Back in 2013, while digging through some old recordings for a project called 'City as a Studio', Lipika Darai found herself swept back to her childhood summers in her village. Those days spent with her grand aunt were simple but deeply meaningful — quiet conversations, the slow rhythm of rural life, and a sense of belonging that city life just couldn’t match. As memories came rushing in, Lipika began having imaginary conversations with her grand aunt, filling the void of her absence with stories, musings, and questions. These heartfelt exchanges eventually turned into the 'Letters To My Grand Aunt', a film essay series.
The latest installment in this series, B and S, is a continuation of Lipika's inquiry into the connections between memory, love, and identity. It's a personal documentary that invites us into the world of B and S, two trans women in their 20s. Born into conservative families and raised in bodies they did not recognize as their own, B and S find solace in each other’s company. Friendship, in this context, becomes a substitute for family — an idea of home forged in the fires of shared pain, love, and a quest for belonging.
The documentary’s essayistic style is as tender and layered as the subject matter. Shot like a visual essay, the images bleed into one another, creating a dreamlike flow that mirrors the internal spaces of the characters. Lipika’s voice becomes the thread tying the narrative together, as she speaks to her late grand aunt, telling her stories of the parrot, the tree, her own life, and B and S. These personal fragments, like pieces of a puzzle, slowly take shape of an expansive humanist story.
B and S speak about their childhoods, their bodies, friendship, family, love, and their transness — how all of it had led to their struggles and journey of finding themselves. They shed light on the ways and times they clashed with a world that didn't quite have a space for them, until they created it themselves with each other. This intimacy of being truly known by someone was a long time coming for both of them. It was like making all the wrong turns in a maze until they finally found the door; to a friendship rooted in queer solidarity and belonging.
Lipika's conversations with her grand aunt that goes parallel with B and S exhibits the same kinship. Her reflections are a way for her to make sense of her life and who else to open up to if not the figure of safety and comfort since her childhood.
B and S ends up becoming, in itself, the same sanctuary that it depicts. It is made up of stories but isn't limited by its parameters and definitions. In her directorial statement, Lipika mentions how the tenderness and belongingness of B and S' friendship was something she didnt wanna lose; she wanted to capture it and keep it close with utmost care in a letter. With this film, she has managed to do exactly that. She has built a bubble of warmth that anyone who experiences the film can access for themselves through, in David Lynch's words, the language of cinema. It is vulnerable yet cozy; it feels like home.
Follow Lipika here.
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