour. I was privy to a world that I had not seen up close. They said, “If I were you, I’d take an Adult certificate and proceed. We don’t wish to ask for any change in this film. Congratulations.”

This felt surreal. I am not allowed to talk more about this, but yes, there are guidelines for an age-specific rating, and that is not what one wanted to skirt, as that would limit our scope of formats in which we expect to release further. My choices with the film were upheld with care and courage by total strangers. I knew we would have an Indian audience where we could address these important topics.

Once you set sail, your work will be in a vulnerable space; it will be judged, mauled or made merry with. One should focus on the best that can happen and be prepared for the worst. The sustained film festival run and, eventually now a wide distribution (we need to get to more countries though), the laurels from festivals, the choices made by the jury or the audience’s affection are not just embellishments. It is recognition for all who put their belief in Joon.

Any memories from the shoot that stand out for you?

So many. I am choosing to speak about the ones that stand out from our shared time together in a larger context. What is important to share here is the heightened camaraderie in times of the pandemic. Given that there was a cap on the number of people on board, the crew strength was at the bare minimum. And each of the actors extended themselves well beyond playing their part into behind-the-camera activities. Few gladly, others might have felt the compulsion, but it felt like the coolest shooting schedules that one had.

Special mention for our cinematographer, who would have needed at least two more people in his team, but not a day went by when he wasn’t celebrating the camera and what it saw. People opened their homes and kitchens for us as we shot entirely across the un-lockdown phases of the pandemic; even resorts and hotels were working on skeletal mode.

The Kamshet schedule in Maharashtra, those monsoon moments are actually shot in that much rain that August. Also, as a producer and director, I was treading a thin line, the mukhiya/sarpanch of the village, could say no any moment and send us packing and that would have been the end of it. No RTPCR report could allay the fears of the village people about city folks coming to their villages for work. City folks simply aren’t trusted. I mention this as I saw/felt that a controlled, smart-sized crew can be more conscious of the environment. It matters. What affects the everyday ops matter in the outcome of this adventure sport called filmmaking.

When we wrapped each evening, I found myself warm with the outcome of the shoot, but somewhere, until the final wrap, it was like walking on a tightrope with no security net.

Have any life-changing moments influenced your work, be it in films or writing?

Yes. Perhaps not my stories directly, but how I function and my choice of subjects. Travel, primarily, has taught me to travel light and to prioritise. Also, travel has helped me gather stories, not because you are out to shop for them but because you can’t help but observe. It has made me much more silent as a person (don’t go by the length of my replies, haha).  

I remember after our trip to Ladakh, which was with a DSLR, a Nikon 40D, I shot so much that I didn’t have much to say. I haven’t posted a single image. After that, I kept the camera back home. I resist taking photos so that it’s not just a record but a recall of every aspect. Of course, a phone camera today is such a friend.  The idea is to have it but not necessarily see with it.

Also, now that I am on a second lease on life, after a near-death experience some 14 years back, I process things differently from when I was this very proper, obedient, gauche child with utter self-doubt. A wrong medical diagnosis had started claiming my organs. A timely second medical opinion got me back on my feet. My extreme travels began then. My way of saying sorry to my body. It has also taught me to speak with candour, which hasn’t diminished. I think while it makes you thankful for every day of your life, it also makes you a little fearless, not complacent, about walking on the edge. Setting up my minuscule production outfit, Dark Chocolate Films, happened only once I started healing.  Small start, let’s see where we are headed with our bittersweet films that are good for the heart.

Let’s talk about one of my favourite topics: poetry. You are a globally published poet with an award-winning book. Where does poetry fit into the life of a filmmaker, and how do you carve time for all these different sides of you?

Good to know about your favourite. Congratulations on all the wonderful work you do. This is an unpopular opinion, but poetry is part of everyone, not with any sense of ownership or anyone’s jagir; some people don’t know they have it yet, and others are in denial. It takes a poet to describe a broken road and the debris as apocalyptic kitsch. Your poetic voice may not be published, but it’s there.

I feel fortunate to be published. Poetry is my oasis. I don’t chase it. I read, savour, observe, stay quiet and sometimes speak, maybe in poems. Being published is sheer joy. May I pause to thank each one responsible for honing my words, my confidence, my colleagues and other poets,  a friend or two, the publishers, members of the jury who decide what makes a podium finish and the editors. Thank you, Shikha, for this opportunity to reach out. Appreciate that you made time to watch Joon during an intense phase of January 2025.

Poetry must be invited into each life. It could maybe make the world a better place. For a filmmaker, it’s not just an ally; it’s a way of looking at things. To be honest, I don’t carve out my day; poetry carves a bit of me as I chip away on something else. It readies me for the day. I edit a lot, trying to say it better; my poems are always works in progress. 

Walk us through a typical day of your life. How do you manage your time between multiple projects, and what do you do to unwind?

The idea is not to have a typical day. Once upon a time, not so long ago, my day began with an hour-long morning walk that has ceased in the last three years. I am fighting to find a schedule for my fitness, but with growing years, I notice that the moment I am up, which is around 5:30 am, I escape to my script or manuscript. I don’t think it’s such a good thing, but maybe I have grown to dislike going around in circles, so walks in the park are now rare.

Walking still remains a very important part of my day, the ensemble being chores at home, travel in public transport, the back and forth from meetings or some such rumours that give a sense of being busy, and then, of course, the walks to fridge count, right?

In 2025, I am rediscovering the importance of laughter. Laughter ensures you scrub the windows of perspectives and work on that sense of humour. Laughing at oneself is certainly high on my daily chipping-away list. I would have tanked long back when my liver was giving up on me, but now I send it shocks now and then and feel way more alive despite the pandemic weight and the suspected perimenopause.  

Can you share what you’re working on next in the world of films and poetry?

I am working on a mother-daughter story for a movie script. The title remains to be finalised. There are two more ideas, at various stages of self – proclaimed readiness, one seeks funding and the other is set to cast. I can’t say which one will see the light of the day first, but hey, we are asked to count the chickens before they are hatched. They are testing the hustle in me to see when I am ready to pitch. I’m taking it one day at a time.

Lastly, how do you take your coffee?

Strong and without sugar. It keeps me ready for the next big punch that I don’t foresee coming.