I waited a while before watching Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound on Netflix. Even with glowing reviews and friends urging me to watch it, I knew it wouldn’t be an easy experience. It’s heavy in more ways than one, because the film doesn’t just explore caste discrimination, it also shines a light on the prejudice faced by Muslims in India. So from the beginning, you know you’re stepping into something intense and uncomfortable.

Neeraj Ghaywan holds an important place in Indian cinema as he’s one of the very few Dalit directors who publicly acknowledge his Dalit identity. As viewers, most of us don’t sit and think about a filmmaker’s caste or religion when watching a movie. But the uncomfortable truth is that opportunities in the film industry still seem to be uneven. If he is the first Dalit filmmaker in decades because of gatekeeping rather than lack of talent, then that says a lot about how deep systemic bias still runs in India, even in an artistic platform like the film industry. This is something the film industries across India need to acknowledge and work on.

As expected, the story in Homebound was heartwrenching. It’s based on a real incident, which sadly doesn’t come as a surprise. The film also draws inspiration from the Bhim-Meem idea, a political expression that promotes Dalit-Muslim unity, adding another layer of depth and context to its narrative.

For me, the most heartbreaking scene was when Ishaan’s character, a young Muslim boy, is accused of being Pakistani after an India vs Pakistan cricket match. That moment was infuriating and hard to sit through.

At the same time, I feel Indian films need to move beyond the usual “General Category vs Dalit” and “Hindu vs Muslim” framework when addressing oppression. Recent incidents, including the honour killing of a Dalit man by an OBC family because he dared to love their girl, show that reality is much more complex in India, and discrimination doesn’t come from one direction. It exists across castes and religions. Dalit Christians, Pasmanda Muslims, and many others face layered forms of exclusion, yet these conversations rarely enter mainstream media or pop culture.

I recently spoke to someone from the Yadav community who felt that Yadavs should be getting more opportunities than others in Bihar. It surprised me, because it shows how deeply caste identity shapes expectations, even among groups that aren’t “upper caste.” It’s even sadder to see communities that once faced discrimination now repeating the same mindset toward those they see as lower in the hierarchy. Many people assume caste hierarchy is a simple top-to-bottom structure, but in reality, it behaves more like overlapping layers of status, power, and regional identity.

I also think about the discrimination that exists within minority communities. My neighbour, a very liberal Muslim woman in Kerala, once told me that some of her extended family members won’t eat food cooked by non-Muslims. So who addresses that side of prejudice?

If we want a more equal and united India, we need to acknowledge and call out all forms of discrimination. But if someone tries to make a film exploring other angles, it often gets labelled propaganda or agenda-driven. That makes honest conversation difficult.

We’ve seen similar themes in films like Dhadak 2 this year, and even the first Dhadak explored the same kind of social divide. Something that stood out to me across movies in this space was the prominent placement of Ambedkar’s photograph. It’s a small detail, but it says a lot. Ambedkar himself is a layered and complex figure. His critique was not limited to Hinduism, and he questioned multiple belief systems with the same sharpness. But that side of him rarely enters public discussion, because even many of his admirers seem hesitant or defensive about acknowledging it.

Many of us are ready to recognise discrimination against Muslims and Dalits, and those conversations are important. But there should also be space to talk about other traumatic histories like the Kashmiri Pandit exodus without being dismissed or judged. Empathy and understanding shouldn’t stop at one group. If injustice matters, it should matter universally.

This isn’t a rant. Just a hope that our films, stories, and discussions grow braver and more layered. Because India isn’t simple. It’s diverse, complicated, emotional, and full of uncomfortable truths. And storytelling feels meaningful when it reflects that reality rather than just one slice of it.