In the narrow, spice-scented alleys of Mumbai, and Popat were known as the kings of the "Small-Time Hustle." Their latest masterpiece? Selling "vintage" cricket bats that were actually just driftwood polished with shoe shined and hope.
Sunny, ever the optimist, thinks they’ve hit the jackpot. Popat, ever the coward, is already packing his bags for a village he hasn’t visited in ten years. They plug in the drive and find a digital map leading to a forgotten vault beneath an old, crumbling cinema hall—The Royal Talkies.
The hustle has officially begun, and in the world of Jhol Jhal , the only rule is: