On a monsoon-drenched afternoon, the air was heavy with questions of kinship, belonging, and the unseen ties that bind us. In town to promote their upcoming film Dear Maa, director Aniruddha Roy Chowdhury — fondly known as Tonyda — sat with his leading ladies, Jaya Ahsan and Anubha Fatehpuria. Jaya looked ethereal in a satin pistachio dress, while Anubha kept things grounded in a crisp olive-green shirt. Tonyda, ever the spirited conversationalist, brought his usual charm and philosophical flair to the table.
Set against an urban backdrop, Dear Maa reimagines motherhood through the lens of adoption on multiple levels — not as an act of charity, but of courage, intimacy, and everyday resistance. The film also navigates different forms of adoption and motherhood. It follows the emotional journey of an adoptive mother whose daughter leaves home in search of her birth parents — a decision that not only upends their lives but also tests the very foundation of love, trust, and chosen bonds. Starring Jaya Ahsan, Anubha Fatehpuria, Chandan Roy Sanyal, Shayan Munshi and Saswata Chatterjee among others, Dear Maa gently unpacks the politics of care, the myths of familial perfection, and the quiet power of chosen bonds.
Sanjali Brahma: You’ve chosen to explore adoption in Dear Maa, which is such a layered and sensitive theme. What drew you to this story?
Aniruddha Roy Chowdhury: Whatever I’ve done in cinema, I’ve always taken from the atmosphere around me. This story, too, came from a lived moment. I have a friend — a woman very high up the corporate ladder — who went through something emotionally shattering. That’s where the seed was planted. Later, while discussing this with my friend Sakyajit Bhattacharya — he’s a scientist and also a novelist — we ended up brainstorming for hours. It had such an impact on him that he eventually adopted a child. That entire journey, those discussions, formed the emotional spine of Dear Maa. Incidentally, Sakyajit is also the screenwriter of this film. Ownership, possessiveness, letting go — these aren’t emotions restricted to a mother and child. They’re universal. The story is about that shared experience.
Sanjali: Your female leads have often been strong and self-aware. How do the characters in Dear Maa evolve within that space?
Aniruddha: Women, in general, are empowered. Strength — true strength — is in the mind and the heart, not in brute force. And this story comes from that perspective. Anubha, for example, I’ve always been a fan. I’ve seen her perform on stage.
Jaya Ahsan: We all are!
Anubha Fatehpuria: Generous people!
Aniruddha: She had a small but significant role in Lost. She’s fantastic. When I fall in love with a script, I fall in love with the character, and then with the actor playing that character. With Anubha, there was no second-guessing. She said yes, and from that point on, it was my responsibility to help her uncover her character’s strengths and flaws. That’s the joy of collaboration. Her character was inspired by someone who helped raise me — we used to call her Bui. She was strict, commanding, but loving in her own way. We were all a little scared of her. That blend of discipline and affection fed into the character’s core.
Sanjali: And what about Jaya Ahsan — how did she come on board?
Aniruddha: Ah, Jaya. I had texted her after watching Bishorjon years ago saying, “We have to work together.” She did a small role in Kadak Singh, and after that, I knew we had to make something more substantial. Now, I have this thing — if I happen to be with someone on their birthday, I feel compelled to gift them something. Jaya and I were catching up that day, and I had nothing on hand. So I gave her the script. That was the gift. We do a lot of adda — Jaya, Anubha and I. I keep inviting them to the Tolly Club: “Come over for tea, coffee, or something stronger.” That camaraderie, that sense of friendship, is central to how I work. Serious work grows out of real connection.
The female characters in my film — and the women in my life — constantly shape my worldview. Whether it’s Jaya or Anubha, or even Jaya’s on-screen mother — all the women in this film are empowered. There’s a scene where the police interrogate the mother about her daughter, and she responds, “Yes, my daughter earns well. Why wouldn’t she have friends over? Even if she has a boyfriend, so what? She’s an adult, she’s independent.” It is like the dialogue we began with in Pink. Remember that line — “Yes, I’ll wear short clothes, have a cigarette in my hand, enter a man’s room at 2am, and still have the right to walk away”. That’s the kind of autonomy we’re reinforcing in Dear Maa.
We visit dozens of schools across India, especially in Tier 2 cities. We tell the girls: earn your own money, become independent, don’t do anything out of compulsion. Your father, your partner — they’ll come later. First, take care of yourself. That’s what I tell my daughter, too.
