In Tribeny Rai’s film Shape of Momo, one of the most revealing details is the symbolism of a woman who does not know or care about shaping a momo properly. Rai, one of the first formally trained women filmmakers from Sikkim, uses that small act to open up a larger conversation about gender, family and belonging. Her Nepali-language debut feature follows Bishnu, a young woman returning to Sikkim after years away, only to find that home can be both comforting and confining. Edited excerpts from an interview with Rai, 35, whose film deeply observes the invisible pressures that shape the everyday lives of women across generations.
The title of the film is quite a hook. What does ‘Shape of Momo’ symbolise for you emotionally and culturally?
When we were looking for the title, I had many things in mind, but Shape of Momo felt organic to the film. As soon as you say “momo”, you think of Sikkim or the Himalaya, which is where the story comes from. And when we talk about shape, we wanted to explore the kind of box society tries to put women in. Our protagonist does not know how to make momo and does not care.
The original Nepali title, Chora Jaste, translates to “Like a Son”. I myself am one of four daughters in my family so whenever I achieved something or did something considered strong, people would say, “You’re just like a son”. Even with this film, people would say, “You’re just like a son”, and I would think: but I am a woman making this film. So in a way, the title became my quiet reply to society.
Food in the film becomes tied to labour, gender expectations, events. Was that intentional from the beginning?
Momo is such an integral part of our culture. Birthdays, funerals, weddings—it cuts across class and caste. Food also has this deep connection with women. No matter how successful you are, if you do not know how to cook properly, society still questions whether you are the perfect woman. When we screened the film in Korea, women told me they had a similar dish there, and people say if a pregnant woman shapes it properly, she will have a son. So these expectations around women and food exist everywhere.
The women in the film are layered and morally complex, rather than idealised. How did you approach building that realism, especially between the actors?
So often, women in cinema become symbols of sacrifice or righteousness. I grew up watching my mother eat last, after all the men and children had finished, and that made me question her place in the family. My co-writer and producer Kislay and I wanted to create characters you do not easily empathise with all the time. We were careful not to judge them as writers.
Different audiences connect with different characters. Pashupati Rai, who plays the mother, initially resisted taking on another mother role because she is actually very young. But I told her this mother was different; she’s emotionally sharp and complicated. As for Bishnu, having a co-writer helped greatly. When I was writing the script on my own, it felt like a privileged girl returning home and complaining about society. When I shared the script with Kislay, he said we have to be very objective. So we decided to be critical of the protagonist herself, her privilege and how she is classist.
The house you see in the film is actually my own house. And when we were in Sikkim, Kislay noticed my tone changed when I spoke to village children. Once he pointed that out, I started observing myself more objectively, interacting with my own environment. I think turning that critical lens inward, critiquing our own position, is important and the only way to tell an honest story.
Can you describe the process of casting and putting together the crew?
Sikkim’s film industry is at a very nascent stage. All the filmmakers from the hills, who speak Nepali, are trying to create an Indian-Nepali industry to sustain a kind of ecosystem because it’s either Nepal or the diaspora audience that we’re catering to, but we want to look beyond. One of my main reasons for making this film was to have someone who looks like me on screen, because growing up, I never had that representation.
I grew up watching Bollywood, but when the protagonist of the film does not look like you, it becomes a problem. So it was very important for me to cast someone who looks like me or like the people around me so that when I tell the story, I’m not just telling my story, but also the story of my people and my place, so we can find representation in Indian cinema and world cinema. Of the cast, the sister is from Sikkim, the love interest is from Darjeeling, the mother and daughter (Bishnu), played by Pashupati Rai and Gaumaya Gurung, are actors from Nepal.
Independent films from the North-East are finally getting wider recognition, with films like ‘Boong’, ‘Rapture’, among others. How do you see this moment?
I feel very grateful to be making films at this time. We have filmmakers like Aribam Shyam Sharma, Jahnu Barua, Rima Das, Dominic Sangma and Pradip Kurbah doing incredible work. OTT platforms and festivals have opened audiences to more diverse stories from the region. Having Rana Daggubati’s Spirit Media release the film in India (on 29 May) and Zoya Akhtar, Reema Kagti and Payal Kapadia coming on board as executive producers to support our film means a great deal. Film schools matter because people from places like Sikkim do not automatically have access to the industry. But institutions like SRFTI and FTII make filmmaking feel possible for many of us.
What were some of the hardest realities of making an independent film in Sikkim?
Because of Sikkim’s geography, even getting professional equipment becomes a logistical challenge. Cameras had to come from Kolkata, Guwahati or Kathmandu. I had to bring my lighting crew from Kolkata. What has been most rewarding is seeing how the film has become a people’s film back home. In Sikkim and among Nepali-speaking communities, people are celebrating it almost like it belongs to them. Yet, even now, after festivals and recognition, when I go home, people still ask me: “Congratulations, but when are you getting married?” It always comes back to that question.
Udita Jhunjhunwala is a Goa-based writer and curator.