Saturday, 17 January 2026

From Page to Screen: The Great Gatsby — Novel (1925) & Film (2013)

 From Page to Screen:The Great Gatsby- Novel (1925) & Film (2013)

This blog is written as a task assigned by the head of the Department of English (MKBU), Prof. and Dr. Dilip Barad Sir. Here is the link to the professor's research article for background reading: Click here.


Film Details:

Theatrical release poster

  • Title: The Great Gatsby
  • Release Year: 2013
  • Director: Baz Luhrmann
  • Screenplay: Baz Luhrmann & Craig Pearce
  • Based on: The Great Gatsby (1925) by F. Scott Fitzgerald
  • Genre: Romantic drama, period film
  • Country: United States
  • Studio: Warner Bros. Pictures
  • Running time: 142 minutes
  • Budget: $105 million
  • Box office: $353.6 million

Music:

  • Original score: Craig Armstrong
  • Executive producer (soundtrack): Jay-Z

Main Cast

  • Leonardo DiCaprio: Jay Gatsby
  • Carey Mulligan: Daisy Buchanan
  • Tobey Maguire: Nick Carraway
  • Joel Edgerton: Tom Buchanan
  • Isla Fisher: Myrtle Wilson
  • Jason Clarke: George Wilson

Cultural Context:

The film was released during a time of global economic anxiety after the 2008 financial crisis. Luhrmann intentionally uses excess, spectacle, and modern music to draw parallels between:

  • 1920s capitalism
  • 21st-century consumer culture

Thus, the film is not just historical it is contemporary in critique.

Famous Line:

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

 

Here is Infographic to understand the difference easily:


Brief Summary of Novel: 

The Great Gatsby (1925) by F. Scott Fitzgerald is set in the Jazz Age of the 1920s and is narrated by Nick Carraway, a young man from the Midwest who moves to West Egg, Long Island, to work in the bond business. Nick becomes fascinated by his wealthy and mysterious neighbour Jay Gatsby, who is known for hosting extravagant parties. Despite the crowds and luxury, Gatsby appears lonely, and many rumours circulate about his past and the source of his wealth.

As Nick grows closer to Gatsby, he learns that Gatsby’s life is shaped by his deep love for Daisy Buchanan, Nick’s cousin. Gatsby and Daisy had been in love before the war, but Daisy later married Tom Buchanan, a rich and arrogant man from old money. Nick arranges a meeting between Gatsby and Daisy, and they soon begin an affair. Gatsby believes that he can repeat the past and recreate the happiness he once shared with Daisy.

Conflict arises when Tom becomes suspicious of Gatsby and confronts him in New York. During this confrontation, Tom exposes Gatsby’s criminal background and the illegal means through which he acquired his wealth. Daisy, torn between love and security, fails to choose Gatsby and retreats into the comfort of her marriage. At the same time, Tom’s affair with Myrtle Wilson reveals the moral corruption and class divisions within society.

The story ends in tragedy when Daisy accidentally kills Myrtle while driving Gatsby’s car, and Gatsby takes responsibility for the accident. Myrtle’s husband George Wilson, misled into believing Gatsby was responsible, murders Gatsby and then kills himself. Daisy and Tom leave without facing any consequences, while Nick, disillusioned by the emptiness and carelessness of the rich, returns to the Midwest, concluding that the American Dream is an illusion corrupted by wealth and materialism.


Introduction: The Persistent Green Light and the Challenge of Fidelity

When F. Scott Fitzgerald published The Great Gatsby in 1925, he was not merely writing a story of unrequited love; he was capturing a "Truth Event" a term used by philosopher Alain Badiou to describe a radical rupture in the status quo. Fitzgerald’s novel documented the birth of the Modern Age, the death of the pastoral American Dream, and the rise of a "moral rubberiness" brought on by the industrial excess of the post-WWI era.

Fast forward to film The Great Gatsby (2013), and director Baz Luhrmann attempted to translate this elusive prose into a "Red Curtain" spectacle. The result was a polarizing, hyper-stylized, and sonically jarring interpretation that forced audiences to ask: Can a 21st-century film ever truly be "faithful" to a 1920s text? In this exhaustive exploration, we analyze the adaptation through the lenses of narrative framing, cinematic poetry, adaptation theory, and the socio-political context of two distinct centuries.


Part I: The Frame Narrative and the "Writerly" Text

1. The Sanitarium Device: Pathologizing the Narrator

Luhrmann’s most controversial structural addition is the framing of Nick Carraway in the "Perkins Sanitarium," diagnosed with “morbid alcoholism,” “insomnia,” “anxiety,” and “depression.” In the novel, Nick’s writing is an implicit, retrospective process he is a "perpendicular" narrator, a man who claims to be "within and without."

Externalizing the Internal Monologue:

  • Film, by its nature, struggles with the first-person introspection that defines the novel. By showing Nick physically typing the words "The Great Gatsby" on a typewriter, Luhrmann provides a literal "cause and effect" for the narration. It explains the presence of the voiceover not as an abstract literary device, but as a clinical necessity for Nick’s recovery. This externalization makes the act of writing a visual "anchor" for the audience, grounding the dreamlike sequences of West Egg in a tangible, albeit tragic, reality.

The Moral Compass vs. The Patient:

  • However, this framing arguably "pathologizes" Nick. In the book, Nick is our moral compass the self-proclaimed "only honest person" he has ever known. By making him a clinical patient, the film shifts the viewer's perception: is his judgment a sober social observation, or is it a symptom of his mental collapse? Scholars note that this "gloomy depression" reduces Nick's agency. He is no longer the man who chooses to leave the East because of its moral vacuity; he is a man who is forced into a sanitarium because he cannot cope with it. This addition arguably reduces the novel's complexity from a biting social critique to the rambling of a broken man seeking catharsis.

2. The "Cinematic Poem" and Floating Text

Luhrmann describes his technique of superimposing Fitzgerald’s actual prose over the screen as "poetic glue." We see this most prominently during the introduction of the Valley of Ashes, where the letters of the text drift across the screen like the soot they describe.

Bridge or Trap?

  • On one level, this technique honors the "writerly" nature of the source material. It reminds the viewer that the film is an adaptation of a specific, revered set of words. It attempts to bridge the gap between literature and film by treating the prose as a visual element.
  • However, critics argue this creates a "noble literalism." By showing the words on screen, Luhrmann may inadvertently "reify" the prose turning fluid, suggestive language into a static object. This "quotational quality" can distance the viewer from the diegetic reality of the film. Instead of feeling the heat and the grime of the Valley of Ashes through the acting and cinematography, we are told how to feel by the floating text. It traps the film in a state of being a "motion book," where the director seems afraid to let the visual medium stand on its own two feet.


