Showing posts with label Neeraj Ghaywan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Neeraj Ghaywan. Show all posts

Saturday, November 22, 2025

Homebound: Hindu-Muslim Friendship in the Time of COVID, Government Apathy, Animosity and Casteism (Review 803)

Release date:

September 26, 2025

Director:

Neeraj Ghaywan

Cast:

Vishal Jethwa, Ishaan Khatter, Janhvi Kapoor, Shalini Vatsa, Harshika Parmar

Language:

Hindi 

 


I kept pinching myself while watching Homebound, to be sure I was awake. Was this a dream? Did this film actually come from the Hindi industry that has spent recent decades largely ignoring caste oppression, and the past 11 years pandering to majoritarian forces?  

 

Writer-director Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound is the story of two impoverished young men from a north Indian village – one Muslim, one Dalit – who hope that a job in the police force will give them the social standing and respect that has so far eluded them. An unexpected rivalry, further financial pressures and the COVID-19 pandemic each add new chapters to their life-long friendship.   

  

Ghaywan is an uncommon presence in contemporary Hindi filmdom, since his understanding of caste has been a hallmark of his slim but impactful body of work, starting with his debut feature, Masaan (Crematorium), that won two awards at the Cannes film festival in 2015. What makes Homebound unusual in this context is that it is produced by Karan Johar’s Dharma Productions, a company reputed for glossy films about wealthy Indians. (Dharma also produced Shazia Iqbal’s Dhadak 2, which too is an out-and-out anti-caste film – another surprise from the Hindi industry this year.)

 

Homebound was subjected to several cuts by the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC), which is currently on a warpath against cinema that acknowledges caste atrocities, as I’ve learnt during my reporting on the subject in the past two years. Having said that, given the harassment that many other Indian producers have faced at the CBFC in this decade, it is a relief that this film escaped with edits that have not ruined the experience of viewing it.

  

Homebound dwells at length on another topic for which another Hindi filmmaker, Anubhav Sinha, was penalised: Sinha’s Bheed was chopped beyond recognition by the CBFC in a bid to pare down its portrayal of government apathy during the pandemic. Homebound has survived despite this being one of its central themes. 

 

To describe Homebound as brave is, therefore, an understatement. Making it even more noteworthy is its empathy towards Muslims in a decade in which Hindi cinema has unabashedly demonised the community, going so far as to distort history to make Muslim individuals the villains of episodes in which they were, in truth, the heroes. Exhibit A: Kesari released in 2019.   

  

Ghaywan’s film was premiered at Cannes this summer, and won the International People’s Choice Award second runner-up spot at the Toronto International Film Festival. It is also India’s entry for the Best International Feature Oscar race, an arena in which it has got itself a starting-point advantage in the form of Hollywood A-lister and international film legend Martin Scorsese, who is an Executive Producer. 

 

Courage is no guarantee of cinematic qualityHomebound is effective and captivating because its political awareness is woven into an intelligently crafted screenplay, and brought to life by the scintillating performances of its young leads.   

 

Vishal Jethwa plays Chandan Kumar, who hesitates to use the surname that would disclose his Dalit identity to those around him, and does not apply for jobs in the reserved category, as is his right, for fear of being ostracised. Ishaan Khatter is Mohammad Shoaib, a hard-working youngster who remains determined and driven despite facing constant suspicion and Islamophobic jibes.

 

Shoaib is filled with a simmering rage at these injustices. Chandan is more hesitant about asserting himself, except when the need arises to defend his friend. When it comes to himself, he requires a nudge from Shoaib to claim what is due to him from the society that conspires to keep him and his people down.

 

Jethwa was chilling as a rapist-killer in 2019’s Mardaani 2 headlined by Rani Mukerji. His unfaltering turn as the immensely likeable Chandan is evidence of remarkable versatility. Ghaywan has not blackfaced him for the role, making this casting choice – of a light-skinned, light-eyed actor – a rebellion against the stereotyping of the physical appearance of Dalits on the Indian screen. 

 

Khatter stood out even when saddled with jaded writing in the streaming shows A Suitable Boy (2020) and The Royals (2025). He’s a natural before the camera, and buries himself completely here in Shoaib’s personality and milieu. 

 

The actors’ chemistry underpins Homebound’s emotional resonance. Despite its grim preoccupations, the screenplay finds space for fun, laughter and relaxation, allowing the actors to generate such warmth towards each other that I found myself willing Shoaib and Chandan to remain friends forever when tension erupts between them. Even in those moments, the writing and acting gently foreground their vulnerability and desperation, thus allowing them to retain audience sympathy. 

 

Many of the conversations in the film are profoundly political, but they are never expository, strained or sermonic.

 

These men feel real, so do their surroundings. The expressive background score by Naren Chandavarkar and Benedict Taylor rises and falls in step with Nitin Baid’s carefully calibrated editing that imbues the events unfolding on screen with the rhythm of lived realities.

 

While the representation of anti-Muslim prejudice and casteism are intrinsic to Homebound, Shoaib and Chandan are written as being not overly conscious of their differing identities except to the extent that each is protective of the other when the environment turns hostile, mirroring genuine friendships in the real world.  

