In Gurvinder Singh’s Rehmat, no guest is turned away. Whether it’s an alleged militant, or an out-of-state traveller, everyone is offered the respectful hospitality one associates with Punjab. Singh’s film opens with a prologue text noting the chapters of violence Punjab has witnessed during its many socio-political upheavals, and has left its scars. Especially the partition of 1947, and the insurgency of the 1980s. It might have contributed to the PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) for an entire generation, and yet it’s this dichotomy that seems to be at the heart of Singh’s film: a state full of traumatised civilians don’t let bitterness get in the way to greet an unannounced guest. It’s probably not a coincidence that the title of Singh’s film translates to ‘grace’.In Rehmat, for a third time in the last 12 months (after Gustaakh Ishq and Main Vaapas Aaunga) Naseeruddin Shah is staring at death. Maybe it’s coincidence, or it appears as though 76-year-old Shah is being drawn by characters grappling with their mortality. He plays Rashid, a Manchester-returned businessman, in search of his pre-partition home. Rashid features primarily at the end of Singh’s triptych, adapted from three short stories by author Ajeet Cour.Playing in competition of the ongoing Locarno 2026, Rehmat might be Singh’s most centered film in his directorial career spanning a decade and a half. There’s a stillness here that is instantly familiar from his earlier works. Working with cinematographer Shashank Walia, Singh is successful in evoking the contents of the frames. I could smell the freshly-ground chilli paste in the mortar, the rotis baked over fire, the lazeez leafy greens, and the steaming milky tea poured into cups. As a result, even the anxiety, grief and longing of the characters feel tactile.Three of Cour’s short stories belonging to an earlier decade, are adapted into a seamless script set in present-day Punjab (in Ludhiana and Gujjarwal, about 30 kms apart). The towns appear to be stuck in a time-warp, wrestling with their demons. Also read: ‘Main Vaapas Aaunga’: Naseeruddin Shah Elevates a Muddled Piece on the Horrors of PartitionIn the first, Seema (Diya Kamboj) is startled by an injured man in their outdoor store-room one day. He’s shot in his leg, and appears to be fleeing from cops. Identifying himself as Balwinder (Harwinder Aujla), he pleads with her to stay put for a day, assuring her he means no harm. In the second story, Balwinder’s family is told he’s been killed by the cops. As his parents and wife, Kiran (Navjot Randhawa) summon all their strength to continue living their lives, the most affected are the children – Harman (Jasmanpreet Singh) and Harjot (Kavnoor Kaur). In the third, Rashid is first hosted at Balwinder’s home, only to go on to find Sukhwant (Suvinder), living in the home Rashid was forced to flee at the age of 2.Gurvinder Singh’s Punjab has always carried the baggage of its tragedies. I was reminded of Honey Trehan’s Satluj, given how that film directly dealt with Punjab becoming a police state, especially during the insurgency. Here, the suggestion is more subtle: a buzzing drone flies over Seema’s home, in search of the alleged fugitive. In another scene, two cops show up in Balwinder’s home, posing measured questions to Rashid, and his reason for visiting a rural part of Punjab. Rashid, despite being a wealthy NRI, is reminded of his identity as a Muslim man. In Harman’s school, some seniors try to plant the idea of ‘avenging’ his father’s death. The recruitment attempt is, at first, disguised as “let us know if you ever have trouble with anyone in school” – something Kiran sees through, and tells Harman to stay away from them. She tells him the only way to honour his father’s memory is to study hard and become an afsar (officer).Death, displacement and tragedy seem omnipresent in Singh’s film. Rashid’s family was forced to flee to the UK, when his grandfather learned of the impending partition. Gujjarwal’s bazaar used to bustle with locals, but has turned into a ghost town after the 1984 riots forced the shopkeepers (primarily Hindus) to settle in other parts of the state. Seema’s elder brother was mysteriously killed one night, as he was on his way home. Sukhwant’s elder son is implied to be a drug addict, who spends most of his days tending to his pigeons. He takes part in the annual pigeon racing competition. And yet, the generosity refuses to cower to the paranoia. The optimism remains undefeated in the face of cynicism. Humanism prevails over the communal poison that is being drip-fed into the populace over the last decade (the Sikhs were targets of a disinformation campaign for a whole year, during the 2020 farmers’ protests). I was most moved by a scene where Rashid tells Sukhwant about his decision to go back to the UK, to tend to his deteriorating health. Sukhwant says something to the tune of “you’re shattering my heart, Rashid sahab!” The sincerely-felt admission, even in the midst of the upheavals Sukhwant has probably seen, made me tear up.I think Rehmat is Gurvinder Singh’s idea of how he wants to see India: warm, thoughtful and neighbourly. Maybe it’s not a coincidence that the protagonists of the three stories are a Hindu, Sikh and Muslim respectively. To foreground this in a time when secular civility has been under attack, this might be Singh’s hope against the grain. It’s fitting then that the black sheep in Sukhwant’s family comes around towards the end and guides Rashid to the roof to kick off the pigeon race by liberating a bird with his own hands, for good omen. If there’s one thing Singh’s film knows better than its peers, it’s the word it uses to respond to acts of kindness: meherbaani (kindness). Perhaps that’s one idea of India: when we’re engulfed by tragedies, we never forget the grace others showed to us in our time of need.Rehmat premiered at the Locarno film festival 2026.