In Dear Maa, adoption is just the entry point. What follows is a meditation on love — chosen love, difficult love, unconditional love. Adoption isn’t only about a child. You can adopt a space, a feeling, even a moment in time. The film, like the conversation, is a reminder: family isn’t biology — it’s chemistry.
Priyanka A. Roy: Jaya, Tonyda gave you the script on your birthday. What was your reaction?
Jaya: I didn’t expect a script as a birthday gift. Honestly, who gets handed a whole film on their birthday? I was at a resort that day, spending time with my mother — that’s how I usually celebrate, just the two of us, a simple lunch, some silence. I don’t believe in big cakes and loud parties. I had just stepped away for a bit when I saw Tonyda’s message come through. It said something like, “Check your inbox.” I opened it, and there it was — the script.
I remember lying down with it on the bed, just holding it for a while before reading. There’s something about a script, the way it smells, the way the pages hold possibility. It’s like a diary you haven’t lived yet. I read it slowly, almost protectively, and by the end, I just lay there for a long time, thinking. It wasn’t just a gift — it felt like a kind of trust. Like someone was saying, Here, I’ve imagined this world. Now I want you to live in it.
Later, when we spoke, I told Tonyda it was probably the most meaningful birthday gift I’ve ever received. I mean, yes, people gift gadgets, perfumes, books — but a whole character? A film? That’s a different kind of generosity. And it came without fanfare, without ribbons — just intent. Honestly, what could be a greater gift for an actor?
Aniruddha: She’s bluffing — she’ll tell someone else something else. (laughs)
Anubha: No, no, I can vouch for her. This is the biggest gift an actor can receive — it’s not an iPad, it’s a whole world you’ve been entrusted with.
Sanjali: Do you have personal connections to adoption? How did that influence the film?
Anubha: I do, yes. A few friends of mine have adopted, and I’ve had the privilege of watching those journeys unfold closely. I’ve always believed adoption should be one of the first choices people consider — not just an afterthought or a last resort when other options fail. There are so many children in the world already waiting, hoping for love, for security, for someone to say, you belong here. If you have the resources — emotional, financial, spiritual — why not give that?
We often speak about bringing life into this world as an achievement, but what about nurturing life that already exists and simply needs anchoring? It’s not always a planned or linear decision either. Sometimes you meet someone — a child, or even an adult — and the connection is instant. Something unspoken clicks. It’s not logical. It’s not calculated. It just is. You don’t choose it — it chooses you.
I’ve seen that happen — a quiet moment that turns into a forever kind of love. And I find that incredibly moving. Adoption, to me, is one of the most generous forms of love because it requires you to reach beyond the conventional script and create your own definition of family.
Jaya: I’ve often felt deeply conflicted about the conventional idea of family. There’s this persistent societal pressure — almost like an unsaid rule — that we must leave a ‘seed’ behind before we exit the planet, as though that’s the only valid legacy. But I’ve never quite understood why. Why must the measure of our life be tied to biology? What about the memories we create, the people we heal, the art we offer, the lives we touch? To me, those are far more meaningful imprints than simply passing on DNA.
Adoption, on the other hand, is a concept that sits close to my heart. A few years ago, we were actually in conversations to adopt a child from Syria. It was emotionally complex and administratively difficult, and while it didn’t ultimately work out, the impulse behind it — to choose someone, to build a bond beyond blood — has stayed with me. Among my circle, adoption is not some dramatic or token gesture. It’s just a natural part of life. Someone will casually say, “Oh, they adopted,” and that’s it — we move on. No sentimental storytelling, no grandeur. And I think that’s beautiful. That’s how it should be. Adoption doesn’t need a spotlight. It’s quiet, deeply intentional love — and perhaps the most honest form of parenting, because it stems from choice, not compulsion.
For me, the idea of family has always been fluid. Love and connection don’t necessarily need to follow a script. They can happen with people, of course, but also with pets, with spaces, with routines. I’m a proud dog mum. The bond I share with my pet is as real and fierce as any other relationship in my life. I’ve had plants I’ve spoken to, cared for, grieved over when they wilted. Sometimes we adopt people; sometimes we adopt silence, or a Sunday ritual, or a corner of the house bathed in morning light. Love takes root in strange places — and that’s the beauty of it. It doesn’t follow rules. It just finds you.
Aniruddha: There’s a line in the film: What comes first — blood, or the pull of the heart? That, to me, is the essence of adoption. You meet someone, and suddenly, the rest blurs. The pull becomes undeniable. Adoption, I believe, isn’t always about people. I once fell in love with a house I rented in Dhakuria. Paid ₹365 a month. Bougainvillaea used to creep in through the windows. It felt like home. Even now, in my flat in Bombay, I check on it like a person. That’s adoption too. Of a space, a memory, a feeling. Society is obsessed with labelling things — partner, mother, child. But real love — that raw chemical attraction we feel — doesn’t obey those categories. Adoption, at its core, is emotional. Not transactional. It’s about choosing love, again and again.
