Filmmaking, at its core, is a process of discovery—sometimes of a story, sometimes of a character, and often of oneself. For Anuj Gulati, his recent directorial, Wingman, was a case of all three. The tragicomedy, set in a call centre, emerged from his curiosity about the unseen lives within these spaces. What began as an exploration of certain feelings soon transformed into a film that balances humour, loneliness, and human connection in unexpected ways. “It’s been a long journey, and I’ve come to realise that my work often takes its own time to take shape,” Anuj shares. 

Anuj says Wingman began as an exploration of emotions he was experiencing, long before the pandemic reshaped our understanding of isolation and connection. The premise—though fictional—is rooted in curiosity about the unseen dynamics of call centre environments. “I’ve always wanted to make a tragicomedy, and the idea took root when I thought of placing a character in a call centre. I was fascinated by the environment, seeing these offices and the people working there, and wondering what it must feel like to be in that space. That curiosity became the seed for the film.” The film's title, Wingman, came early in the process. Initially, the story leaned heavily into the calling business itself, with the protagonist receiving calls as part of the plot. “The original version—unlike the present one with a runtime of about an hour—had an entire subplot where the protagonist receives calls, adding to the irony of his situation. However, we eventually removed that element because, in the end, the story became about him, not just the service he provides,” Anuj explains.

When it came to casting, Anuj’s instincts led him to Shashank Arora, though in an unconventional way. “I remember coming across an interview with Shashank, and something was intriguing—almost odd—about his demeanour. It caught my attention, and I thought, ‘There’s something interesting here.’” Without knowing if he would actually approach him, Anuj began shaping the protagonist with Shashank in mind. Eventually, when he did contact him, the connection was immediate. “He understood what the film was about, and he said yes. That’s how it all came together.”

Storytelling has always been central to Anuj’s filmmaking, but his approach to dialogue has evolved. “I used to be very anti-dialogue. I felt it should be as sharp and purposeful as, say, Tarantino’s. What I often see in scripts today is a lot of unnecessary lines.” Even in editing, he questioned every word. “Do I really need these two words? This one word?” Over time, he began using dialogue to enhance humour rather than just cutting it down. “It’s a natural progression rather than a deliberate shift,” he says. He says even in a scene from Wingman, a brief moment on paper turns into a major climax on screen. “That’s the beauty of storytelling—what seems small on the page can take on a life of its own.” Elaborating on this further, the filmmaker states with admiration, "I remember watching Raiders of the Lost Ark, where Indiana Jones is being chased by a rolling boulder. I looked up the script, and that entire sequence is described in just one paragraph. Yet, it’s one of the most iconic moments in the film. Sometimes, the real magic lies in what happens between the lines—when the words on the page transform through performance and direction into something much larger than you initially imagined."

Symbolism also plays a crucial role in Anuj’s storytelling, but he prefers subtlety over overt messaging. “For me, the fun of writing lies in saying things indirectly. When you commit to that approach in its purest form, the writing naturally takes more time.” He points to moments in the film, like the burial of a fish—an action that serves as a quiet moment of closure for the protagonist. “Rather than stating it outright, I wanted the audience to feel it emotionally.” The same applies to other objects in the film, like a high-heeled shoe that keeps reappearing. “It keeps entering and exiting his life until he finally discards it, serving as a metaphor for his journey,” he decodes. Anuj is meticulous about how objects and locations contribute to the story. “Even the repetition of locations reinforces the cyclical nature of his life—he’s stuck in a loop, unable to move forward. Some symbolic elements didn’t make the final cut, but the ones that did were carefully chosen. Each prop that remained was there to reflect his journey. In their own way, they tell a story too—without having to spell it out.”

Anuj calls the making of Wingman "a deeply personal journey" and acknowledges that the film resonates on a broader level. Discussing the potential takeaway from the film for the audience, he reveals, “If it serves as a cautionary tale—warning people against a path best left unexplored—then perhaps that could be one.” More importantly, he noticed a striking pattern among those who worked on the film. “The editor, the music composer, the actor, the cinematographer—subtly, they all acknowledged that there was a part of themselves in this character,” he reveals.

Looking back, Anuj sees Wingman as a process of self-discovery—both for himself and potentially for those who watch it. “Everyone has their own journey of self-discovery, their own arc, but if the film sparks a moment of reflection—if it encourages the audience to think about their own path—that, I believe, would be a meaningful takeaway,” he concludes.

And in that, perhaps, lies the quiet power of Wingman: a film that speaks volumes in what it leaves unsaid.