A poignant exploration of home, womanhood and belonging, the Sikkimese film, ‘Shape of Momo’, directed by Tribeny Rai, quietly questions the social expectations that define women’s lives.
There are films that entertain, and then there are films that quietly stay long after the credits roll. Shape of Momo, directed by Tribeny Rai, belongs to the latter. On the surface, it is a simple story of Bishnu, a middle-aged unmarried woman who returns to her ancestral home in Sikkim after the death of her father. Yet beneath this understated narrative lies a deeply moving reflection on patriarchy, migration, belonging, and the emotional cost of choosing a life that does not fit society’s expectations.
What struck me most about this movie was not merely its story but how intensely it connects with the lives of so many of us who have left hometowns to build careers in metropolitan cities. The city changes us. It teaches us to live independently, to make decisions for ourselves, and to imagine identities beyond those assigned by our families and communities. But returning home is often a reminder that our hometowns still see us through older expectations. We are not simply welcomed back; we are assessed. Questions about marriage, conduct, lifestyle, and respectability become almost inevitable. For women, these questions carry an even greater weight because their lives continue to be evaluated through the lens of marriage and family. This is precisely what the shape of Momo captures with utmost honesty. Bishnu’s journey is deeply personal, yet it reflects a collective experience shared by countless women who have left home in search of education, employment, or simply a different life.
The brilliance of the film begins with its title. A momo is expected to have a particular shape. Anything different is immediately noticed. Women, too, are expected to fit socially acceptable moulds: the obedient daughter, the devoted wife, the caring mother. The moment they choose a different path, they are viewed as incomplete, unusual, or somehow out of place. The film transforms this ordinary food item into a powerful metaphor for conformity and individuality.
It’s important to note that what makes Shape of Momo particularly remarkable is that it never portrays patriarchy as loud or overt. There are no villains delivering lengthy speeches about women’s roles. Instead, patriarchy reveals itself through everyday gestures, casual conversations, and ordinary moments. It is this subtlety that makes the film so unsettling because these are precisely the experiences many women recognise from their own lives.
One such scene occurs late at night when an unknown man comes near Bishnu’s house to fetch water. Bishnu’s mother immediately asks him not to shout because her husband might wake up and become angry. Soon after, she quietly throws a few men’s clothes outside the house, creating the impression that a male member lives in the family. It is an extraordinary sequence because almost nothing happens, yet everything is communicated. The illusion of male presence becomes a strategy of survival. In just a few minutes, the film says more about women’s everyday vulnerability than many films manage in hours.
Another equally powerful sequence unfolds around the family’s orange orchard. Bishnu asks her mother about the money owed to them, expecting accountability from a local young boy of his village associated with their orchard. His reaction is revealing. Throughout the film, he displays visible irritation whenever Bishnu questions him or asserts herself. What is striking is that Bishnu consistently behaves with empathy and kindness towards his family, after witnessing their suffering in the hospital yet she was unacceptable. The problem is not her tone but her refusal to remain silent. The film quietly demonstrates how women who demand what is rightfully theirs are often labelled difficult, while the same behaviour from men is accepted without question.
The arrival of Gyana shifts the emotional texture of the narrative. Unlike the hostility Bishnu encounters elsewhere, Gyana enters her life gently and almost effortlessly becomes part of the family’s everyday world. His opinions matter, his presence is welcomed, and he is accepted without hesitation. The film never portrays him as an oppressive man at the first instance. Instead, it subtly reveals how easily society grants legitimacy to men. Their authority often goes unquestioned, while women are expected to constantly explain and justify their decisions.
Some of the film’s most beautiful moments emerge through food. As they eat together, on one of the occasions Gyana compliments the food but casually remarks that his mother makes the tastiest momos. Bishnu immediately asks, “Then what should I do?” It is a deceptively simple exchange. Gyana leaves in anger and silence, and the moment lingers. This scene is not really about cooking. It reflects the impossible expectations placed upon women. No matter how much they accomplish, they continue to be measured against someone else’s standard, often another woman’s. The comparison is casual, but its emotional impact is profound. The title of the film comes alive once again. Women are constantly expected to perfect not only the shape of the momo but also the shape of their relationships, emotions, and domestic roles.
And what again fascinated me most was the film’s exploration of migration. Much has been written about people leaving villages for cities, but Shape of Momo asks a far more important question: what happens when they return? For Bishnu, Delhi is not simply a workplace. It represents freedom. In the city, she is just another individual making her own choices. She is not constantly reminded of her age, her marital status, or her obligations as a daughter. Returning to her village changes that. Suddenly, her identity is no longer defined by her work or independence but by what she has not done.
The film’s most moving moment arrives in its final scene. Sitting in the backyard with her head resting on her mother’s lap, Bishnu asks a question that extends beyond her own life: why should she have to leave the village at all? Beneath the conversation lies a daughter’s longing for acceptance, belonging, and the comfort of home. Her mother’s response is gentle yet heartbreaking. She explains that the village and its social norms will never truly accommodate the life Bishnu wishes to live. In that quiet exchange, the film captures two generations of women negotiating patriarchy differently. For Bishnu, freedom lies in leaving; for her mother, survival lies in staying. Neither is wrong. Their choices emerge from different histories and different relationships with the same social world.
This is where the film deeply resonated with many of us who have left our hometowns for metropolitan cities will recognise this feeling. Migration changes more than our address. It changes our aspirations, our habits, and our understanding of freedom. When we return home, we often realise that our families and communities continue to see us as the people we once were, not as the people we have become. Conversations inevitably turn towards marriage, settling down, or whether our lifestyle has become “too modern.” Home remains a place of love, but it is also a place where conformity is quietly expected. For unmarried women, this experience is even more intense. Their choices about work, relationships, clothing, mobility, and independence become matters of collective concern rather than personal preference. The film captures this reality with remarkable restraint, never reducing it to melodrama.
*Bijayani Mishra,PhD Assistant Professor, Department of Sociology, Maitreyi College, University of Delhi,Executive Editor, Asian Ethnicity.
