The title means “Wound”, and it’s well-chosen. The wound referred to is not only a personal one, but a national one. Although the excuse is religion, there’s little evidence of a religious basis to the mounting hatred that drives this feud that threatens to turn into civil war. Angry militants on both sides slaughter innocent civilians on both sides, which, as with all conflicts of this nature, only inflames the hatred.
The calm at the centre of this storm is Ajay, a famous singer, played by Ajay Devgan. His brooding good looks and strong physical presence suit the role beautifully, and fortunately for us the writer lets him act out the conflicts, instead of simply weighing things down with expository narrative (as would happen in a national cinema that I won’t name). Ajay doesn’t often explain himself, and we are left to discern his feelings from his actions and expressions.
The background is told in flashback, fleshing out the characters of the previous generation. We get the beautiful mother of young Ajay (and later Anand), the famous father torn between love and duty, the inflexible and hate-filled grandmother, and the unloved but compassionate wife. Although like all Indian cinema the film is drenched with emotion, it doesn’t seem either cloyingly sweet or hysterically tragic. Instead, we find a moving story of love trying to bridge the gap made by bigotry, enacted both in the past and the present.
There’s no dancing in this one, believe it or not. And no duets, although there is music. Such levity would demean the message: that this wound can only begin to heal with intelligence and compassion from all. A serious message, a deadly problem, and a finely-balanced presentation. See this one, it will do you good.