Director's Note

I came to this country with a suitcase, a job offer, and the same quiet hope carried by so many immigrants — that hard work and good intentions would be enough. Over time, I realized how conditional that belonging could be. Sixty Days of Grace comes from that realization — from the quiet fear of knowing your life can be uprooted by a letter or a policy, from the exhaustion of always having to prove your right to stay, to exist, to be seen.

This is a story about liminality — about being suspended between two worlds, two identities, two futures. It’s about the disorientation of waiting in that space, where nothing feels solid and every decision carries outsized weight. The film doesn’t try to resolve that tension. Instead, it sits with it — patiently, honestly. It follows a man who is neither fully here nor quite ready to leave, who is trying to understand what remains when stability, certainty, and even love begin to fall away.

Our story isn’t about outrage or grandstanding. It’s about the in-between: the silence after bad news, the ache of watching someone leave, the dignity in small acts of defiance. The tone is patient, observational, and deeply human. I wanted to capture what it feels like when the world keeps moving and you’re standing still, waiting — for a call, a visa, a reason. The characters don’t speak in slogans. They hesitate, fumble, choose safety, choose love, mess up, try again. That’s the space I wanted this film to live in — honest, stripped of melodrama, and full of moments that feel lived rather than performed.

Saurav