I was in the early stages of developing a coming-of-age film, when Suchitra Mattai (my wife and producing partner) happened upon an unsettling statistic: globally, nearly one in ten children under the age of fifteen is subject to child labor (i.e., labor that is detrimental to one’s health, development, and education). The figure seemed very real to us. Our own children were about that age, and they (through my wife’s side of the family) are descendants of indentured laborers from the state of Uttar Pradesh. It was disquieting to think that this ancestral past was a living present for over one hundred and sixty million children around the world.  

As the pandemic subsided, discussions about the global supply chain became a fixture in the daily news. Unsurprisingly, the coverage focused almost exclusively on the consumer-end of the story—on the scarcity of goods and the toll it was taking on the economic recovery. But the lack of attention to the supply-side of the story seemed to underscore just how easy it is for affluent communities to ignore their place in a global economic system that often contributes to the exploitation of labor, including child labor.  

We wondered why so few coming-of-age films feature the lives of working children. There was an important story here, or rather an entire universe of stories waiting to be told. So, I dove headlong into the research on child labor, paying particular attention to sectors known to export products to wealthier nations. Given my longstanding ties to South Asia—where I’ve studied, conducted grant-supported research, and worked with several nonprofits—I was lucky to have a plethora of personal contacts to draw on. I was put in touch with NGOs that provide assistance to working children and their families, such as the Kailash Satyarthi Children’s Foundation and Work: No Child’s Business. This led me to visit the Salaam Baalak Trust, where I met with working (and formerly working) children, visiting their homes, observing their work, and meeting their families. Many of these children, mostly young girls, left school at a young age in order to help support their families. 

Despite facing difficult circumstances, the girls I met were resilient, gifted, and inspiring. It was impossible not to be moved by their ability to find and to create joy amidst harsh realities. I felt it was important to make a film that was true to their experiences, but was also something they would want to watch and discuss themselves—one that drew from reality, but without focusing excessively on the doom-and-gloom. I wanted to capture that wondrous combination of magic and emotion, of innocence and mischief, which is part of childhood itself—these are kids after all, not statistics. Though every film is collaborative, this one was much more so than most. Were it not for the talent and support of the children of the Salaam Baalak Trust (especially our brilliant star, Sajda Pathan), we never could have brought this important story to the screen.