 

Homebound stands by the marginalised without pedestalising them, as films sometimes do when they are created by those who do not realise that positive stereotyping too is a form of othering. For one, it points to gender discrimination in Chandan’s family. It also underlines the heterogeneity among Dalits through the medium of Chandan’s girlfriend, Sudha Bharti played by Janhvi Kapoor, whose better economic circumstances cause her to briefly take a blinkered view of his struggles. 

 

Sudha is a small player in the story, belying Kapoor’s presence in the film’s marketing – but if you ignore the impression created by the promotions, that’s really not a flaw. Small is not trivial. In a sense, she is B.R. Ambedkar’s voice in Homebound, exhorting a fellow Dalit to get an education that she views as a means to securing her and his rightful place in society. She also challenges Chandan in little ways to introspect about his patriarchal attitudes. 

 

So though Homebound is focused on two men, it is not men-centric in the way conventional commercial Indian cinema is. Chandan’s mother and sister, played by Shalini Vatsa and Harshika Parmar – both stand-out members of the solid supporting cast – are pivotal to the plot, and are given well-defined arcs despite their limited screen time.  

 

For the most part, Homebound is a nuanced chronicle of abiding friendship in dire situationssocial prejudice, callousness towards the poorest among us, claims of victimhood by those whose communities have a track record of being oppressors, and the continuing victimisation of historically oppressed social groups. The film strays from its subtlety only a couple of times, to emphasise a point already conveyed with clarity. But this is a minor complaint about an otherwise consistently mature narrative.  

 

Shoaib and Chandan’s saga is inspired by journalist Basharat Peer’s news feature titled “Taking Amrit Home” published in The New York Times (it is available online under the headline “A Friendship, a Pandemic and a Death Beside the Highway”)Peer’s article emerged from his search for two men from Uttar Pradesh, Mohammad Saiyub and Amrit Kumar, after a photograph of Saiyub cradling Amrit in his lap on the margins of a highway went viral on social media, at a time when migrant workers in Indian cities had been forced to walk hundreds of kilometers back to their villages after the Central government abruptly imposed a nationwide lockdown in May 2020 without making adequate arrangements for the poor. The film is a fictionalised account of these young men’s lives, with the story credited to Peer, Ghaywan and Sumit Roy, a screenplay by Ghaywan, and dialogues by Ghaywan, Varun Grover and Shreedhar Dubey.

 

“Interfaith friendships in India are not as uncommon as the regnant political discourse might suggest,” Peer wrote simply in his NYT profile of Saiyub and Amrit. Homebound revisits this aspect of Indian life that has been fading away from the Hindi screen in recent years, in addition to confronting the caste system. 

 

Homebound is shorn of Amar Akbar Anthony-style melodrama and overt messaging that once characterised Hindi film portrayals of communal harmony. Like that picture of Saiyub and Amrit on social media, Shoaib and Chandan’s devotion to each other speaks for itself, serving as an urgent reminder of the amity that survives among us against all odds.

 

Running time:

122 minutes in theatre listings  

 

Poster courtesy: IMDB 

 

This is a long version of an article published in The Economic Times on September 27, 2025 under the headline "Chronicle of a Friendship in Dire Times"

https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/opinion/et-commentary/homebound-chronicle-of-a-friendship-in-dire-times/articleshow/124185023.cms

 

Friday, July 24, 2015

REVIEW 341: MASAAN

Release date:
July 24, 2015
Director:
Neeraj Ghaywan
Cast:


Language:
Richa Chadha, Vicky Kaushal, Sanjay Mishra, Shweta Tripathi, Pankaj Tripathi
Hindi


Every second, every silence, every word, every glance, there’s not a moment that does not matter in a film – making a difference either for the better or worse.

I’ve watched Masaan twice this month. I would usually not do so before writing a review but in this case, I had no option. Because after the first viewing – at the Jagran festival in early July – the film’s debutant director Neeraj Ghaywan announced that what we had just seen was the Cannes cut which was 9 minutes shorter than the India cut. Damn! No choice but to see it again.

“Damn”, because at the first viewing I found Masaan endearing and perceptive only in parts, the story involving Richa Chadha did not resonate at all with me, and in its entirety I did not find the film memorable. Theek thhi, acchhi thhi, par itni bhi khaas nahin. “This was what won two awards at 2015’s Cannes film festival? Reall­­­y?” I thought to myself with deep disappointment.

As any committed film buff knows though, every second counts. And 9 minutes can make the difference between a kinda sorta nice film and a profoundly moving experience. That indeed is the Masaan I saw the second time – a seemingly simple yet intricate, insightful story about love and loss, grieving and closure, redemption, repentance and ultimately, hope and new beginnings. Set in the north Indian town of Varanasi, Masaan is rich in its interplay of caste, class, gender and faith, and without a doubt one of the most noteworthy Hindi films of the year so far.