Part II: Adaptation Theory and "Fidelity"

1. Hutcheon’s "Knowing" vs. "Unknowing" Audience

Linda Hutcheon, a titan of adaptation studies, defines adaptation as "repetition without replication." She suggests that an adaptation must function for two distinct groups: the "knowing" audience (who has read the book) and the "unknowing" audience (who has not).

The Omission of Henry Gatz and the Social Critique:

  • Luhrmann’s film drastically alters the ending by omitting Gatsby's father, Henry Gatz, and the sparse, pathetic funeral procession. In the novel, the funeral is the ultimate indictment of the Jazz Age. It highlights the transactional nature of Gatsby’s "friends" thousands attended his parties, but only Nick, the "Owl-Eyed" man, and a few servants attend his burial.
  • By omitting this and focusing entirely on Nick’s singular devotion, Luhrmann shifts the genre from a social critique of class and American vacuity toward a "Tragic Romance." This satisfies the "unknowing" audience’s desire for a hero/villain narrative where Gatsby is a misunderstood martyr of love. However, for the "knowing" audience, this omission "softens" the blow. It removes the cold, hard isolation that Fitzgerald intended, replacing a critique of the American Dream with a celebration of a "Great" individual.

2. Alain Badiou and the "Truth Event"

Using the philosophy of Alain Badiou, one can argue that Luhrmann was faithful not to the text, but to the "Truth Event"—the rupture caused by the 1920s.

The Soundtrack and Intersemiotic Translation:

  • Luhrmann famously used a soundtrack produced by Jay-Z, featuring Hip-Hop and modern R&B. To a historical purist, this is a betrayal. However, using the concept of "intersemiotic translation," Luhrmann argues that Jazz in 1922 was the Hip-Hop of its day it was dangerous, scandalous, urban, and "black music" that terrified the established elite like Tom Buchanan.
  • If Luhrmann had used authentic 1920s Jazz, it would sound like "nostalgia" or "elevator music" to a 2013 audience. By using Hip-Hop, he forces the modern viewer to feel the same adrenaline, cultural friction, and "moral rubberiness" that Fitzgerald’s contemporaries felt. In this sense, the anachronism is an act of "fidelity" to the energy of the novel, even if it betrays the historical specificity.


Part III: Characterization and Performance

1. Gatsby as Romantic Hero vs. Criminal

The novel gradually peels back the layers of Jay Gatsby. He is a bootlegger, a fraud, and a man whose "extraordinary gift for hope" is inextricably linked to his shady dealings with Meyer Wolfsheim.

The "Red Curtain" Softening:

  • In the film, Leonardo DiCaprio portrays Gatsby with a vulnerable, almost boyish intensity. Luhrmann "softens" Gatsby’s criminal edge by deleting or recontextualizing scenes. For example, the phone calls from Detroit and Philadelphia which in the book clearly link Gatsby to a massive bond fraud are framed in the film more as "business interruptions" to his pursuit of Daisy.
  • The "Red Curtain" style, with its visual splendor and theatricality, turns Gatsby into a victim of circumstance rather than a victim of his own delusions. The film prioritizes the "incorruptible dream" over the "corruption" that funded it. Consequently, the critique of the "corrupted dream" is often overwhelmed by the visual beauty of the "dreamer," potentially misleading the audience into seeing Gatsby as a pure hero rather than a tragic, flawed figure.

2. Daisy Buchanan: Reconstructing the Object of Desire

In the novel, Daisy is famously "careless." She is a woman who "smashes things up" and retreats back into her money. Most tellingly, she is a distant mother, viewing her child more as a decorative object than a human being.

Maintaining the Romantic Plausibility:

  • To make Gatsby’s obsession plausible for a 2013 audience, Luhrmann strips Daisy of some of her more alienating qualities. The scene where she introduces her daughter, Pammy, is drastically shortened. By reducing her "lack of maternal instinct," the film makes her appear more like a "damsel in distress" trapped in a marriage with a monster (Tom). This reconstruction helps the audience root for Gatsby, but it strips Daisy of her agency and her complexity. In the novel, Daisy is a participant in the "careless" upper class; in the film, she is often reduced to the "object" that Gatsby is trying to win, maintaining the romantic hero trope at the expense of a nuanced female character.


Part IV: Visual Style and Socio-Political Context

1. The "Red Curtain" Style and the Party Scene

Luhrmann’s "Red Curtain" philosophy involves heightened artifice and theatricality. During the party scenes, the camera uses "vortex" movements and rapid-fire editing to simulate the intoxication of the era.

Critique or Celebration?

  • Fitzgerald’s prose regarding the parties is often saturated with a sense of "emptiness" and "ghostliness." Luhrmann, however, fills the screen with such kinetic energy and 3D depth that the critique of "orgiastic" wealth is often lost. Does the 3D technology function to critique consumerism, or does it inadvertently celebrate it? By making the parties look like the ultimate 21st-century nightclub experience, the film risks becoming the very thing Fitzgerald was mocking: a hollow display of wealth designed to distract from a lack of purpose.

2. Contextualizing the American Dream (1925 vs. 2013)

The 2013 film was released shortly after the 2008 global financial crisis. Luhrmann has stated that the story’s relevance lies in the "moral rubberiness" of Wall Street the same culture of greed that led to the Great Depression and the 2008 crash.

The "Green Light" in a Post-2008 World:

  • In the film, the "Green Light" and the "Valley of Ashes" are starkly contrasted. The Green Light represents the "hustle"—the relentless pursuit of "more." Following the 2008 crisis, this pursuit is seen through a more cynical lens. The film emphasizes the impossibility of the dream (the light receding into the fog) more than the book does. While the book ends with a philosophical meditation on time, the film ends with a visual indictment of a system where the "Tom Buchanans" of the world survive while the "Gatsbys" and "Wilsons" are discarded.


Part V: Creative Response - The Plaza Hotel Scene

Scenario: The Scriptwriter’s Decision

  • As a scriptwriter tasked with adapting the "Plaza Hotel" confrontation, I am faced with a choice: Do I keep Gatsby's violent outburst (where he nearly strikes Tom), or do I keep him composed as he is in the novel?

