Why Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound, India’s Oscar pick backed by Karan Johar and Martin Scorses, refuses to play nice

Dubai: Let’s face it—every time India sends a film to the Oscars, the discourse splits into two neat camps: those chest-thumping about 'India on the global map' and the skeptics rolling their eyes at yet another 'festival-friendly' slice of poverty popcorn entertainer.

Enter Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound starring Ishaan Khatter and Vishal Jehtwa, which doesn’t neatly fit into either box.

It’s not exoticised misery porn for the Western gaze, nor is it glossy escapism that Bollywood often packages as our cultural export. Instead, it’s a raw, tender, and occasionally gutting study of friendship, caste, faith, and everything that makes India both beautiful and broken.

And here’s the kicker—it’s being mentored by Martin Scorsese and championed by Karan Johar. Yes, you read that right. In what might be cinema’s strangest arranged marriage, the high priest of gritty realism and the flagbearer of candyfloss Bollywood have rallied behind Ghaywan’s film. If that isn’t proof of Homebound’s disruptive energy, I don’t know what is.

Now, Ghaywan is the first to acknowledge how films like his get judged.

“I’d like to talk about my intention… I’m not doing this for festivals,” he told me, adding that his “larger quest” has always been to focus on “people who are otherwise ignored, otherwise not mainstream—villages, Dalits, Muslims, marginalised voices.”

His goal, he stressed, was to “explore and understand their world and put it out with utmost honesty and integrity.”

That honesty hits where it hurts. At a recent premiere packed with Bollywood insiders, audiences used to Shah Rukh Khan swagger and song-and-dance spectacle were visibly shaken.

“Many people told me that we didn’t want to come out of the theatre and face the privilege that we have,” Ghaywan recalled. And maybe that’s the point: Homebound isn’t designed to flatter; it’s designed to confront.

That honesty stings. At a recent premiere, Bollywood’s commercial crowd—accustomed to Shah Rukh Khan swagger and item songs—sat gutted. “We didn’t want to leave the theatre and face our privilege,” several told him. That’s the uncomfortable aftertaste Homebound leaves behind: not catharsis, but confrontation.

At its heart, a love letter to friendship

Strip away the politics, and Homebound is about friendship—messy, imperfect, but achingly real. Chandan Kumar (Vishal Jethwa), a Dalit youth, and Mohammed Shoaib (Ishaan Khatter), a young Muslim man, carry the film on their backs. Their banter, their dreams of escape, their desperate hustles to stay afloat—it all builds to moments that slice you open.

One such moment had me tear up. Shoaib tries to nudge his friend awake by promising him biryani.

“That scene was the hardest to shoot,” Ghaywan admits.

“Ishaan’s performance was so raw, I didn’t want to cut away to visuals. It was just one friend doing everything—food, cricket, memories—to bring another back.”

And here’s the delightful truth: the biryani moment wasn’t fiction. Ghaywan sheepishly confesses he once broke into a neighbour’s house during Eid just to steal biryani from their vessel.

“The aunty caught me but said, ‘Beta, I could have just sent it to you.’” His grin is equal parts nostalgia and mischief.

No saints, no monsters

Here’s where Homebound refuses to sugarcoat: it doesn’t traffic in caricatures. There are no evil oppressors and no halo-wearing victims. Instead, Ghaywan insists, “People fail people. Miscommunication, prejudice, background—those divide us, not religion or caste alone. Even people you disagree with deserve empathy.”

That’s a radical thought in today’s India, where ideological trenches are so deep they could swallow us whole. But Ghaywan isn’t interested in widening divides—he’s interested in stitching them, however messily.

Scorsese + Johar = a cinematic odd couple

The story behind the film is almost as fascinating as the film itself. Picture this: Martin Scorsese giving edit notes on a film set in a dusty Indian village. Karan Johar leveraging his glamour machine to ensure the same film isn’t confined to festival circles.

“Scorsese loved the script and mentored us through the edit,” Ghaywan says, almost casually—as if it’s no big deal that cinema’s godfather is WhatsApping him about narrative arcs.

“And Karan? He ensured this wasn’t just an indie darling applauded abroad but unseen at home. He believed in the story without caring about labels like ‘rural’ or ‘arthouse.’”

Now, say what you want about Johar’s love for sequins and Swiss mountains, but credit where it’s due: his heft will make sure Homebound isn’t just consumed by elite cinephiles in Paris but also by audiences in Pune and Patna.

Oscars vs the real prize

So, is this all about Oscar glory? “No,” Ghaywan says, and for once it doesn’t sound like hollow humility.

“One of our community members watched it and cried, saying, ‘I feel seen, heard, represented.’ That’s my victory.”

Cynics will scoff, but there’s something disarming about how he says it. For Ghaywan, the Academy statue would be icing, not the cake. The cake is empathy and perhaps, making upper-class audiences squirm in their plush seats. The cake is showing marginalised kids that their stories matter.

Where activism fails, cinema still bites

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: journalism and activism may rage against India’s divides, but their impact often fizzles against apathy or fatigue. Cinema, when honest, cuts through.

“Art crosses barriers,” Ghaywan insists. “It doesn’t preach—it connects. We’ve gone too far down the road of hate. Now it’s about rebuilding.”

That’s a lofty claim, but one that makes sense when you see Homebound. The discrimination and the apathy isn't on the nose.

The personal beneath the politics

The film isn’t just political—it’s personal. Chandan’s story is rooted in Ghaywan’s own. Growing up in a patriarchal Dalit household, he admits he tried to “pass” as upper caste.

“I was favoured as the only son after three sisters. Patriarchy is universal—it cuts across caste, religion, countries. I wanted to confront that shame.”

Even the film’s lighter touches—the stolen biryani, the laughter between friends—are drawn from his life. It’s this blend of memory and commentary that makes the film both lived-in and luminous.

Will it bring home gold?

So, will Homebound clinch the Oscar? Maybe. Maybe not. Awards are fickle, and let’s be honest: Hollywood still fetishises “slumdog” aesthetics when it comes to Indian cinema. But even if the golden statue slips away, Homebound has already achieved what most Indian films don’t: it has unsettled, provoked, and humanised in equal measure.

That’s more radical than any award. And in today’s India, where empathy feels like an endangered species, that might just be revolutionary.