The Ganga does not ask permission before flowing. It moves through places carrying prayer, decay, memory, and silence. ‘Masaan’ felt like that river. Set in a city forever standing between life and death, the film moved through Banaras without haste. The stillness, the pauses, the unsaid grief, it touched something raw. In 2015, when Hindi cinema was leaning toward noise, ‘Masaan’ chose to listen.
In doing so, Neeraj Ghaywan became a promising debutant, attentive to the weight people carry — guilt, loss, and love, often without language. The film went on to win major honours at Cannes, including the FIPRESCI Prize.
Nearly ten years later, ‘Homebound’ carries forward that same sensibility. The river changes its course, but the water remains familiar. There is dust instead of ghats, restlessness instead of resignation, and the fragile strength of friendship shaped by social boundaries that refuse to loosen. The film does not shout its politics; it allows them to surface through accumulation, through emotion, and endurance. Mentored by Martin Scorsese, who came on board as executive producer, the film travelled widely, eventually becoming India’s official Oscar entry.
Now streaming on Netflix after its global journey, ‘Homebound’ has arrived at the International Film Festival of Kerala. On the sidelines of the festival, in a free-wheeling chat with TNIE, Neeraj speaks about cinema, representation, reality, the necessity of empathy and more.
Excerpts:
Your films are very rooted in lived reality, and they flow so naturally, rhythmically. What first drew you to telling stories in this way?
I think it comes from noticing what kind of stories are being told and, more importantly, which ones are not. People make films about rich or urban lives, and even when they talk about small-town characters, there is often a sense of looking down on them, laughing at how they speak, how they don’t know English, or how they live.
But nearly 60 per cent of our population comes from an agrarian economy and lives in villages. Sadly, Hindi cinema barely talks about them. Stories from marginalised communities are almost never placed at the forefront. I feel there is a real need to tell these stories, and since not many people are doing it, I feel compelled to.
It is also personal. I come from that community myself. So maybe my own reflection and my own connection with people from the marginalised communities have turned into a need within me, making me do it.
In your films, every character is allowed to exist with their flaws. What made you choose to approach your characters that way?
Human beings are inherently layered. You cannot box them into neat categories of right and wrong. I feel we are living in a very sad moment globally, there is so much hatred, violence, othering, and dehumanisation.
More than ever, we need to sit across from one another, try to understand each other, and even agree to disagree without losing our shared humanity. Empathy is essential, even empathy for those we consider adversaries. That has been my approach with this film, and that is the message I am trying to convey.
As a filmmaker whose work largely engages with social realities in the country, how do you view the pressures facing independent cinema today, from the state scrutiny on one side to market algorithms on the other?
For filmmakers like me, both are serious concerns. Both pressures often lead to self-censorship. You start worrying whether something will not sit well with the state, or whether audiences will get bored, or whether a quiet, lingering moment will fail commercially.
These pressures make it difficult to create freely. That’s why the survival of independent cinema is so important right now, even though there is very little one can do to completely escape these constraints.
How do you see the growth of independent cinema in India today?
I don’t know if independent cinema exists in the same way it once did, because we no longer have strong institutional support for it. Most filmmakers now rely on international co-productions. That’s one of the reasons I collaborated with Dharma Productions, and to their credit, they were open and happy to make the film.
What we are making today are independent-minded films rather than strictly independent cinema. In other regions, like Kerala, independent cinema is still very alive and thriving. There are some amazing films coming from there.
In Hindi cinema, however, I think it will take time, especially for audiences. Post-pandemic, viewing habits and audience tastes have changed significantly.
Do you think there has been a real shift in power dynamics, or is the idea of independent cinema being diluted within the mainstream ecosystem?
I don’t think we should pit mainstream and independent cinema against each other. They are different, but one often enables the other. The success of a mainstream film can help fund an independent one.
Also, we should not look down upon mainstream cinema. All forms of movies need to exist. Some audiences seek entertainment through songs, dance, comedy, action, or romance, while others look for deeper meaning.
The reality is that money circulates in a certain way. If a studio makes a `300-crore blockbuster and then funds a `25-crore independent film, the losses on the smaller film are easier to absorb. That financial cushion gives filmmakers creative freedom. Without that ecosystem, it would be very difficult for independent cinema to survive.
There’s a constant debate around cinema, whether it should primarily entertain or engage more deeply. Where do you stand on that?
I don’t think cinema is about delivering a message. It is an art form that makes you question yourself or your surroundings. Entertainment does not only mean laughing out loud or dancing to a song. Sometimes, entertainment lies in how a film makes you feel, forming a personal connection, lingering in your thoughts, or intellectually stimulating you. It can also open a window to a world you have never seen before. So, reducing entertainment to just songs, dance, or thrills is limiting. Different people experience cinema in different ways, and all those experiences are valid.
As Indian films reach wider global audiences, how does that visibility shape creative choices, if at all?
I understand the concern. If you are aiming for certain festivals, there is often an unspoken cinematic language or expectation that comes with it. But I believe our Indian emotions should not be watered down. We should express ourselves as we are, even if it does not immediately suit a European palate. Cinema, after all, is a universal language. We can keep our stories rooted and honest without sanitizing them for global consumption. Slowly, I hope, we will reach a point where our cinema is seen and accepted on its own terms.
Do you watch Malayalam cinema? What are your thoughts on it?
I love Malayalam cinema. Unfortunately, I have not had the time to watch many films over the past two years because I have been working continuously without a break. The last film I really enjoyed was Kumbalangi Nights. I loved it. Fahadh Faasil is an incredible actor, truly one of the best. I would love to work with him someday.
What is your opinion about festivals like IFFK?
IFFK is very special. The audience here is extremely informed, politically aware, technically aware, and deeply engaged with cinema. It feels like a filmmaker-driven festival. Audiences watch films diligently and ask thoughtful, relevant questions. That culture makes it a wonderful space to present your work. And of course, Kerala itself is such a beautiful place, which adds to the experience.
When you imagine Indian cinema ten years from now, what worries you, and what gives you hope as a filmmaker who believes cinema must engage with society rather than escape from it?
What worries me is that even today, films are largely made by and about just 15% of the population, mostly from upper-caste, privileged backgrounds. The subjects, the actors, the stories, everything revolves around them. The remaining 60% of the population has barely been represented. My fear is that ten years from now, this imbalance may still exist. However, I also have hope. With consistent efforts and continued conversations, I believe we will eventually address the elephant in the room - caste. I hope Indian cinema becomes more representative of the country as it truly is, rather than reflecting only a small, privileged section of society.