The Justification:

  • In this adaptation, I would choose to keep the outburst. While this is a departure from the "fidelity" of the book's specific action, it is an act of fidelity to the medium. In prose, Fitzgerald can describe the "dead dream" and the "cracking" of Gatsby's facade through internal monologue and subtle shifts in Nick’s perception. On screen, the audience needs a "visual beat" to understand that the "mask" has finally slipped.

By having Gatsby nearly strike Tom, the film visually "outs" him. It confirms Tom’s accusation that Gatsby is a "common swindler." This moment of "raw, lower-class anger" provides the dramatic tension necessary for a cinematic climax. It prioritizes the "Truth" of the character’s internal collapse over the literal "facts" of the book’s dialogue, proving that sometimes, to be faithful to a story's heart, you must change its actions.


Conclusion:

Baz Luhrmann’s The Great Gatsby is a "remix" of a classic. It utilizes 21st-century tools from 3D technology to Hip-Hop to attempt to capture the same "cultural rupture" that Fitzgerald documented in 1925. Whether it succeeds as a "faithful" adaptation depends on your definition of fidelity. If fidelity is a word-for-word replication, the film fails. But if fidelity is the ability to make a modern audience feel the same adrenaline, heartbreak, and moral vertigo that readers felt in the 1920s, then Luhrmann’s "Red Curtain" spectacle may be the most "truthful" adaptation we have.

In the end, we are all like Nick Carraway patients in the sanitarium of history, trying to write our way back to a "Green Light" that has already vanished behind us.


Here is Sir's Presentation upon How faithful is Luhrmann's film adaption to the original novel:


References:
  • The Great Gatsby. Directed by Baz Luhrmann, Warner Bros., 2013.

Thank you!!




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Sunday, 11 January 2026

Rewriting Modernist Despair through Indian Knowledge Systems: Upanishadic and Buddhist Perspectives on The Waste Land

 “Rewriting Modernist Despair through Indian Knowledge Systems: Upanishadic and Buddhist Perspectives on The Waste Land”

This blog is written as task assigned by the head of the Department of English (MKBU), Prof. and Dr. Dilip Barad Sir. Here is the link to the Syllabus for background reading: Click here.

For many of Sir's different blogs upon Waste land:

The Waste Land - What makes it a difficult poem?

The Waste Land as Pandemic Poem

The Waste Land - Universal Human laws


1.The Upanishadic Elements in T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land


4 Ancient Eastern Ideas That Unlock T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land”

T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land (1922) stands as a towering, notoriously difficult cornerstone of modernist literature. For a century, it has been read primarily as a monument to Western disillusionment, a fragmented reflection of a society shattered by the trauma of World War I. Its bleak landscapes and disjointed voices seem to capture the very essence of a world stripped of meaning.

But what if the poem’s despair is not its final word? A deeper reading reveals a surprising and profound influence: the Upanishads, ancient Hindu spiritual texts composed between 800 and 200 BCE. While the thematic influence is often subtle, Eliot weaves the philosophical inquiries of these scriptures into his masterpiece, creating a dialogue between contemporary crisis and ancient wisdom. The four key ideas explored here are not merely a new lens for viewing the poem; they are the essential framework for understanding its ultimate, and surprisingly hopeful, conclusion.

1.1. The Barren World is an Illusion (Maya)

Eliot masterfully depicts a world that is spiritually desolate and physically barren. From the "dead tree" that gives no shelter to the crowds flowing over London Bridge in the "unreal city," the poem presents a landscape devoid of genuine vitality. This crisis is embodied by the motif of the Fisher King, whose woundedness renders his kingdom infertile. In this portrait of decay, Eliot is not merely documenting post-war malaise; he is diagnosing it through an Upanishadic lens, framing the modern world itself as a form of Maya.

In Upanishadic philosophy, Maya is the powerful illusion that the material world we perceive is the only reality. It is a transient and ultimately unreal state that obscures a higher, divine truth. The goal of spiritual inquiry is to see through this illusion to achieve the realization of unity between Atman, the individual self, and Brahman, the ultimate divine reality. Eliot’s "unreal city" is a perfect Western analogue for Maya a world that traps the fragmented individual self (Atman) and prevents it from uniting with the divine whole (Brahman). This reframes the poem's despair not as a final state, but as the essential first step toward awakening: one must first recognize the illusion to begin the search for what is real.

1.2. The Search for Redemption is an Ancient Quest

Once the world is recognized as an illusion, the spiritual quest becomes necessary. The Waste Land is precisely this journey, a pilgrimage through disillusionment in search of meaning. The poem’s famously fragmented structure, with its shifting voices and abrupt transitions, is not merely a stylistic choice; it mirrors the Upanishadic conception of a fragmented self, an individual consciousness cut off from its divine source and lost in the chaos of illusion.

This modern search for meaning directly echoes the central purpose of the Upanishads: the pursuit of Moksha, or spiritual liberation. This is not a vague hope but a release from a specific condition: Samsara, the endless and suffering-filled cycle of birth and rebirth driven by worldly attachment. In "The Fire Sermon," the poem’s third section, Eliot explicitly references the Buddhist sermon warning against the "fires" of passion and material desire a theme central to the Upanishadic goal of transcending the ego. This connection is a powerful reminder that the modern feeling of being lost is not unique to our time. It is part of a timeless human spiritual inquiry, articulated thousands of years ago, to heal a fractured identity by reuniting it with a greater whole.

1.3. Water Symbolizes Hope for Spiritual Rebirth

A soul undertaking such an arduous quest is defined by a profound thirst. Throughout The Waste Land, this spiritual longing manifests as a desperate need for water. The landscape is dominated by the "dry stone," the lack of rain, and an overwhelming physical and psychic barrenness.

In the Upanishads and broader Hindu rituals, water is a symbol representing far more than physical life. It is the agent of spiritual purification, the flow of divine knowledge, and the cleansing of the soul it is grace made manifest. When viewed through this lens, the poem's desperate longing for rain becomes a metaphor for a deeper longing for the spiritual grace required for redemption. The parched landscape is not just a physical reality but a spiritual state, and the hope for rain is the hope for the enlightenment that can end the suffering of Samsara. Eliot transforms the poem's world into a spiritual battleground where the arrival of water signifies the possibility of rebirth.

1.4. The Thunder's Message is an Upanishadic Prescription for Healing

After the long journey through the desolate landscape, the poem culminates in "What the Thunder Said." While Upanishadic themes are a subtle undercurrent for much of the poem, here Eliot makes the influence startlingly explicit. The long-awaited renewal arrives not as a gentle rain, but as a divine pronouncement from the thunder, delivered in three Sanskrit words that form a rare, direct quotation from the Upanishads.

Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

(Give. Sympathize. Control.)

This conclusion is not an ambiguous whisper but a clear, albeit challenging, prescription for healing. These three commands are the direct antidote to the spiritual sickness diagnosed throughout the poem. "Give" counters the selfish isolation of the unreal city. "Sympathize" breaks down the prison of the ego that burns in "The Fire Sermon." "Control" harnesses the destructive passions that lay the land to waste. Together, they encapsulate the Upanishadic ideal of transcending selfish desire to embrace a higher spiritual truth. By looking to ancient wisdom, Eliot provides a direct, active, and deeply ethical path to regenerate both the individual soul and the wasteland of the modern world.

A Bridge Between Worlds

Integrating these Upanishadic themes fundamentally enriches our understanding of The Waste Land. The poem is no longer just a monument to Western decay but a profound and complex dialogue between contemporary disillusionment and ancient spiritual wisdom. Eliot suggests that the path to renewal may lie in timeless truths that transcend cultural and historical boundaries.

It leaves us with a thought-provoking question. If ancient Eastern philosophy holds a key to one of the most iconic Western poems, what other timeless wisdom might we be overlooking in our efforts to navigate the complexities of the modern world?


2. A Buddhist Reading of T. S. Eliot’s Poetry


Beyond the Waste Land: The Buddhist Blueprint in T.S. Eliot’s Poetry

Introduction: The Poet You Thought You Knew

When we think of T.S. Eliot, a distinct image comes to mind: the high priest of Modernism, the poet of urban decay and spiritual alienation, and, following his famous conversion, a figure of devout, almost severe, Anglo-Catholicism. His work, dense with allusions to Western literature and Christian theology, seems to stand as a monument to a particularly European intellectual tradition. This familiar portrait, however, is incomplete.

Beneath the surface of his complex verse lies a deep and sustained engagement with Eastern philosophy, particularly Buddhist thought. This alternative spiritual framework provides a powerful lens for understanding his poetry not as a collection of disparate works, but as a lifelong intellectual project. A Buddhist reading reveals a clear progression in his thought, tracing a journey from an early diagnosis of modern suffering to a mature and profound spiritual synthesis. It does not erase the Christian Eliot but rather complicates and enriches him, revealing a mind that constantly integrated disparate spiritual systems in its search for meaning.

This article explores four stages of this project, revealing how Buddhist concepts shaped his most iconic poems. From the failed quest of Prufrock to the mystical synthesis of Four Quartets, these ideas are not footnotes to his work but vital tools he used to articulate the central spiritual drama of his age.

2.1. Prufrock: The Failed Siddhartha

J. Alfred Prufrock, the hesitant protagonist of Eliot's early masterpiece, is often seen as the epitome of modern social anxiety. A Buddhist reading, however, reframes his struggle as something far more profound: a failed spiritual quest. Prufrock’s paralysis before his "overwhelming question" is a spiritual war against the suffocating conventions of his world.

This struggle bears a striking resemblance to that of Siddhartha the historical Buddha before his enlightenment who fought to escape the endless wheel of reincarnation. Prufrock, like Siddhartha, questions the old, accepted ways of being. But his war is more specific. From a Buddhist perspective, to presume is "to create names and forms for the targeted object, which leads to corresponding sensations and consequential attachment." Prufrock’s central struggle, then, is his search for a way to "begin without presumption," to elude the cycle of formulation and attachment that defines his social reality.

While the Buddha’s journey towards Nirvana is a struggle away from the wheel of reincarnation, Prufrock’s quest for answers to his overwhelming questions is a war against presumptions.

But where Siddhartha succeeds in breaking through illusion, Prufrock fails. Unable to "embody his wandering soul," he finds no way to act without being trapped by the very language and gestures he must use. His quest collapses inward, leading him to a terrifying vision of the unconscious that threatens to fragment his soul. This perspective transforms Prufrock from a symbol of a neurotic man in a drawing-room into a tragic figure on a profound, if ultimately unsuccessful, spiritual journey.

2.2. Reincarnation: A Cycle of Misery, Not a Path to Wisdom

In The Waste Land, Eliot employs the concept of reincarnation not as a hopeful path toward wisdom, but as the engine of a terrifying, endless cycle of human suffering. In the world of the poem, history does not progress; it merely repeats its patterns of misery, from the mythical violation of Philomel to the numb, loveless encounter of the modern typist.

The "waste land" is not just a barren physical landscape but an inner state of "nihilistic emptiness" that reincarnates itself across generations. In this vision, reincarnation and emptiness are inseparable. The true horror is not death, but the inescapable pattern of spiritual desiccation that life brings back again and again. As the scholar P.S. Sri concludes in his study of the poem's Buddhist underpinnings:

Reincarnation, not death, is to be dreaded.

This reframing is one of the poem’s most chilling insights. It suggests that the catastrophe of the modern condition is not a single, dramatic event like war, but the quiet, relentless, and inescapable cycle of suffering that defines existence itself.

2.3. A Buddhist Pattern for Christian Salvation

Following his 1927 conversion to Anglo-Catholicism, Eliot's poetry took a famously devotional turn. Poems like "Ash-Wednesday" are cornerstones of his Christian faith, mapping a soul's journey of repentance and surrender to God. Yet, even here, a Buddhist structure operates just beneath the Christian surface.

The central experience in "Ash-Wednesday" is that of "turning" turning away from worldly temptation and turning toward God. This spiritual transformation is interpreted as a form of reincarnation. The soul is not simply changing its mind; it is undertaking a journey from an old "body," a former way of being, into a new one. The process involves leaving behind a past self to be reborn into a new spiritual existence.

In other words, Eliot’s scheme of salvation, though a very Christian one, also has a Buddhist pattern underneath, which is highly compatible with the more obvious Christian one.

This insight reveals Eliot not as a poet who simply replaced one belief system with another, but as a masterful synthesizer. More profoundly, it shows his Christian turn as a new vocabulary for a persistent spiritual question, one rooted in his Buddhist studies: the fundamental relationship between the seeker (the sentient being) and the source of enlightenment (the Buddha, or God).

