I wonder what a soldier feels when they hold a gun for the first time. All the romanticisation aside, what must it feel like to touch something that is capable of such great destruction. Can they really survive the rest of their life if not to truly believe that what they do is absolutely right?
Indoctrination, to me, is key. In my imagination, surgeons are allowed to be joyous on procuring organs for patients, despite knowing in some corner of their heart, that with every slice with a scalpel, a family is being torn apart. They are (probably) made to believe doing harm is essential sometimes.
Watching Raazi was never on cards for me. I didn’t want to put myself under two hours of chest-thumping patriotism. Someone in my class WhatsApp group suggested that my presumption was wrong and I should give the movie a chance. I did. I am better for it.
There was something about this movie. A fresh demeanour. While I loved Alia Bhatt’s Sehmat, Vicky’s Iqbal conquered my heart. In the movie, when he realises the real identity of Sehmat, he tells his father about it all. The older man starts to rain abuses. Iqbal stops him.
He rationalises that whatever Sehmat did was for her country, as a soldier. It was nothing they wouldn’t do. He was in love. The kind that makes you blind. And yet, somehow, he saw clearer than most. The moment will always be the one where I felt a sense of calm engulf me. Blissful peace.
Amid chaos, Vicky Kaushal’s Iqbal is the anchor we need.