Priyanka: The film explores the idea of conflicting motherhood. What is your understanding of motherhood?
Jaya: I don’t have an experience of biological motherhood in that sense. But this film, made me rediscover the possibilities once more. It made me think about my relationship with my mother — how I was and how she dealt with me. The hardships that my mother went through and the motherliness that lies in a man. Tonyda has an intrinsic motherliness in him as a person. Through this film, every child will miss their parent in a new way. They will try to understand their parents. Just giving birth to a child is not being a mother. I have many pets. I am a dog parent. I enjoy my motherhood with them. I don’t necessarily need to have a human child to enjoy motherhood. I have a fulfilling life already that I get to enjoy by connecting with nature or my pets. I really feel that the plants I have in my balcony are my children. I don’t need to be a mother to one child to experience motherhood.
Anubha: I also don’t have any experience of being a biological mother. But what Tonyda said about the film totally resonates with me. In fact, that was a thing which attracted me to the script in two minutes! The fact that we have bracketed even being a mother! Motherhood is something divine. No. That’s not true. Many women don’t feel very divine about it. And Ismat Chughtai has also written about this. Ismat says, ‘Ask a woman how irritated she feels at times... she’s not feeling very motherly towards the child.’ But the male has written the narrative. So, they have written that women feel so holy and Godly-like to experience motherhood. No. Many women don’t feel like that. And many men can feel like that. So that’s what I love about the film.
I’m playing the house help. As a house help, I don’t have any blood connection with anybody in this film. But I am feeling parental towards her (Jaya), towards her husband, and towards the adopted child. So for the house help, it’s a very natural and normal process to accept another human being as your own. In fact, I am leaving my own people back at home and working in another house. That is what happens in all our homes. So it is actually the feeling and that capacity to nurture. I think that is what really is motherhood.
And we get it from so many different people in our lives — boss, colleagues, younger people, and it can be momentary also. That is what is beautiful about it. Nurturing a space, plants, animals… I think that should be looked at as mothering. There is nurturing at so many different levels. The social status, gender bias…is being broken in that way. Even Saswata’s character… he’s nurturing his work, his case. He’s not nurturing this whole family. But at the same time, in a very different way, he’s nurturing his son.
Priyanka: There’s a common saying that if you love someone, then let go. But we all know that love, to some extent, is associated with possessiveness. Is love possessiveness for you as well?
Anubha: It is, of course, easier said than done. We are all, I think, evolving and growing as human beings. So I think if we can reach that space inside our emotional landscape, I think we are very close to being, you know, the most refined human beings. But it’s easier said than done. So, obviously, possessiveness is an aspect of love… but in the film, it is also exploring the idea of letting go. We talk about love in very simplistic terms, I feel. It is not so simple. It’s one of the most complex things. Not complicated but complex. It’s very nuanced. I think we bracket everything too fast and too easily because it probably makes it easy to live with brackets.
Priyanka: Jaya, in the film, you play a working woman making her own choices while the family considers her to be selfish. As a working woman yourself, how do you look at it?
Jaya: Even I do the same. I give a lot of importance to personal choices and at the same time I am very responsible as a person. So, I think I have a greater balancing ability anyway. So, I always fulfill my own desires while maintaining that balancing side of myself. I want to swim but I don’t want anyone else to get splashed with that water while I swim. I do consider whether anyone else is getting disturbed because of my choices or not. I give a lot of importance to that. But at the same time, I make sure I am not compromising on my choices.
Anubha: I think personal choices are definitely very liberating. For me, actually, I grew up with the idea of a working woman being very normal. Thanks to my parents. In my home also there was nothing like this. In fact, if I would ever see the desires of people in other families being stifled, I would always raise a question. But I understand that for a lot of people, it’s not normal even today. But for me, I just think of one thing… how dare one human being decide for another human being. It’s not even about male, female anymore. It’s just what gives us the audacity to decide for somebody else. So, I think that is the way to live. I think that is true liberation if we are all able to coexist with our own choices.
As the conversation drew to a close, thunder rumbled outside and the rain began again — soft, persistent, cleansing. There was something fitting about that. Dear Maa, like that rain, doesn’t arrive with fanfare. It seeps in, quietly, until you’re soaked through with feeling.