Homebound has not made it to the final list of Oscar nominees in the Best International Feature Film category, prompting many invested cinema lovers feel disappointed. The headline of a recent news article in the Economic Times read – “Homebound goes home empty handed, fails to get nominated…”. While it is quite possible that the films which secured nominations may have been stronger contenders, Homebound’s absence from the Oscars’ final list should not be interpreted as a failure of its narrative or Neeraj Ghaywan’s craft of storytelling.The entry into the Oscars, as we all know, depends extensively on a long and carefully coordinated awards campaign, media visibility, financial resources, and the networks of influence in the industry. Any film missing or making it to the Oscars nomination demonstrates the mechanics of the awards ecosystem as much as it does of the merit of the cinematic narrative. For us in India, Homebound must be considered as an urgent, meaningful and important film for several reasons.As a theatre practitioner performing on the streets of the working-class neighborhoods in Delhi-NCR for over two decades, I have witnessed the struggles, and everyday strategies ordinary people use to navigate their hardships. As an outsider, I can sense, even if I do not fully understand, how their resilience is quietly woven into the routines of daily precarity. Ghaywan crafts a cinematic space where personal experience, observation and empathy converge, capturing the traumatic experiences of the migrant workers during the Covid-19 pandemic. The film translates the recent past into a language of images, sound, and montage that both amplifies and mediates the trauma, striving to make the invisible lives visible, exposing the systemic neglect the working-class in our country.The narrative is an adaption of journalist Basharat Peer’s New York Times news story about two childhood friends – Mohd Saiyub Siddiqui and Amrit Kumar (real names) – from a village in Uttar Pradesh, weaving a story existing at the intersection of caste and religion. Peer was deeply moved by the image of Saiyub holding the dehydrated and dying Amrit on a highway, some hundred miles away from their village, and was compelled to follow up on the photograph to document their story.The very first frame tells us that Chandan Kumar, a Dalit, and Mohammad Shoaib, a Muslim (names changed in the film) are pursuing a shared dream of joining the state police force. Chandan (Vishal Jethwa) and Shoaib (Ishaan Khattar), both in their twenties, navigate the experience of being ‘othered,’ resisting, escaping, and ultimately confronting social and religious identities in their own ways.Embarrassed to reveal his “pura naam”, the Chandan simply replies to a Govt. official – “Chandan ‘Kumar’ hi hai, sir?” (Chandan Kumar, that’s it). His attempt to evade humiliation by being vague still provokes a casteist reaction from the official, who delivers an indirect insult toward “category people,” leaving Chandan in tears and helpless silence. Infuriated Chandan complains to Shoaib – Chahe kitne bhi wicket ukhad lein, sarkari faram ke category wale dibbe bhar ki aukat hai hamari? (No matter what we achieve, we will always be reduced to a checkbox in a Govt. form). On the other hand, Shoaib pushes back his senior colleague’s comments that insinuate his loyalty to the Pakistani team at an office party to watch the cricket match.Shoaib refuses to take his communal remarks as mere “casual jokes.” In the film, some acts of resilience unfold quietly and naturally – Shoaib and Chandan’s families celebrating Eid over biryani or co-workers eagerly finishing homemade aam ka achaar from Chandan’s home – offering moments of warmth that briefly soften the harshness of communal and caste-based prejudice. Yet such moments pass quickly, caught between fragile hope and its inevitable collapse.Though the story focuses on two young boys, the three women – Sudha Bharti (Jahnavi Kapoor), Vaishali (Harshika Parmar) and Phool (Shalini Vatsa) – stand out in the narrative, underlining the intersections between class, caste and gender. For instance, Chandan’s love interest Sudha disrupts binaries in quiet, everyday moments. Belonging to a practicing Buddhist family Sudha sees education as her path to emancipation, seeks Ph.D. degree as a path to intellectual dignity and believes – “Tabhi log apni kursi humse sata ke baithenge, Chandan” (that’s when we will get a seat at the table).Ghaywan, acutely aware of – and unapologetic about – his own identity as a Dalit filmmaker, highlights these moments, showing how caste remains inseparably linked to class, ambition, and opportunity. In another register, the narrative draws attention to the intersection of gender and caste through a conversation between Chandan and his sister Vaishali, when she questions his agency as the boy in the household. Her regret at giving up her education to support the family reflects the dual pressures of caste and patriarchy shaping the lives of poor Dalit women.Chandan’s mother, Phool and her cracked heels – a recurring motif – embodies intergenerational trauma, a testament to relentless labour, sacrifices, and the dignity with which she bears poverty and social oppression while holding her family together. The image of cracked heels recurs three times in the film: first, when Chandan asks Phool why she does not wear chappals; second time, as the camera follows the cracked heels of an elderly woman who silently offers water to parched Shoaib and Chandan; and finally, at the end when Shoaib gives Phool the slippers Chandan had bought for her. In his final moments, the image of cracked heels returns to him, reflecting his hardship and his family’s silent suffering, and symbolising intergenerational poverty and the denied care.In cramped workers’ quarters, Chandan (and later Shoaib) share space and food with other migrants between factory shifts, slowly building a sense of solidarity and mutual reliance. Ghaywan carefully create these moments only to let them fracture when the pandemic crisis emerged – leaving everyone to fend for themselves except Chandan and Shoaib, who choose to stay together on the journey home.The film’s strength lies in how it goes beyond depicting social and economic identities, rather it interrogates and destabilises them, exposing the silent, often invisible currents that shape human connections across caste, class, religion, and gender. It denies the comfort of resolution, unfolding instead a layered, unflinching vision that haunts the viewer – quiet, disquieting, and lingering long after the last frame fades. The camera moves like a patient witness, its unobtrusive gaze letting the story breathe and unfold.It refuses to let us simply feel pity or joy; like Brechtian theatre, it alienates comfort and demands attention, forcing us to see better – to notice the quiet struggles, hidden injustices, layered human connections and details too often lost amid the noise of dominant discourses. In the times when hyper-masculine and jingoistic Hindi films easily enter into 100-crore club, Homebound captures the quiet realities of class, caste, and gender with dignity and insight – a film whose significance is self-evident, regardless of accolades.Dr. Komita Dhanda is a theatre practitioner and scholar in the field of Theatre and Performance Studies.