An apple. Whenever Faheem (Mir Tawseef) rides past the check post to his village in India’s Kashmir, he hands a fruit to Karun (Akash Menon), a pleasant Malayali security officer. The sexual tension here is palpable. In an American gay rom-com featuring the two, the gazes and the chemistry would have exploded on screen. In Onir’s film, there is a pertinent layer of fear, of many kinds, that prevents the protagonists in We Are Faheem & Karun from getting lost in an embrace.
The setup is Gurez, in India’s politically sensitive Kashmir, the border state where Pakistan is known to infiltrate. Faheem is a Muslim boy from the village. Karun is a Malayali boy from the southern state of Kerala. They look different, speak differently, and have had distinct upbringings. Pretty early in the film, we learn about Karun’s adventures on a dating app (with a certain “Namkeen Man”). While Indian society isn’t welcoming of the idea of a gay soldier, Karun is quietly living that life.
We Are Faheem & Karun opens with a bird’s-eye view of the region. It’s not the picturesque version of Kashmir we see in tourism brochures, but a less color-corrected one — lived-in, yet beautiful nevertheless. Soon, by virtue of its setup, Onir’s film offers a fine glimpse into Faheem’s life. The conversations in the native Kashmiri language blend well and add authenticity to the narrative. Given the ongoing hesitation among Indians to visit Kashmir, Onir also projects a point of view from a few visiting tourists.
Coming to Karun, he does look like a fish out of water while patrolling the area. We see the visibly devout Hindu boy greet the locals with an assalamu alaikum for seamless assimilation, to which the nicer folks respond well.
So, the big question is: when does We Are Faheem & Karun turn into a queer drama — that too, a romance?
It all starts with the check post encounters, apples and glances duly exchanged. Faheem and Karun barely get the time or space to explore each other’s worlds. A liaison of this kind is a forbidden fruit for an average Indian, let alone for these two with nearly nothing in common. Their relationship would trigger political, religious, and social debates. Yet, Onir peppers the film with sparks that must fly.
On the flip side, I wish the film had delved a little more into Karun’s world as well. The phone calls with his mother are not only insufficient but also feel inorganic. Is there a real personality for the men, especially Karun, behind their kind, sweet-natured selves? Onir should also have avoided giving Karun a caste surname — that too, a regionally incorrect one, considering he is from Kochi. It feels like a forced add-on meant to underscore his Malayali identity. The beef reference feels like an overstated note of rebellion in an otherwise subtle film.
Similarly, there are a couple of other moments that come across as forced insertions. One is where Karun’s colleagues look at Rani KoHEnur‘s Instagram account. While the intent is pure, this kind of dialogue belongs to a different film and a different meter.
That said, the central romance in We Are Faheem & Karun is something you will naturally root for. The cinematographer, who seems to love drone shots, captures their close-ups with the same vigor. The men look natural and unstyled, meeting in a sedate corner of Kashmir. Then we get the song “Bas Bhi Kijiye” (tuned by Pritam and written by Amitabh Bhattacharya), which lovingly underscores their slow bonding.
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Onir’s screenplay succeeds in building tension in the intense sequences toward the finale. Karun’s perplexed state of mind is wonderfully explored after he hears a horrifying piece of news. Besides the leading men, Onir also gives human shades to Faheem’s family, especially the mother (Sana Javeid, a delight). The woman is not an unrealistic picture of resistance or solidarity, but she understands her son. On the other side of the spectrum is Zaid (Mir Salman, aptly cast), Faheem’s brother with extremist tendencies, who represents every entity the gay Muslim man in Kashmir must hide from.
In We Are Faheem & Karun, Onir extracts fine performances from his protagonists. Playing Faheem, Mir Tawseef is an instant charmer. The actor is blessed with eloquent eyes, and his screen presence is distinct. Whether it is a simple interaction with his mother or a stolen glance with his love, Faheem’s giving nature is safe with Tawseef. Akash Menon’s disarming smile initially feels a bit soft for his profession, but not for the love story he is entangled in. In a film that does not rely on too many lines to convey the lovers’ mindscape, Menon fills the frames with meaningful silences.
Previously, in I Am, Onir told a story of loss with quiet sensitivity. Seen through Meghna’s (Juhi Chawla) and Rubina’s (Manisha Koirala) eyes and experiences, he explored the aftermath of the exodus of Kashmiri Pandits and how it affected both Hindus and Muslims. After all, the valley belongs to both communities. We Are Faheem & Karun never gets that direct or gritty.
Onir’s film feels safe in its romantic territory, which is fine, but there were moments when I wished it were to ache more. The film’s cautious nature is also perhaps symbolic of our times. There are gay stories in all corners of the world, whether or not one is bound by shackles of any kind. In Gurez, surrounded by taboos and socio-political barriers, the low decibel levels stand justified. As a bonus, Onir’s understanding of the LGBTQIA+ community and its vulnerability adds to making this love story an important and impactful one for the queer community in South Asia.
Rating: ★★★★
We Are Faheem & Karun was screened at the 37th Edition of NewFest: New York LGBT Film Festival.
