Some films entertain us. Some move us. And then there are films that quietly bring back people we thought we had lost. ‘Main Vaapas Aaunga’ did that for me.
On the surface, it is the story of a man searching for his grandfather’s lost love. But while watching it, I realised it was also about something else: the quiet responsibility of grandchildren to carry stories that might otherwise disappear.
As Nirvair Singh, played by Diljit Dosanjh, searches for answers in the fading memories of his grandfather Gurcharan Singh, portrayed by Naseeruddin Shah, I no longer felt like I was sitting in a theatre. I felt as if I were sitting beside my own grandfather once again, listening to his stories of Partition, migration, longing and a home he never truly left behind, a home that now lies in Pakistan-occupied Jammu and Kashmir. I suspect many grandchildren of Partition survivors will recognise something of their own families in those conversations.
We often speak about Partition through politics, borders and history. But ‘Main Vaapas Aaunga’ speaks about people. It reminds us that beyond the violence and the headlines were ordinary lives interrupted forever. Yet despite revisiting one of the darkest chapters of our past, the film refuses to be consumed by hatred.
Inherited languages
The film moves effortlessly between Urdu, Punjabi, Hindi and English. Even its music draws upon a deeper cultural inheritance, echoing the writings of Bhagat Kabir. The film understands that before borders and identities hardened, people shared languages, poetry, folklore and ways of seeing the world.
Like many of his generation, my grandfather could read and write Urdu fluently. Much of his unpublished memoir on Partition was first handwritten in Urdu before he later rewrote it in English. He also taught Urdu and Punjabi to his grandchildren. The film reminds us that Partition displaced not only people, but also cultures, languages and ways of life.
Everything we leave behind
After my grandfather passed away, I found myself drawn to stories of people like him, stories of migration, separation and homes left behind. Perhaps that was one of the reasons I joined the 1947 Partition Archive’s oral histories programme. Founded over a decade ago, the archive has recorded the testimonies of more than 10,000 Partition survivors and also contributed to the research for ‘Main Vaapas Aaunga’. It was there that I recorded my first interview with a Partition survivor.
Watching the film, I realised that longing may be one of Partition’s most enduring legacies, not always a longing to return to a place, but to a time, a relationship or a version of life that no longer exists. During my conversations with my grandfather in his final years, I often noticed that while he had forgotten most of the things, certain memories remained remarkably vivid; stories of his village, the people he left behind. Watching the film, I was reminded that when memory begins to recede, it often clings to what remains unfinished.
If my grandfather were alive today, I would have taken him to watch this film. Not because it would have healed old wounds — some wounds become part of who we are — but because he would have recognised himself in it.
Why it works
Naseeruddin Shah is the emotional centre of the film. As a man struggling against the erosion of memory, he brings both warmth and quiet heartbreak to the role, often feeling less like an actor and more like an elder recounting stories from his own life.
As a third-generation Partition survivor, there were moments when the film came uncomfortably close to home. It makes you grieve for places you have never seen, miss people you never knew, and carry memories that were never entirely your own.
By the time the film reaches its closing moments, accompanied by Diljit Dosanjh’s hauntingly beautiful song, it leaves you with something far greater than nostalgia. It leaves you with a renewed awareness of our shared humanity and a troubling question: if we continue to remember the pain of Partition nearly eight decades later, why do we so often remain indifferent to the suffering, displacement, and migrations unfolding around us today?
— The writer is a freelancer
