To whom did he make that promise? Is it to the love of his life, Jiya, aka Afsana, brilliantly portrayed by Sharvari? Or is it to his homeland, Sargodha, which is now in Pakistan?
The story takes us back to the time before Independence, when our country was still undivided and ruled by the British. We are told that Independence is around the corner, and so is the Partition. The people are assured that they don't have to take sides, that they won't be forced to shift, and that they can continue living where they are.
The starry-eyed Ishar, who is affectionately called Keemu, decides that he will stay put because that is where his home is, and that is where his world is. However, life takes its own turns, and he is eventually forced to move away from both his home and his world.
Since then, Ishar Singh Grewal has lived a very tormenting and unsettling life. He has made a success of himself in terms of accumulating wealth and establishing a business empire. However, in the eyes of his own children, he is a loveless and heartless man. In his own eyes, he is a failure—somebody who couldn't keep his promise, somebody who has lost most of his family members.
His grandchild, Nirvair, played by Diljit Dosanjh, tries to understand what his delirious grandfather is trying to convey and becomes intrigued by the tale of his grandfather.
In a nutshell, this is the story. This is an incoherent story of a delirious, ailing man—and what his grandchild understands from it.
The wonderful editing by Aarti Bajaj cuts seamlessly between the present and the past. In the same delirious, confusing manner, Ishar Singh Grewal talks about Martians, Russia, and even Mexico. It all feels very incoherent, yet the moment we are shown why he says those things through snippets from the past, everything makes sense.
The portrayal is so brilliant that Naseeruddin Shah gives so much life to a character who is dying. We empathize with him, and it makes us wonder about all the elderly people around us and the kind of lives they must have lived. Because to us, they have always been these elders, these strict parents, or aloof grandparents. But they had a life too, and life has made them who they are today. That realization hits really hard.
This movie also starts as a love story between Ishar Singh Grewal, that is Keemu, and Jiya. Jiya, brilliantly portrayed by Sharvari, is definitely a refreshing personality on screen. She is charming and bubbly, though she is always anxious about the future, and constantly fears that Kimu is going to leave her. Yet, she remains spirited.
Keemu, played wonderfully by Vedang Raina, on the other hand, is completely lovestruck and awstruck at the knowledge that the love of his loved him back. He is a romantic who writes poems and day dreams. At the same time, he is deeply unsettled about the future. He is always disturbed, and he says that is what love makes people become.
So while this love story is, of course, the baseline of the film, that's not all. There is another parallel love story that is equally important and equally heartbreaking—a love for one's homeland.
The film questions what home is, what a homeland truly means, and what it means to be a refugee. It talks about generational trauma and how it can ruin not just one generation, but several generations that follow. The story is moving. It gives us a glimpse of what must have happened during Partition. We have always been told stories of Independence, but we are rarely told the stories of Partition and of people who were forced to leave their hometowns, their identities, and start afresh. This little snippet of history is depicted with a generous dose of violence—or should I simply call it realism - shakes us and shatters us just as much as the separation of Keemu and Jiya does.
In a way, this story is presented in the style Imtiaz Ali is known for—very Love Aaj Kal-esque. The only difference is that the love story of the present isn't explored with the same depth as the love story of the past. Diljit Dosanjh's character has a girlfriend, and their relationship is depicted at a very surface level. There are meaningful scenes between them, but something about the portrayal, or perhaps the fleeting way in which it is presented, makes it feel superficial. Or was that intentional? Because perhaps the point is that today's relationships are superficial, and people have become increasingly commitment-phobic.
It is interesting to see another parallel. On one hand, there is a dying 95-year-old man who regrets that he couldn't keep a promise and couldn't stay in his homeland. On the other hand, his grandchild is unable to make a promise at all. He is so restless that he keeps changing jobs, homes, and even the countries he works in.
Overall, this is not a movie that can simply be watched once and either appreciated or criticised. This is a film that I am sure will grow with time, with every rewatch. Because this is not just a movie—it is an emotion, conveyed with so much conviction that it completely moves us. It makes us wonder: was this movie really made in our times? Because it feels so precious and pristine.
A.R. Rahman's music only adds to the magic of this film. It is so beautiful that, at times, it feels like a soothing lullaby. There is so much silence in the background that it becomes enough. At the same time, there is such soulful music that it somehow still doesn't feel like enough.
This movie is a poem on screen. The cinematography by Sylvester Fonseca presents the past with a touching vibrancy. Every frame carries warmth, nostalgia, and pain in equal measure.
Overall, this is a movie that must be watched and experienced in theatres, and then experienced several more times once it releases on OTT.
I see a lot of criticism for this movie from reviewers. Honestly, I don't know what they watched or why they are saying what they are saying, because this is one of a kind—and the kind that deserves to be celebrated.
