Homebound And The Quiet Radicalism Of Friendship Beyond Caste And Community

Some scenes do not merely pass before our eyes; they lodge themselves in the deeper chambers of memory and return unannounced, decades later, carrying the same ache. I was in my teens when I watched Sholay in a cinema hall with my parents. In the climax, as Jai (Amitabh Bachchan) lay dying in a pool of blood, having sacrificed his life so that his friend Veeru (Dharmendra) might live, I felt something break open inside me. I wept bitterly in the anonymous darkness of the cinema hall. That grief was not merely for a character on screen; it was for the purity of a bond that asked for nothing in return.

A familiar ache, decades later

Nearly fifty years later, sitting alone before a screen, I found myself crying again while watching Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound, India’s official entry for the 98th Academy Awards (Oscars 2026). The tears surprised me with their familiarity.

Chandan (Vishal Jethwa), a Dalit boy, dies of heatstroke during an arduous journey home amid the COVID-19 lockdown. He and his Muslim friend, Shohaib Ali (Ishan Khatter), work in a textile mill in Surat. After the sudden lockdown, they decide to head back to their village. Though they manage to clamber onto a truck overloaded with passengers, they are ejected midway after other passengers complain that Chandan is showing Covid symptoms. What follows is an agonising trek on foot that leaves their lives permanently scarred.

A quiet, devastating loss

Chandan, worn to a shadow by exhaustion, dies quietly—almost unspectacularly—no guns, no villainous monologue, no heroic music swelling in the background. And yet, it is devastating. Dead on his feet and stranded on deserted roads devoid of human presence, Shoaib tries desperately—and in vain—to save his dying friend.

Friendship beyond labels

What binds Sholay and Homebound, despite the gulf of time, genre and setting, is the idea of friendship as a moral force—one that defies the narrow rigidity of caste, community and social hierarchy. Jai and Veeru were not united by blood or ideology; they were bound by loyalty forged through shared danger and trust.

In Homebound, Chandan and Shoaib are similarly joined, though the world they inhabit is both ruthless and unforgiving. They are cast adrift by a society steeped in caste prejudice. It constantly reminds them of who they are supposed to be, where they belong, and how far they are allowed to go. Shoaib, before joining his friend Chandan in Surat, faces taunts and barbs at the workplace because he is Muslim. Chandan, in turn, finds the going tough even when he applies for a job in the police force, burdened by the fact of his lower caste.

Friendship, when genuine, becomes an act of quiet rebellion against such scripts. Shoaib sees Chandan not as a category but as a friend who must be saved, carried and comforted.

Limits of love in an unequal world

Yet, Homebound does not romanticise friendship as an all-conquering force. Unlike Sholay, where sacrifice brings cinematic closure, Chandan’s death carries the dull inevitability of the pandemic—offering no emotional release, because it resolves nothing and redeems no one. The film reminds us that while friendship can defy caste in the realm of feeling, it cannot always overcome the systemic indifference that governs the realm of power. Shoaib’s love is real, but the state’s absence, society’s prejudice and history’s weight prove lethal.

What endures

Still, something survives. Shoaib survives—not unscarred, but awakened. Friendship, even when it fails to save a life, refuses to die quietly. It leaves behind a residue of moral clarity. It teaches us that another way of being human is possible, even if it is repeatedly crushed. That lesson lingers, much like Jai’s final smile or Chandan’s laboured breathing on the road home.

Perhaps that is why these stories make us cry, even across decades. They remind us of a simple truth we often forget: friendship is one of the few relationships that recognises the human being beyond labels. In a hyper-polarised world, such bonds are tenuous, costly and sometimes tragically insufficient—but they remain quietly radiant, pointing, however fleetingly, towards a society that could be kinder, fairer and more fully human.

The writer is an independent journalist.

Published on: Thursday, January 15, 2026, 02:09 AM IST