The narrative carries with it two parallel strands. One is about a computer programming instructor called Devi Pathak (Richa Chadha) whose attempt at sexual experimentation goes horribly wrong, ruining any chance of a peaceful life for her in her home town and putting a strain on her already troubled relationship with her father, Pandit Vidyadhar Pathak.

The second story is about college student Deepak (Vicky Kaushal), a lower caste boy who falls in love with an upper caste girl called Shaalu Gupta (Shweta Tripathi). Along with his family, Deepak works on funeral pyres in this holy city where Hindus come to cremate their dead. That’s where the film gets its title – masaan means cremation ground.

The social dynamics in this small town are fascinating, and Varun Grover’s script is unrelenting in its detailing. So much is revealed with the mere mention of a name or the blink of an eye, so much left unsaid. The fleeting words of a family in conversation float towards a brooding daughter, reminding her of their radical casteist convictions. Lovers in mourning are constrained in their grief because of the clandestine nature of the relationships they shared and lost.

Despite the overt feminism of Devi’s story, the thread I found myself completely immersed in was Deepak and Shaalu’s courtship. When Aanand L. Rai’s Raanjhanaa – also set in Varanasi – was released in 2013, all criticism of the violent stalker hero met with responses such as “well, this is the nature of romance in small-town India”. Firstly, a reality is not acceptable merely because it exists. Second, normalising a horrid reality is condemnable. Third, to my mind such views come either from snooty city dwellers with a patronising view of mofussil India or small-town residents who malign their own homes and/or do not question their negatives. In Masaan the wonderfully sensitive Varun reminds us that within the constraints placed on romance in societies with extreme gender segregation, decent men find ways of approaching women they are attracted to without intimidating them or demanding their attention as a matter of right.

Aided by the excellent screenplay, Vicky Kaushal and Shweta Tripathi make Deepak and Shaalu one of the most winning couples ever to appear on the Indian screen. It is a pleasure to see such a tender romance unfold through the delicate performances of two rank newcomers. I confess to having watched them and felt an ache for a youth now gone and an innocence lost forever.

It helps that crucial scenes from this segment – their first meeting, a rendezvous at a gift shop – are in the India cut. In fact, it’s slightly disconcerting that that initial encounter was snipped out for Cannes, because the choice of scene to chop suggests a willingness to succumb to the average Westerner’s likely stereotypical notion of how relationships are conducted in conservative India.

It’s also hard to understand why, without the time restrictions that were probably placed on them in Cannes, the team cut out from the Indian version a sequence involving Deepak’s family which underlines a marginalised community’s desperate circumstances and the desperation of those compelled by caste to stick to socially derided – even if socially essential – professions. There is also a conversation about a picnic between the two leads that seems awkwardly rounded off. These are questions to be taken up with the director at some point. Nothing in this paragraph though should end up downplaying the appeal of Shaalu and Deepak’s soul-wrenching journey.

Devi is less charming yet intriguing, a woman simmering in her own dissatisfaction. Richa Chadha rises above even the contrived, half-baked reason for her resentment towards her father, to deliver a stupendous performance. To watch her stand struggling with humiliation, fear and caged fury next to a corrupt policeman is to witness something special.

Richa is surrounded by a sparkling trio in her segment – the men playing her father (Sanjay Mishra), a colleague and a cop. The little boy in the role of her father’s assistant is inconsistent. He is lovely in his sprightliness but confusingly expressionless while an adult sits weeping next to him. On the other hand, the scintillating Pankaj Tripathi from the Gangs of Wasseypur films elicits smiles while tugging at the heart in his small role as her colleague. A neatly executed scene featuring them in a restaurant (not in the Cannes cut) adds a whole new dimension to the man, transforming him from a satellite player to a primary character.

The stories of these characters are so engrossing that one almost forgets the sanitised visuals of Varanasi presented to us by this film, like most films set here. Varanasi is atmospheric, but it is also filthy. A foreigner would never guess that though from DoP Avinash Arun’s images. If Masaan is about a city and its people, warts and all, why camouflage some of the warts?

Ah well, to distort a cliché, all’s fair in love especially when you’re in love with a film. The enduring memory of this one is of Indian Ocean’s contemplative songs, Varun’s writing, Neeraj’s unobtrusive direction and characters that leave a lasting impression.


For every disciple of kismet in Varanasi, there is also a Deepak and a Devi straining at the straitjacket, and a bright, shining, spirited Shaalu, practical yet poetic, hooked on the shayari of Bashir Badr, confident and completely her own woman.

There can be no greater measure of the effectiveness of a film than that the dreams of its characters become ours, their heartbreaks become our heartbreaks, their joys our very own. That is the kind of film sweet little Masaan is.

Rating (out of five): ***1/2

CBFC Rating (India):

A (because a couple in Masaan having actual sex, consensual though it is and not graphic at all, could pollute children’s minds according to the Censor Board, but sexist and crudely suggestive ‘item’ numbers, metaphorical depictions of romanticised rape, trivialised molestation and harassment are usually awarded U/A or U ratings, especially when made by established mainstream directors, with major commercial male stars in the lead)
Running time:
109 minutes minutes