Showing posts with label Shalini Vatsa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shalini Vatsa. 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

 

Monday, August 7, 2017

REVIEW 515: GURGAON


Release date:
August 4, 2017
Director:
Shanker Raman
Cast:



Language:
Akshay Oberoi, Pankaj Tripathi, Ragini Khanna, Aamir Bashir, Shalini Vatsa, Ashish Verma, Arjun Singh Faujdar, Yogi Singha, Anna Ador, Srinivas Sunderrajan
Hindi / Haryanvi


An air of foreboding hangs heavy over Shanker Raman’s Gurgaon, the story of a family bent under the weight of years of suppressed anger, bitterness, even guilt. The unease is almost tangible when young Preet lands in the city after an education abroad. I should not have come back, she tells her friend Sophie at one point.

Preet’s father Kehri Singh, who heads a real-estate behemoth, is thrilled at her return. All his paternal warmth is reserved for his daughter while he cold shoulders her elder male siblings, including his son Nikki Singh whose arrogance camouflages a yearning for his father’s approval.

You sense Nikki’s resentment towards his sister from their very first scene together. Something has gone awry here. The arrangement of figures in this carefully constructed family portrait is confusing. Deeply conservative Haryana has one of the worst child sex ratios in India, the result of rampant female foeticide and infanticide. Not that the rest of the world is innocent of patriarchy, but Haryana’s stats are particularly shameful. A daughter here is viewed as such a huge liability that preventing her birth is considered a routine option. In a society such as this, something is clearly askew in the Singh home which offers no other evidence of being progressive, yet it is Preet who studied abroad, not her brothers; it is she whose name the business bears, and not as a hollow token of fondness either; it is Preet who Kehri sees as a natural inheritor of his business; it is her degree that he is confident will take it to new heights. 


As layer upon layer of the story is peeled away, Raman reveals Kehri’s secret that has culminated in the tensions simmering in his household. We see then that the Singhs are in fact a metaphor for Gurgaon, a city resting on destroyed ecologies and clashing cultures, where dramatic changes have not been accompanied by gender and cultural sensitisation within the education system, where an appearance of liberalism masks deep-rooted conservatism.

Nothing exemplifies this better than Nikki’s quandary over Sophie. He clearly feels a genuine liking for this lively, friendly foreigner, but has no idea how to express such emotions. He knows how to show affection to his mother, to begrudge his sister her place in their father’s plans, to be violent with the woman he hires for sex, but tenderness… how is he to deal with that?

Could he discuss this with his boy band without denting the macho image he feels driven to project? Who then can he speak to? His distant father? His forever anxious mother? The sister he hates? In the absence of an outlet, he hits out at whoever comes his way, and he broods.


Much like urban Gurgaon, Kehri’s family did not naturally come into being, but was artificially assembled like a well-strategised business model. In this household, a daughter is allocated a non-traditional role because ‘equality’ is a convenience, for the moment at least, not a conviction. She has freedom not because it is her right, but because she has been identified as a ghar ki Lakshmi and not a panauti, those being the only two labels available to female offspring in Kehri’s worldview.

Gurgaon is a film of Dunkirk-like silences more than conversations. The war here is not one of naval destroyers, tanks and fighter jets, nor between countries. It is raging all the same, as sure as any that was ever officially declared: a civilisational clash, a battle between young and old, old inhabitants and new, patriarchy and feminism, mindless traditionalism and free thinking.


Manoj Yadav’s lyrics for the song running alongside the end credits evoke images from the Mahabharat, one of the subcontinent’s greatest epics and now a synonym for the greatest battles ever fought. Most outsiders do not know this, but Gurgaon is named after the Mahabharat’s Guru Dronacharya, “gur” being short for “guru” and “gaon” meaning “village”. Ergo, this is “the village of the guru”. The title, then, is as much a literal reference to the city as a comment on its many contemporary social and cultural conflicts though sans the voice of wisdom, the Lord Krishna that Draupadi seeks but cannot find in the closing musical number.


Cinematographer Shanker Raman – who was responsible for the meticulously crafted visuals of Kashmir in Harud (2012), which he also co-wrote – makes a first-rate debut as a director with Gurgaon. His narrative style and the uncluttered writing (by Raman with Sourabh Ratnu, Vipin Bhatti and Yogi Singha), are both geared towards making a point with the least words possible.

If you have visited this busy metropolis to the south of Delhi, you will know that while on the one hand it is teeming with people and vehicles, on the other, vast stretches of the place can be intimidatingly deserted. Vivek Shah manages to catch the multiple facets of Gurgaon’s split personality through his camera, though with an emphasis on the latter. Each character in the film is alone with themselves and looking out on to a world that seems far removed from where they stand. Nowhere does this work better than in capturing Nikki’s sense of isolation. It is not that the film is indulgent towards him – it is not – but it takes us to a place where we can see why such a creature might emerge from this cauldron of contradictions and confusion.


The atmospherics generated by Shah’s cinematography and the unsettling music by Benedict Taylor and Naren Chandavarkar, serve to build up a feeling of dread from the opening shot.



Crucial to the success of Raman’s storytelling is the casting. The good-looking Akshay Oberoi plays the seemingly glacial Nikki. The fake self-assurance he conveys here is a contrast to his character’s confident innocence in 2016’s Laal Rang, making him an actor to watch out for.

As Preet in Gurgaon, TV star Ragini Khanna is virtually unrecognisable minus the layers of Hindi-soap-opera-mandated makeup. It has been six years since her film debut in the indifferent comedy Teen Thay Bhai (TTB). Preet is a far cry from Khanna’s vivacious character on the teleserial Sasural Genda Phool, and gives her the space to display her versatility in a film that is more deserving of her talent than TTB was.

Aamir Bashir – who, by the way, directed Harud – delivers a stand-out performance in a small but notable part in Gurgaon. He plays my favourite character in the film.

While each member of the ensemble cast does a fine job, the most distinctive act in Gurgaon comes from Pankaj Tripathi playing Kehri in Don Corleone-like fashion, the godfather of a crumbling family and an expanding empire. The grating voice, protruding jaw and stoic demeanour he brings to this role, so different from the measured dancerliness of Rangeela in this year’s Anaarkali of Aarah, are ample reminders of this man’s chameleon-like skills. In fact, with a hint of prosthetics around the chin, he would be a perfect choice to play the lead in a Bollywood biopic of Marlon Brando, in the unlikely event of such a film being made.

But I digress… Haryana has inspired several Bollywood films in recent years, some celebratory (Sultan, Dangal), some reflecting depressing realities (Aurangzeb, NH10, Laal Rang, G Kutta Se). Gurgaon falls into the latter category. It looks beyond the glitzy malls and swanky condominiums of this emerging Maximum City, to serve as a cautionary tale about unthinking urbanisation and the unseen worlds within our world. Like the city that is its subject, cloaking its turmoil with its gloss, Gurgaon’s pace and tone too are deceptive. The film is a slow burn but make no mistake about it: the explosion is coming.

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

CBFC Rating (India):
UA
Running time:
107 minutes 31 seconds 

Poster courtesy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gurgaon_(film) and JAR Pictures