September 2025. Having a deep connection with Rajasthan, especially Jaipur, I was drawn to this film like a moth to a flame.  Having witnessed many Rajasthani women whirl in ghagras and odhnis with borlas gleaming on their foreheads, as a child, I carry the centuries-old “sufi”-like whirling dance ghoomar in my soul. The circular rhythm, the words—“Mhane ramtana kajal teeki lya do ne ma, ghoomar ramva me jaoon”—thrum in my heartbeat.

There are films that entertain, and then there are those that make you think. Ru Ba Ru, set against the stark, sun-beaten desert of Rajasthan, is the latter. It is a poignant, poetic journey of two sisters who live where celebration and sorrow intersect. Wielding and welding their cultural roles to challenge deeply entrenched constraints.

Sisters in Ritual, Sisters in Struggle

At the heart of the film are two women: one a Nachaniya, vibrant and celebratory; the other a Rudaali, somber and sorrowful. These roles, deeply rooted in folklore and often worn by marginalized women, are portrayed with dignity. The sisters are flawed, proud, broken, but hopeful. Fully human.

From the Q&A, Farauq Malik who wrote the screenplay observes that “being simple of heart and not overly cerebral made the sisters relatable with their emotional vulnerability.” Kapil Tanwar, who hails from Rajasthan, adds that observing “the strength of the women in my life and witnessing their battles with societal expectations” helped him shape them so “their imperfections and silences were crucial.” Together, these reflections show how the characters were constructed with honesty, not idealization.

Patriarchy, & Social Margins 

The society portrayed in Ru Ba Ru is deeply patriarchal. Class, reputation, and marital status—these still shape a woman’s worth. Unmarried women are marginalized; their autonomy constrained; their value judged by tradition rather than merit. Ru Ba Ru places the two sisters in that terrain, demanding emotional labor from them while withholding their dignity. Their journey becomes one of resistance—edgy, painful, unyielding, and yet strangely redeeming.

Voice to the voiceless

The Q&A emphasized the sisters’ roles: Nachaniya performing, Rudaali mourning. They are more than the ritual; they are their livelihood, their identity. The film’s rugged texture of pitting joy and grief in a Rajasthani tradition is powerful. Ancient music and dance are woven deeply into its structure, giving “voice to the voiceless,” said Farauq Malik.

Call of the Desert

The film’s soundtrack weaves in evocative strands of Rajasthani folk music, blending in Kesariya Balam and ghoomar. Kesariya Balam Aavo Ni Padharo mharre des.., whose saffron imagery and longing for home evoke the emotional call of the desert. Ghoomar serves not just as dance but as an identity of a communal voice, and resilience, despite all odds. The music reminds me of my dear mother, a proud daughter of Rajasthan. These musical elements don’t merely embellish the film; they root it in cultural memory. When a sister steps into dance or grief, their voice is steeped in traditional cadence. Rajasthan emerges not just as a backdrop but as a pulsating participant.

Visual Poetry

Visually, Ru Ba Ru is stunning. Well deserving of the Best Cinematography award at the 7th AIFF. The visuals create a sense of nostalgia for those who have lived in Rajasthan. Sunrises and sunsets blush lotus and saffron hues. Camels, bullock carts, motorbikes, and tractor trailers trudge across shifting sand dunes; ancient havelis and crumbling cenotaphs frame history and lore. The sleepy town, shaded courtyards, humble dwellings, dimming kerosene lamps, rustic motions of transport create a sense of place. The visuals stay with you: sad eyes behind wind-blown ghunghats, a mother swallowing her grief whilst eavesdropping on her daughters as they rock each other to sleep.

Some images linger: the sisters perched on a broken cenotaph, counting rupees earned through emotional labor. It is survival, not spectacle. Another image shows them claiming their agency by languishing on a charpoy at a roadside dhaba, among men.