A late monsoon rain hammers the corrugated roof of the editing suite, a steady percussion that underlines every misaligned sentence and every pause that keeps the film from breathing in Hindi. On the monitor, frames of sunlight and ruined streets play in endless loop: the protagonists—two estranged brothers—stand beneath a broken billboard for a long-closed factory. Their mouths move in French; the lives they inhabit have been translated into a different map of sounds. The dubbing reads like a map with several missing roads. This is where the fault lives.