Cannes 2025: Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound is a timely, trenchant testament to our times

It was a time when migrant workers were forced to walk thousands of miles to get to their homes, as their workplaces had shut down. As Peer followed the story of these two young men, one Dalit, the other Muslim, he found that they were Surat mill workers, sending their earnings home to a village in UP, the first to help build a ’pucca’ house, and the other to fund an operation for his father, without which he had become unable to walk.

Ghaywan’s concerns have never been hidden, right from his full-length feature Masaan to the short Juice, to a novella-length Geeli Pucchhi. He is clearly on the side of those who do no have power, and how those structures are skewed through accidents of birth and generational wealth.

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‘Poora naam kya hai, beta? Chandan? Aage kya likhte ho? Kumar. (What is your full name, son?)’ As soon as Chandan comes up with that little telling detail, the government official gets that knowing look. ‘Sher ki khaal pehnene se suar sher nahi bann jaata. (Wearing a lion’s skin cannot make a pig a lion).’

 

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While Chandan no-surname Kumar can get by with hiding the details of his non-existent surname, Shoaib Ali has nothing to hide behind. His name is a dead giveaway, and in today’s India, being Muslim, and dirt-poor deposits you on the margins of the already marginalised. His struggle to find gainful employment will find resonance in the countless instances where ‘kaagaz’ proving your identity, and consequently, fealty to the nation, have become the only way to get a foot into the door.

Homebound’s buddy film elements are placed on the highly volatile intersection of caste, class and gender, with religion added to the mix. And though there’s not much subtlety with which the film communicates its message, it is a timely, trenchant testament to our times.

Here’s hoping it finds a release soon back home. Meanwhile, the premiere, attended by the cast and crew (with producers Karan Johan, Apoorva Mehta and Somen Mishra in their red carpet best) ended with a nine-minute standing ovation.

Could this mix of mainstream production muscle and arthouse sensibility be the beginning of a new innings for Indian cinema? Should we live in hope?