Dr Toyeba Mushtaq
We Are Faheem And Karun is shot entirely in the breath-taking yet complex landscape of Kashmir, the film captures not just the beauty of the region but the layered, often unheard, realities of its people.
The Director, Onir who is known for his sensitivity, courage, and commitment to authentic narratives makes this film one of the first Kashmiri language films about queer community. His vision has given space for raw performances, which is all about living the story, embodying truth, and letting the land speak through the characters.
For me, it’s in the quiet precision of the small things—the devotion to getting Srinagar right (yes, not ‘Shrinagar’, but Srinagar). It’s in Karun’s tender call to his mother—“no one is throwing stones at me, they are friendly”—or Faheem’s weary, sharp truth: “what’s new, we are always the suspect.” The film carries me back to Kashmir not with grand statements, but with the intimate textures of place—the cawing of crows stitched into the background score, the wind caught between mountains like a breath held too long, the restless hum of rivers and relentless honking in crowded bazaars. I hear the mutton being pounded for Wazwan, the far-off Azaan drifting like memory, the lullabies and old folktales that soften the film’s edges. A glimpse of vegetables strung up to dry before winter—a ritual quietly sacred. The neighborhood baker, keeper of warm bread and warmer gossip. The morning prayers echoing through a local school. These are not just sounds or images; they are a homecoming. Onir has got the essence of Kashmir right.
Onir’s body of work has always carried a deep emotional resonance, often exploring themes of identity, love, and marginalization with rare sensitivity. His films—like My Brother… Nikhil and I Am—don’t just tell stories; they invite the viewer into intimate, often silenced spaces. There’s a palpable compassion in the way he portrays human vulnerability, making his cinema not just socially relevant, but deeply personal. For anyone who has ever felt unseen or unheard, Onir’s work offers a quiet but powerful affirmation: you matter.
The symbolism used in the film is nuanced and so poignant. One of the rivers winding through Kashmir is known as Kishanganga on one side, Neelam on the other. Faheem’s mother, with quiet wisdom, asks—what difference does a name make, when all the river longs for is to flow? To move, unburdened by borders or labels, carrying its song through mountains and memories alike. In another scene “Encounter? Just another thrill,” the tourist shrugs—encounter ka mazza le liya. But a voice rises, steady and wounded: how can you speak of excitement when blood has soaked this soil? When lives have been silenced, not staged? What to one is a spectacle, to another is grief that never leaves.
Perched high above the village, the main army bunker gazes down like a silent sentinel. It does not speak, yet its presence echoes the language of power—its concrete walls heavy with the weight of control, surveillance, and the quiet tyranny of watchful eyes.
The film reminded me of one of his earlier films called I AM – an anthology of four short films and I Am Megha was one of them, the film that dared to show the authentic cost that people (people; not Hindus not Muslims) have to pay to be living in a conflict zone. A gaze that isn’t an outsiders perspective or a Eurocentric gaze or a Birds Eye point of view but unapologetically local. Shot on location in the breathtaking, often overlooked valley of Gurez, Onir’s film pulses with authenticity—local artists, actors, singers all woven into its fabric. One actor put it simply, and powerfully: “I loved acting in this film, because for once, we weren’t playing terrorists—we were just ourselves.”
We Are Faheem and Karun lingers long after the credits roll—not because it shouts, but because it listens. The film is tender without being sentimental, raw without being exploitative. What struck me most was its refusal to flatten its subjects into symbols. Faheem and Karun are not case studies in resilience; they are living, breathing individuals—messy, joyful, angry, brave—insisting on their right to simply be. The camera doesn’t just observe; it accompanies. More like being invited into a shared space of trust, discomfort, and unexpected grace.
The actors (Akash Menon as Karun, Mir Tawseef as Faheem, Mir Salman as Zaid, Sana Javeid as the Mother, Bashir Lone as the Father) in We Are Faheem and Karun carry the film with a quiet, grounded strength. There’s no performative flair—just lived truth. Many are local, their accents, gestures, and silences deeply rooted in the soil of Gurez. Their presence doesn’t feel acted but inhabited, as if they are not stepping into roles but stepping forward as themselves. It’s this unpolished honesty that makes every glance and line linger.
This film is a lived experience, crafted with honesty, respect, and an unflinching gaze. It is a testament to what cinema can be when it dares to tell stories that matter, in voices that have long been silenced.
Go and watch the film if you can—it’s making its way through the film festival circuit right now, carrying with it stories that deserve to be witnessed.
Author Can be reached out at: toyebapandit@icloud.com
