Samir Zaidi grew up between a Muslim father and a Hindu mother, that meant living in a world of contradictions. That shaped his understanding of nuance, duality, and the unresolved dilemmas of human nature. These were early lessons in complexity and coexisting truths that years later, became the core of his debut film, Two Sinners. The film explores the greyness of morality and the questions that define us.
Growing up, Samir was more of an observer than a talker. Over time, he came to realize that his fascination with people's quirks and contradictions was something he wanted to dedicate his life to. And that directly inspires his storytelling, imbuing his work with layered characters, moral ambiguity, and a search for authenticity. He has had years of hands-on learning and guided by the empathetic mentorship of one of the best in the business, Vishal Bhardwaj.
Below, Samir deconstructs the making of his debut film that has been selected for the BAFTA-qualifying Aesthetics Short Film Festival with Vishal Bhardwaj as the Executive Producer.
Two Sinners
The starting point for Two Sinners was, strangely enough, white hair. In 2023, while working on Charlie Chopra and the Mystery of Solang Valley with Vishal [Bhardwaj] Sir, I met an old school friend for dinner. In the middle of our conversation, he looked at me and said, 'You’ve started getting white hair.' I laughed it off, but when I looked closely, I realised it was true. And in that tiny moment of vanity and reflection, something shifted - I felt like I was running out of excuses to not make my own film. That was the night I decided to finally make Two Sinners . But the story itself had been with me for a long time. I first wrote a version of it almost seven years ago - a raw, unfiltered draft about guilt, morality, and the way violence creeps into ordinary lives. While working professionally to sustain myself, it kept developing as I did. I rewrote it many times while assisting other directors, each version absorbing something new I’d learned about people, silence, and restraint. The world of Two Sinners didn’t come from a single event, but from years of noticing how revenge, anger, and justice often coexist within the same person. It’s less about what happens, and more about how something happens inside you - the shift between the victim and the perpetrator, and the thin line that separates them.
Seven Years of Drafts
The writing process for Two Sinners stretched across years - and in a way, it grew with me. The first draft was written almost seven years ago, and with every rewrite, the story started becoming more layered, more measured, and perhaps, more mature - much like I was. All this was happening while I was working simultaneosly to sustain myself in a city like Mumbai. Though the film doesn’t explicitly state where it’s set, its world - the rhythm of speech, the silences, the moral temperature - comes directly from the Hindi belt of Uttar Pradesh, where my roots lie. The characters, their lingo, and their emotional vocabulary are all drawn from the people I’ve observed in Unnao - the way they carry their pain, their humour, and their quiet dignity. Research, for me, wasn’t about reading or data, it was about listening- to how people speak, how they pause before a truth, and how much they choose to reveal or conceal. So, in that sense, the writing room was never confined to a desk. It existed in long train rides, overheard conversations, and observation.
Step Up, Step Down
The biggest conundrum for me as a director was finding the balance between control and surrender. As a filmmaker, you’re constantly expected to take the final call on everything, but sometimes, the most important thing you can do is to relinquish control and allow the incredibly talented people around you to contribute freely. With Two Sinners, I wanted to allow for uncertainty, for silence, for the kind of emotion that isn’t fully defined. Learning when to step back and when to intervene became a constant internal negotiation.
One major dilemma was whether to shoot the film in the day or at night. For seven years, I had imagined Two Sinners unfolding under the cover of darkness. But during one of my early conversations with Vishal Sir, as we sat in his office, watching the rain outside - he casually seeded the thought of shooting it in daylight. That suggestion changed everything, and opened a door in my mind. During our recce, the forest looked breathtaking in the day, and when I shared the idea with my DOP, Ajatshatru Singh, he was immediately on board. Looking back, it was the right decision. The daylight allowed the film to breathe emotionally, it made the violence and the silence feel even more unsettling. Had it been shot at night, it might’ve gone into a far darker, almost predictable space.
In the Grey
I wanted Two Sinners to leave the audience with questions, especially the tough ones we tend to avoid. Questions of justice, revenge, and what happens when right and wrong are no longer clearly defined. My hope was to hold up a mirror to the dilemmas that shape us; to those moments when we act not out of reason, but out of something deeply human and conflicted. We live in a world obsessed with resolution, but Two Sinners is about what happens when resolution doesn’t arrive. More than anything, I want the film to provoke empathy, not sympathy, not judgment, just a quiet reflection on the choices we make when we’re pushed to our limits, and how those choices define us far more than our circumstances ever could. I hope it lingers long after the credits roll, leaving audiences questioning who the real two sinners are. The ones on screen, or perhaps the ones within us.
The Future
There’s a feature and another short film currently in development - both extensions of themes I’m drawn to: morality, memory, and the quiet chaos of human relationships. Two Sinners is continuing its journey; we’ll be having our Asian and Indian premiere at the Yellowstone International Film Festival soon, which I’m really looking forward to. Outside of film, I’m also working on a series of sketches based on my perception of Bombay, created in my single-line art style called Dori. It’s something that allows me to slow down, observe the city differently, and translate its rhythm into line and form.
Words Hansika Lohani
Date 5-11-2025