Banerjee doesn’t merely flip the gendered names of its leads, Sandeep and Pinky; she is the tough banker owning a R2 lakh bag; his lower class roughness conceals a tenderness within. Moreover, they belong to two Indias. In Pithoragarh, they pretend to be a couple while staying in the house of Uncle and Aunty (Raghubir Yadav and Neena Gupta), whose performances effortlessly leave the lead stars in the shade. We see our deep-rooted patriarchy: Aunty asks Sandy to make rotis; Hinglish-speaking Uncle, after Sandy has tried to redeem his bank deposits, nonetheless credits Pinky. The entitled Uncle constantly shuts down Aunty. There is a terrific lunch moment, when Sandy tells Pinky, “Don’t talk about things you don’t know about.” There is a gobsmacked silence: can an Indian woman really tell her husband to shut up in public? Sandy also sees the impact of their scam on a family’s savings.

The couple tries to escape as part of the wedding baraat of Munna (a charming Rahul Kumar). In a vitriolic Banerjee touch, the getaway vehicle is not some cool SUV, but a ‘dahej truck’ (dowry truck) in the baraat, with a washing machine, bike and more. There’s also an elaborate cross-dressing sequence in the film. But for cross-dressing, our gold standard is Vijay Sethupathi in Thiagarajan Kumararaja’s Super Deluxe (Tamil), and no one comes close.

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The film is a welcome addition to Banerjee’s remarkably diverse work, including Oye Lucky! Lucky Oye!, LSD: Love Sex aur Dhokha, Shanghai and Detective Byomkesh Bakshy! His direction is strong; he mashes genres, and his socio-political commentary remains as sharp as ever. The writing, by Banerjee and Varun Grover, is layered. Still, we don’t know why key characters are the way they are. Why does the wealthy, educated Sandeep scam the middle class? Why was Pinky suspended? Why does a convict in an Indian jail look healthy and radiant, like in an ad for Gold’s Gym? The dialogues are brilliant. In a laugh-out-loud moment, the superb Ahlawat ‘reports’ on his men destroying a car they’re tailing, “W-o-h toh Maggi ban gayi, Sir.” Given the writers, it could well have been a comment on the state of the nation. When the police shoot the wrong guys dead, Ahlawat smirks, “Ab banao Pakistani inko.” 

Cinematographer Anil Mehta’s bravura shots include a long pan, starting from the baraat below, following a kid dancing on a terrace, that tilts down to the police waiting on a bridge on the other side. The fluid pan becomes a musical bridge as well, underlining our porous borders. The film, produced by Dibakar Banerjee Productions and Yash Raj Films, has a delightful twist in the climax, and also shows why pink can be so liberating.

Meenakshi Shedde is India and South Asia Delegate to the Berlin International Film Festival, National Award-winning critic, curator to festivals worldwide and journalist. 

Reach her at meenakshi.shedde@mid-day.com