2.4. The Still Point of the Turning World as Buddhist "Suchness"

One of Eliot’s most famous philosophical concepts appears in Four Quartets: the experience of being "at the still point of the turning world." This is typically understood through the lens of Christian mysticism as a fleeting glimpse of God beyond the temporal world. A Buddhist reading, however, reveals it as an experience within the temporal world, a perfect expression of the concept of tathata, or "suchness."

"Suchness" is the spiritual experience of communing with the divine "in the here and now," where "illusion and reality are only the different aspects of the same tathata." A mind in this state perceives the ultimate emptiness of worldly things like the vision of the lotos in the dry pool in "Burnt Norton" without being blinded by that emptiness. It allows one to fully experience a fleeting vision of beauty without demanding that it be permanent.

Eliot grounds this abstract idea in multiple, interlocking images. The "axle-tree," for instance, echoes the Buddhist wheel of universal laws, which integrates all existence. But the most powerful expression is the cosmic dance. It is described as "Neither from nor towards... But neither arrest nor movement," a perfect articulation of the Buddhist transcendence of dichotomy. This dance recalls the ritualistic gestures in Tantric Buddhism, meant to realize communion with the cosmic spirit. The still point, then, is not an escape from the world but a perfect, participatory understanding of the timeless pattern within it. This perspective adds a profound layer of Eastern philosophical depth to the poem, enriching what is often seen as a purely Western mystical text.

Conclusion: A New Way of Reading

Viewing T.S. Eliot through a Buddhist lens does not diminish his Christian faith or his place in the Western canon. Instead, it reveals a coherent, lifelong spiritual and intellectual evolution. We see him move from diagnosing the modern malady the paralysis of Prufrock, the endless cycles of The Waste Land to articulating a complex, synthesized solution. In his devotional poetry and the philosophical majesty of Four Quartets, he repurposed the structures of Buddhist thought to explore the nature of salvation and reality itself.

This reading opens up his poetry, offering new clarity to obscure passages and new depth to famous ones. It reveals a poet who looked both East and West for the language to explore the timeless questions of the human soul, a more daring and syncretic thinker than we ever imagined. If such a deep-seated framework can be found in a poet as thoroughly examined as Eliot, what other hidden blueprints might reshape our understanding of the great artists we think we know?

3. Spiritual Degeneration and Redemption: Exploring Indian Philosophy in T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land


T.S. Eliot's Century-Old Poem Predicted Our Spiritual Crisis: 

5 Shocking Takeaways

Have you ever felt a sense of spiritual emptiness, a low-grade anxiety humming beneath the surface of a materially comfortable life? Do you ever feel trapped in a dull routine, chasing after wealth, lust, or power, only to find yourself feeling hollowed out? This modern condition, a kind of life-in-death, is not a new phenomenon. In fact, it was diagnosed with prophetic power over a century ago.

In 1922, in the aftermath of the devastating First World War, T.S. Eliot published his epoch-making poem, "The Waste Land." It wasn't just a reflection on a traumatized generation; it was a profound and moving picture of a civilization that had lost its spiritual roots. Here, we'll explore five shocking insights from the poem, illuminated by a deep-dive into its core themes, that reveal profound truths about our own time.

3.1. We Fear Rebirth: Why April is the 'Cruelest Month'

Eliot begins by weaponizing our most cherished symbol of hope the coming of spring to show just how deeply the modern soul wishes to remain asleep. The poem’s famous opening line, "April is the cruellest month," immediately turns our expectations upside down. We traditionally see spring as a time of joy and new life, a theme celebrated for centuries, as in Geoffrey Chaucer's cheerful prologue to "The Canterbury Tales."

But for the spiritually dead inhabitants of Eliot's wasteland, this awakening is painful. They are content with their numbness and dislike being roused from their slumber. April’s promise of regeneration is a cruel reminder of a spiritual life they have no desire to pursue. They prefer a regression to a purely animalistic, instinct-driven existence a life of simple survival that absolves them of the difficult, conscious work of spiritual growth. As the poem states, they find a strange security in numbness:

"Winter kept us warm covering Earth in forgetful snow feeding A little life with dried tubers"

This insight is powerful because it suggests our spiritual emptiness isn't just a passive state we fall into. It's a condition we sometimes actively prefer over the difficult, often painful, work of growth and regeneration.

3.2. Love is a Machine: The Collapse of True Intimacy

"The Waste Land" portrays a world where love, sex, and intimacy have become sterile and devoid of spiritual significance. Human connection has failed, and Eliot traces this collapse through a chilling progression, from futile passion to outright mechanical dehumanization.

It begins with guilty, passionate love. The poem references stories like that of Tristan and the Hyacinth girl, where romantic encounters bring not fulfillment, but "futility, and disappointments," leaving the participants empty and disconnected, "neither living nor dead."

From there, it decays into the institutional rot of loveless marriage. Both the wealthy, neurotic aristocratic lady and the working-class Lil suffer in "dull and boring" relationships. Their lives are marked by frustration, anxiety, and a complete breakdown of communication, showing how even the most intimate bonds have withered.

The final, most haunting stage is mechanical sex. In the poem's most chilling depiction, a typist girl goes home after a long day and engages in a passionless encounter. She is described as a "human engine" that "waits like a taxi throbbing waiting." The act itself is an automatic, indifferent "mechanical copulation," something to be done and gotten over with. This theme of alienation resonates deeply with modern anxieties about intimacy in an increasingly disconnected world.

3.3. Faith Becomes Fortune-Telling: The Trivialization of the Sacred

In Eliot's vision, when true faith disappears, it isn't replaced by enlightened reason, but by cheap superstition and empty ritual a diagnosis perfectly captured in the character of Madame Sosostris. Described ironically as "the wisest woman in Europe," she is a common fortune teller whose tool is the Tarot pack. These cards, once used for matters of the "highest cultural importance," have been reduced to a tool for "vulgar fortune telling," a perfect symbol for the steep decline of values in modern society.

During her reading, Madame Sosostris makes a crucial discovery: she cannot find the card of "the hanged man." This card is a symbol for Jesus Christ and, by extension, fertility, sacrifice, and the path to redemption. Its absence signifies that faith and the possibility of salvation have been lost to the modern world.

Instead of a path forward, she sees only a grim, meaningless cycle:
"I see crowds of people walking round in a ring."

This image is a powerful metaphor for the dull routine of modern civilization a life lived without higher purpose, spiritual direction, or a way out of the endless, repetitive loop of material existence.

3.4. An Ancient Eastern Prescription for a Western Sickness

After exhaustively diagnosing the spiritual desolation and moral decay of Western civilization, Eliot does something surprising. He turns away from the West and looks to the East specifically to ancient Indian philosophy for a remedy.

