I had the honor of attending the private screening of Anuja at Soho House in London, followed by a moving Q&A session with the film’s director, Adam J. Graves, and producer, Suchitra Mattai, moderated by Misan Harriman.

Anuja is a poignant short film that tells the story of a gifted 9-year-old girl forced to choose between pursuing an education and continuing to support her family by working in a garment factory. The film’s themes of resilience, sacrifice, and the harsh realities of child labor left me and the audience deeply moved.

With breathtaking cinematography and unforgettable performances by its young stars, Anuja goes beyond storytelling—it’s a call to action, reminding us of the lives often overshadowed by the conveniences of the global consumer industry. The weight of the story lingers long after the screen fades to black. I felt it in my chest, in the uneasy silence that filled the room before the applause. There’s something about the way the film captures stillness, how it sits with its characters, how it refuses to turn away. It doesn’t manipulate emotions—it simply shows. And that is precisely why it hits so hard.

And then, as if the emotions of the film weren’t enough, came the Q&A.

A Behind-the-Scenes Conversation That Was Just as Powerful

“With the world being the way it is today… big parts of the garment industry feel to me like a crime scene,” Misan opened. “And to see that you’ve made this film now feels more important than ever before. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for doing this.”

Adam nodded. “This film lives and dies by the performances. From the start, we knew we wanted to cast from the community affected by child labor. We worked with the Salambal Trust, and they introduced us to Sazda Battan and Ananya Shambhag. We saw hundreds of self-tapes, but Sazda—she had something completely different. She had this quiet intensity, this weight in her eyes, and she was only nine years old.”

Suchitra jumped in. “Ananya was a different story. She wasn’t an actor—she was a Bharatanatyam dancer. But her movement, her expressiveness, was extraordinary. You could see the story in her body language. That’s why we cast her.”

Misan leaned in, intrigued. “So neither of them had acted before?”

“Not at all,” Adam confirmed. “And that was the best thing about it. There was nothing performative about their work. It was just real.”

There was a moment of silence as the weight of that sank in. Then Misan asked what everyone in the audience was probably wondering:

“The factory scenes… I mean, they were suffocating to watch. You could feel the heat, the exhaustion, the walls closing in. What was it like shooting those?”

Adam exhaled. “Tough. We shot in a real working factory in Delhi, and let’s just say the owners weren’t exactly thrilled when they realized what we were doing. In one scene, Ananya had to deliver this incredibly emotional moment while we were literally being told to wrap up and leave. But she nailed it. And I think that intensity—you can feel it on screen.”

“You absolutely can,” Misan agreed. “And visually, the film is stunning. That moment with the water droplets… I mean, that shot was like a painting.”

Adam smiled. “That was our cinematographer, Akash Raje. He’s 23, fresh out of film school, but his instincts are unreal. We shot the entire film on a single-camera setup, always keeping it intimate, always framing it in a way that felt close, almost claustrophobic. The water-dropping scene—it’s such a small thing, but sometimes the smallest details say the most.”

I could see people in the audience nodding. It’s something you don’t think about until someone points it out, but Anuja is full of moments like that—simple but loaded with meaning.

Misan turned the conversation to something bigger. “The film doesn’t just feel like a story set in India. It feels universal. Was that intentional?”

Adam didn’t hesitate. “Of course. The exploitation in the garment industry—it’s not just an ‘over there’ issue. Every time we buy cheap clothes, we’re complicit in this system. We wanted Anuja to remind people of that. This isn’t something happening in a vacuum.”

Suchitra added, “One in ten children worldwide is engaged in child labor. That’s the reality. We didn’t want to just show suffering. We wanted to show resilience, too. Because these kids are strong. Anuja isn’t just a victim—she’s a fighter.”

That hit hard. Because if there’s one thing Anuja does, it’s remind us that behind every statistic is a real person. A child with dreams, fears, and choices no child should have to make.

As the conversation wrapped up, Misan asked one last question. “What do you hope people take away from this?”

Adam looked at the audience. “I hope people start asking questions. I hope they think about where their clothes come from, who makes them, what their lives are like. We can’t fix everything overnight, but awareness is a start.”

Suchitra nodded. “And I hope they see the beauty in these kids. In their resilience. Because despite everything, they still find joy. They still dream.”

A Film That Leaves Its Mark

Walking out of that screening, I knew I had just witnessed something special. Anuja isn’t just a film—it’s a wake-up call. The cinematography is breathtaking, every shot a quiet work of art. The acting, from two girls with no prior experience, is some of the most honest and heartbreaking I’ve seen.

But more than that, Anuja forces us to look. To see what we often choose to ignore. And once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

This is a film that stays with you. And maybe that’s the first step toward change.

Now officially nominated for an Academy Award for Best Live Action Short Film, Anuja is not only making an impact—it’s making history.