A film that’s softer than light itself, as an ode to a city that allures people from all states and all languages of the country to its promise of fulfilling their dreams. It touches upon its true spirit, not through the larger-than-life resplendence of its skyline or sealink, but through the quiet intimacy of its shared apartments, basement kisses, late-night dinner dates, confessional poetry booklets, small victories, small defeats, and above all, female solidarity.

The gloomy yet dreamy, partly-cool, partly-humid atmosphere of these little shards of a larger life works as a perfect poetic balance to the non-fulfillment of desires. Since every moment is so gently photographed, it makes Mumbai shimmer under the permanent hue of a blue moonlight; it’s too beautiful to feel let down.

Rainwater falling on skin, like God’s blessings. Trains coming to a freeze, as if pausing time. Windows calling out to be closed, to be held. And love, desperately being searched, and patiently waiting to be found. 

I’m not entirely content with the non-closure, or rather, the aimless destination, of the “plot”, but, heck, who cares, it’s all about mood here; that’s why the title, and the ending, makes sense—

It’s all in the power of our imagination; so, let the air meet the rain, let the rain meet the haze, let the haze meet the heart, and let the heart meet other hearts. 

Mumbai might be a city of illusions, but let's imagine it as a city of dreams regardless.