The final section of the poem transports us to a drought-stricken land by the holy Ganges river. The spiritual crisis is so severe that gods, demons, and men have all gathered to approach Projapati, the God, for guidance. They pray for a solution to their suffering.

The god answers not with a complex doctrine or a new set of rules, but with the sound of divine thunder. The thunder utters a single syllable, repeated three times: "Da." Each of the three groups gods, demons, and men interprets this single sound differently, revealing three essential commands for salvation.

3.5. The Three Commands for Salvation: Give, Sympathize, Control

Here, at the poem's climax, Eliot offers a path toward regeneration a three-part prescription for the soul.

Datta (To Give): This command means far more than simple charity. It is the "awful daring of a moment's surrender" of one's entire self to a higher spiritual purpose. It is through this act of total self-giving, not through our wealth or public obituaries, that our existence finds meaning. This is, the poem suggests, how "we have existed."

Dayadhvam (To Sympathize): This is the key to breaking free from the prison of the ego. Eliot evokes this prison with the haunting lines: "I have heard the key / Turn in the door once and turn once only." This is a direct allusion to Dante's Inferno, where Count Ugolino is locked in a tower to starve one of literature's most famous depictions of inescapable damnation. For Eliot, our ego is that prison. Sympathy is the key that can unlock the door, allowing for true connection and the creation of community.

Damyata (To Control): This is the command for inner discipline. Eliot illustrates this with the beautiful image of a boat responding "gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar." This control is not about restriction; it is about the skillful guidance that makes the journey of life more effective and purposeful, allowing one to navigate the winds of passion and desire with a steady, expert hand.

Conclusion: Will We Answer the Thunder?

T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land" diagnosed a spiritual crisis a century ago that feels shockingly relevant today. It holds up a mirror to our anxieties, our failed connections, and our search for meaning in a world that often seems to have lost its way.

But the poem does not leave us in despair. It shows us both the sickness and the cure. The question it leaves for us, a century later, is whether we have the courage to listen to the thunder and follow its simple, profound commands: to give, to sympathize, and to control.

Indian Knowledge Systems and The Waste Land: A Comparative Thematic Summary of Three Studies


These three articles collectively reinterpret T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land through the lens of Indian Knowledge Systems (IKS) especially the Upanishads and Buddhist philosophy. Instead of viewing the poem only as a record of Western post–World War I despair, they argue that Eliot embeds ancient Indian spiritual frameworks to diagnose modern spiritual decay and to propose a path toward regeneration.

1. The Upanishadic Elements in T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land
  • The Waste Land presents the modern world as Maya (illusion), where material life replaces spiritual truth, reflecting the Upanishadic idea that ignorance of reality leads to suffering.
  • The poem is structured as a spiritual quest for liberation, paralleling the Upanishadic search for Moksha through self-realization and transcendence of ego.
  • The thunder’s message Datta, Dayadhvam, Damyata offers an Upanishadic ethical solution for spiritual renewal through selflessness, compassion, and discipline.

2. A Buddhist Reading of T. S. Eliot’s Poetry
  • Eliot’s poetry depicts modern existence as Dukkha (suffering) and spiritual paralysis, similar to Buddhist views on attachment, illusion, and the fear of endless reincarnation.
  • The Waste Land represents a terrifying cycle of rebirth without enlightenment, where repetition replaces progress, and spiritual emptiness perpetuates itself.
  • Later poems, especially Four Quartets, reflect Buddhist concepts like suchness (tathata) and inner stillness, showing a movement toward spiritual awareness alongside Christian belief.

3. Spiritual Degeneration and Redemption: Exploring Indian Philosophy in The Waste Land
  • The poem diagnoses modern civilization as spiritually degenerate, marked by mechanical relationships, loss of faith, and resistance to regeneration. 
  • Eliot turns to Indian philosophy to explain that suffering arises from ego, desire, and lack of discipline rather than historical events alone.
  • The Upanishadic commands Give, Sympathize, Control are presented as a practical Indian spiritual remedy for restoring individual and social harmony.


Refrences:
  • Grenander, M. E., and K. S. Narayana Rao. “The Waste Land and the Upanishads: What Does the Thunder Say?” Indian Literature, vol. 14, no. 1, 1971, pp. 85–98. JSTOR, https://www.jstor.org/stable/23330564 .
  • Nanda, Manoj Kr. "The Upanishadic Elements in T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land." International Journal of Creative Research Thoughts, vol. 12, no. 9, 2024, pp. c932-c935. https://www.ijcrt.org/papers/IJCRT2409333.pdf













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The Architecture of Apathy: A Cinematic Autopsy of Neeraj Ghaywan’s 'Homebound' (2025)

The Architecture of Apathy: A Cinematic Autopsy of Neeraj Ghaywan’s 'Homebound' (2025)


This essay forms part of a film screening assignment curated by Prof. Dilip Barad, focusing on Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound (2025). Rather than approaching the COVID-19 migrant crisis as a sudden or exceptional tragedy, the film situates it within a larger socio-political framework, exposing how the withdrawal of the state renders dignity, citizenship, and welfare fragile particularly for those whose labour is deemed expendable.


Film Details

Title: Homebound

Year of Release: 2025

Director: Neeraj Ghaywan

Languages: Hindi, Bhojpuri, Awadhi

Genre: Social Realism / Survival Narrative


Cast

  • Vishal Jethwa as Chandan, a Dalit youth whose ambition to enter the police force reflects a tenuous claim to institutional respectability
  • Ishaan Khatter as Shoaib, a Muslim aspirant to state service, negotiating marginality through the promise of official inclusion
  • Janhvi Kapoor as Sudha Bharti, an Anganwadi worker positioned at the periphery of India’s welfare apparatus


Production Team

Executive Producer: Martin Scorsese

Producer: Karan Johar (Dharma Productions)

Screenplay: Neeraj Ghaywan, adapted from Basharat Peer’s 2020 essay “A Friendship, a Pandemic and a Death Beside the Highway”

Cinematography: Pratik Shah

Music: Naren Chandavarkar & Benedict Taylor

Editing: Nitin Baid


Synopsis

Homebound follows the lives of two young men from socially marginalized backgrounds whose pursuit of stability and recognition through state employment is abruptly shattered by the announcement of a nationwide COVID-19 lockdown. Stranded without institutional support, their journey home on foot transforms aspiration into a struggle for physical survival, revealing the conditional nature of citizenship and the ethical vacuum created when the state retreats from its responsibilities.


