Titli 2002

The story unfolds against the misty, lush jungles of the Duars in north Bengal, where morning fog curls through Buddhist monasteries and the Darjeeling toy train threads its way through scenic hills. The film centers on Titli Konkona Sen Sharma as she grows from a spirited 17-year-old girl into a young woman, her heart caught in the delicate ache of a crush on Rohit Roy Mithun Chakraborty, a Bollywood star who is more than twice her age. Posters and memorabilia fill Titli’s room, hinting at a yearning that feels both secret and inevitable, while her mother Urmila Chatterjee Aparna Sen looks on with surprised tenderness at how real those feelings can feel.

On a winding jeep ride from Kurseong to Siliguri to fetch Titli’s father, Urmila’s quiet nostalgia surfaces when Titli plays a tune that reminds her of her own adolescence. Their shared ride becomes a hinge moment: Rohit Roy himself appears as their fellow passenger, sparking Titli’s electricity the moment she sees him in person. The conversation is brief and practical—a request for cigarettes, a favor granted by a teenager’s boldness—but it’s enough to shatter the wall between fantasy and reality. As this encounter unfolds, the film opens a longer, more intimate backstory: twenty years earlier, Urmila and Rohit had been lovers, a romance that lingers in the air and in the poems Urmila recites with a hushed ache. The moment is intensified when Urmila softly quotes a line from a Shakti Chattopadhyay poem, and Titli overhears enough to sense a more complicated history behind her mother’s calm exterior.

When the jeep finally reaches the airport and Titli’s father—an avid reader of Harry Potter and a Khushwant Singh joke collection—joins them, the tension takes on a new, everyday texture. Unknown to him, Rohit’s presence is a quiet, unsettling reminder of the past; yet he greets Rohit warmly and urges Urmila and Titli to stay in touch. The trip home leaves Titli teetering on the edge of tears, confronting the possibility that her own mother may still harbor a part of Rohit’s past. The film traces this emotional weather with a careful, almost tactile sensitivity: the first day of rains becomes a recurring image of awakening and change, the fog and greenery becoming a living backdrop to every whispered feeling.

As Titli’s curiosity grows, so does the contrariness of the situation. Urmila’s warmth and openness clash with Titli’s protective love for her mother, turning their bond into a subtle competition she never anticipated. The climactic turn arrives when Rohit writes Urmila a letter about his engagement to another woman, and Urmila’s response—quiet, decisive, and finally revealing—puts an end to the suspense that has hovered over their family’s dynamic. The film thus closes on a provocative note, mirrored by a magazine cover headline—Bangali Babur Biye (Bengali gentleman gets married)—that frames the end as both a social ritual and a personal reckoning.

Throughout, the visual rhythm is as important as the dialogue: the rain-slicked roads, the soft Rabindrasangeet that Urmila sings, and the interludes of Tagore’s poetry that punctuate moments of longing. The soundtrack and the landscape sing in harmony with Titli’s inner life, making her coming-of-age feel both intimate and expansive. This is a story about desire, memory, and the complicated loyalties of family, told with a poised, stylish restraint that invites viewers to read between the lines as much as they listen to the words.

• Tara, Rukkmini Ghosh, anchors the film with a grounded presence that contrasts Titli’s fluttering dreams.

• Urmila Chatterjee, Aparna Sen, moves between tenderness and restraint, shaping Titli’s understanding of love and choice.

• Rohit Roy, Mithun Chakraborty, lingers in the memory of the family as a force that tests boundaries and truth.

• Titli, Konkona Sen Sharma, carries the film’s emotional core with a growing and nuanced vulnerability.

• Titli’s father, a loyal reader and open-minded man, remains a gentle silhouette who helps trigger the final reckoning.