Introduction: The Film You Think You Know

Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound (2025) is far more than a chronicle of the COVID-19 pandemic; it is a clinical, yet deeply empathetic, autopsy of the modern Indian social fabric. Born from the intersection of Basharat Peer’s raw, ground-level reportage and the cinematic mentorship of Martin Scorsese, the film serves as a harrowing exploration of identity, the fragility of ambition, and the systemic "slow violence" that defines the lives of the marginalized.

This exhaustive guide provides a descriptive deep-dive into every facet of the film from its adaptive origins to its controversial reception serving as both a tribute to its artistry and a scathing critique of the systems it exposes.

On the surface, Neeraj Ghaywan’s critically acclaimed film Homebound appears to be another heart-wrenching story about the tragic migrant crisis that unfolded during India's COVID-19 lockdown. It follows two friends on a desperate journey home, a narrative that seems familiar to anyone who followed the news during that harrowing period. The film received standing ovations at Cannes and was even shortlisted for an Oscar, cementing its place as a significant piece of modern cinema.

But to dismiss Homebound as merely a 'lockdown film' is to ignore its true, unsettling genius, for the pandemic is not its antagonist it is its X-ray. It serves as a catalyst, stripping away society's thin veneer of civility to expose the pre-existing fractures of caste, religion, and systemic apathy. The film’s most powerful statements lie beneath the surface, revealing uncomfortable truths about ambition, the elusive nature of dignity, and the complex ethics of storytelling itself.


Part I: The Genesis - From Reportage to Narrative Cinema

1. The Source Material: Basharat Peer’s Journalism

The film’s DNA is rooted in Basharat Peer’s 2020 New York Times essay, “A Friendship, a Pandemic and a Death Beside the Highway” (originally titled Taking Amrit Home). In the original reportage, the subjects Amrit Kumar and Mohammad Saiyub were migrant textile workers in Surat. They represented the "invisible hands" that sustain India’s urban economy while remaining socially and politically ghost-like.

The Narrative Shift: From Labor to Law

Director Neeraj Ghaywan and screenwriter Sumit Roy made a transformative choice in the adaptation: they reimagined the protagonists, Chandan and Shoaib, not as laborers, but as aspiring police constables. This shift is descriptive of the "Indian Dream" of the 21st century.

  • The Pursuit of Institutional Dignity: By shifting the goal from "earning a daily wage" to "earning a uniform," the film elevates the stakes from economic survival to a quest for social sanctity. In the Indian hinterland, a police uniform is not just apparel; it is a metaphysical shield. It is the only thing that can override the "ignominy" of a Dalit or Muslim identity. To wear the khaki is to become the State, thereby shielding oneself from the State’s own apathy.
  • The Irony of the State: There is a profound, Shakespearean tragedy in watching these young men spend the first half of the film studying the law and training their bodies to join the very apparatus (the police) that will eventually be used to block their path home. The irony becomes a physical weight when, during the lockdown, they encounter the same police force they once idealized now viewing them not as citizens or candidates, but as a "logistics problem" to be managed with batons and barricades.

2. The Scorsese Influence: Mentorship and Realism

The presence of Martin Scorsese as an Executive Producer is more than a prestige credit; it is felt in the film's "realist" DNA. Scorsese mentored Ghaywan through three distinct cuts of the film, encouraging a version that remained "un-sanitized" for global consumption.

  • Restrained Realism: Homebound avoids the "poverty porn" tropes of saturated misery. Instead, it employs a restrained, "street-level" realism reminiscent of Italian Neorealism. The camera does not pity its subjects; it observes them. The long, lingering takes on the highway and the refusal to use melodramatic musical cues create a sense of observational truth that is rare in contemporary Hindi cinema.
  • The "Prestige Gap": This high-art approach helped the film secure standing ovations at prestigious festivals like Cannes and TIFF. However, it inadvertently created a "prestige gap." In the West, it was seen as a masterful social document; in domestic Indian markets, it was often dismissed as "festival cinema," highlighting a disconnect between the reality depicted and the audience's willingness to engage with it in a commercial theater setting.


Part II: Thematic Architecture - The Invisible Borders

1. The Politics of the "Uniform"

The first half of the film functions as a "coming-of-age" drama centered on the grueling, soul-crushing preparation for the police entrance exam.

  • The Fragile Meritocracy: The film vividly portrays the "coaching center" culture, where millions of young men from rural India chase a handful of government jobs. The staggering statistic 2.5 million applicants for 3,500 seats is treated not just as a number, but as a deconstruction of the myth of "hard work." The film suggests that in a system so heavily skewed, meritocracy is a lottery that the poor are invited to play but never meant to win.
  • Uniform as Identity Erasure: For Chandan (a Dalit) and Shoaib (a Muslim), the uniform represents the ultimate form of "passing." It is an attempt to rewrite their social script. If they wear the khaki, they are no longer defined by their caste or religion; they are defined by their rank. The film describes the uniform as a kind of "skin" that they hope will protect them from the "quiet cruelty" of their everyday lives.

2. Intersectionality: Caste, Religion, and "Micro-aggressions"

Homebound is perhaps the most sophisticated film in recent memory regarding the depiction of "micro-aggressions" the subtle, almost polite acts of exclusion that precede overt violence.

  • Caste and the "General" Category: A particularly descriptive moment occurs when Chandan decides to apply in the ‘General’ category instead of the ‘Reserved’ category. This is an exploration of "caste shame." He fears that a "quota" seat would forever delegitimize his achievement in the eyes of his peers. It reveals the deep psychological toll of the anti-reservation rhetoric that permeates Indian middle-class discourse, forcing a Dalit man to compete on an "uneven" level field just to maintain a shred of self-respect.
  • The Water Bottle Scene: In a scene that captures the "quiet cruelty" of religious segregation, a colleague refuses a water bottle from Shoaib. There is no shout, no physical strike, no slur. Just a silent, polite rejection based on a perceived notion of "purity." This moment describes how religious "othering" is maintained in modern, professional, and corporate spaces through the lens of traditional notions of pollution.

3. The Pandemic as "Slow Violence"

Sociologist Rob Nixon coined the term "slow violence" to describe catastrophes that occur out of sight and across time. The film uses the COVID-19 lockdown as the moment where this slow violence becomes "fast" and visible.

  • Ghost Citizens: The migration sequence is not just about a virus; it is about a state that views its labor force as disposable. The lack of transport, food, and dignity during the long walk home is described as an escalation of the conditions they already lived in. The pandemic didn't create the injustice; it merely made the injustice impossible to ignore.
  • Genre Transformation: The film masterfully shifts genres from a "Drama of Ambition" to a "Survival Thriller." This mirrors the characters' own loss of agency the moment they stop being "aspirants" and start being "migrants." Their identity shifts from "hopefuls" to "logistics" in the eyes of the state.


Part III: The Somatic and the Symbolic - Character Analysis

1. Vishal Jethwa as Chandan: The Body in Trauma

Vishal Jethwa’s performance is defined by a specific type of physicality that describes the internalized weight of oppression.

  • The "Shrinking" Body: In the presence of authority figures or upper-caste characters, Chandan physically shrinks. His shoulders hunch slightly, his voice loses its resonance, and his eyes avoid direct contact. This is the "somatic memory" of the Dalit experience the body remembering its place in the hierarchy even when the mind tries to escape it through education.
  • The Full Name Inquiry: When an official asks for his full name, Chandan’s hesitation is palpable. In the Indian context, a surname is a map of one's history and social standing. Jethwa plays this moment as a man trying to hide his map to avoid being "placed" and subsequently dismissed.

2. Ishaan Khatter as Shoaib: The Simmering Minority

Shoaib represents the minority citizen who is constantly, and unfairly, asked to prove his "belonging."

  • The Choice of Home: Shoaib’s rejection of a lucrative job in Dubai to stay and serve in India is the film's core tragedy. He chooses a "home" that is increasingly suspicious of his presence.
  • Simmering Angst: Unlike Chandan’s "shrinking," Shoaib’s trauma manifests as a simmering angst. Khatter portrays a man whose patience is being worn down by the constant "friction" of being an "other." He is a man who loves his country, but his country keeps asking for his ID.

3. Janhvi Kapoor as Sudha Bharti: The Educational Counterpoint

Sudha Bharti’s role has been debated by critics, with some calling her a "narrative device." However, her role is descriptive of the "way out" that is unavailable to the men.

  • Privilege and Education: Sudha represents the "way out" through educational empowerment. Her character highlights that education is not a neutral tool; it is a privilege. Her stability makes the protagonists' struggle feel even more precarious, as she represents a world of dignity that they can see but cannot quite reach.


Part IV: Cinematic Language - The Aesthetic of Exhaustion

1. Visual Aesthetics: The Dusty Palette

Cinematographer Pratik Shah avoids the vibrant, saturated colors often associated with Indian cinema.

  • Warm, Grey, and Dusty: The color palette reflects fatigue. The world of Homebound feels as if it is covered in the dust of the highway. It is an aesthetic of exhaustion where the landscape itself seems to be conspiring against the characters.
  • Ground-Level Framing: The camera often stays low, focusing on feet, dirt, and sweat. This forces the audience to look at the parts of the human body that bear the brunt of systemic apathy.
  • Visual Traps: Close-ups are used within the vastness of the highway to create a sense of claustrophobia. Even in the middle of a massive road, the characters are "trapped" by their identities and the lack of a path forward.

2. Soundscape: The Rejection of Melodrama

The score by Naren Chandavarkar and Benedict Taylor is a radical departure from traditional Bollywood scores.

  • Minimalism as Power: The score is restrained, often disappearing entirely during the most tragic moments. By using silence or ambient environmental sounds the wind, the distant hum of trucks, the rhythmic sound of walking the film forces the audience to sit with the discomfort of the scene.
  • Sound as Atmosphere: The sound design emphasizes the harshness of the environment. The heat of the Indian sun is "heard" through the buzzing of insects and the dry, rasping sound of the characters' breathing.


Part V: Critical Discourse - The Film in the Real World

1. The Censorship Battle

  • The CBFC ordered 11 cuts, muting words like "Gyan" (knowledge) and removing references to "Aloo Gobhi."
  • Anxiety of the State: These cuts are descriptive of a state that is uncomfortable with cinema reflecting a divided reality. Muting "Gyan" suggests an anxiety about the marginalized acquiring intellectual power. Removing food references hides the cultural markers of specific communities, attempting to "sanitize" the film's social commentary.

2. The Ethics of "True Story" Adaptations

  • The film’s production was marred by a plagiarism suit and claims from the real-life family of Amrit Kumar.
  • Extractive Filmmaking: The family’s claim that they were given only a pittance (Rs 10,000) while the film sought Oscar glory raises a massive ethical question. Are filmmakers "standing by the lives" they portray, or are they extracting tragedy for "critical prestige"? This controversy describes the inherent power imbalance in social-realist cinema.

3. Commercial Viability vs. Artistic Merit

The film was an Oscar entry but a "FLOP" at the box office.

The Post-Pandemic Market: This highlights a shift in Indian audience preference toward "Spectacle Cinema" (like RRR). "Serious" films are increasingly relegated to streaming platforms, losing the collective impact of the theatrical experience.

Conclusion: The Failed Journey Home

Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound concludes with the devastating realization that "home" is a conditional concept. For Chandan and Shoaib, the journey was never just physical. It was a metaphorical journey toward acceptance. The tragedy lies in the fact that the system functioned exactly as it was designed to: by keeping the "othered" citizen in a state of perpetual transit. Homebound leaves the audience with a haunting question: In a nation that fails its own, who is truly home?


References:

Barad, Dilip. (2026). Academic Worksheet on Homebound. 10.13140/RG.2.2.10952.99849. 

Homebound. Directed by Neeraj Ghaywan, performances by Vishal Jethwa, Ishaan Khatter, and Janhvi Kapoor, Dharma Productions, 2025.

Peer, Basharat. "A Friendship, a Pandemic and a Death Beside the Highway." The New York Times Magazine, 25 May 2020, https://www.nytimes.com/2020/07/31/opinion/sunday/India-migration-coronavirus.html.

"COVID-19 Lockdown in India." Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/COVID-19_lockdown_in_India. Accessed 6 Jan. 2026.

"Caste System in India." Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caste_system_in_India. Accessed 6 Jan. 2026.

"Italian Neorealism." Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Italian_neorealism. Accessed 6 Jan. 2026.

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From Page to Screen: The Great Gatsby — Novel (1925) & Film (2013)

 From Page to Screen:The Great Gatsby- Novel (1925) & Film (2013) This blog is written as a task assigned by the head of the Department ...