Breaking Bread: ’Once Upon a Time in Lahore’ Hauntingly Depicts the Tragic Dimensions of Hate and Friendship

I first met Sanjay Arora at the Atlanta Indian Film Festival in September 2024, where he pitched a remarkable film project to the jury. I was struck by the emotional depth and clarity of his storytelling. a trait I’ve continued to admire in his evolving career. 

Arora is a filmmaker and actor, known for making short films like “Expression,” “Chase,” “Butterfly Wings,” and “Once Again.” When I learned that “Once Upon a Time in Lahore” was selected for the Short Film Corner at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival, I reached out to request a screener. Watching it, I was overwhelmed with a deep sense of unease. The story touches a personal nerve. My grandparents, father, and aunts were among the 7.3 million Hindus and Sikhs forced to leave Lahore in 1947. That pain lives on, and this film evokes it with razor-sharp precision.

Set during the Partition of India, one of the most devastating upheavals in South Asian history, “Once Upon a Time in Lahore” isn’t a sweeping historical epic. Like “Train to Pakistan” or “Toba Tek Singh,” it chooses the heft of ordinary people over scale. This is not a film about armies or borders. It is about friendship that spans decades. The kind that endures lifetime and beyond. It portrays hate, mistrust born of othering, and unintended betrayal.

A Powerful Plot

Ram, a Hindu man, hides alone in his home as riots rage across Lahore. One day, a knock: it’s Rahim, his childhood Muslim friend, with his young son and a lifeline — “one roti.” The gesture evokes their shared past, a flicker of humanity, a momentous pause amid grief, pain, and chaos. But the roti is poisoned — not by Rahim, but by his wife, herself a victim of fear and communal hysteria.

In an act of shock, penance, and mourning, Rahim eats the rest of the roti. His final act is one of love, grief, and refusal. A refusal to let hatred define their bond.What unfolds is not just the death of two friends. It’s the collapse of trust, of neighborliness.  Of everything civil,  that once bound communities together before Partition made strangers of friends. And in that collapse, it is Rahim who suffers the most. For him, Ram is not “the other.” He does not see Ram as a Hindu and himself as a Muslim. He sees only a friend. A brother. A yaar.

Their bond is not just emotional or historical; it is linguistic. They speak in Punjabi, a shared mother tongue that transcends religion and deepens their connection. Language becomes a quiet, powerful symbol of unity — a reminder that culture and kinship often run deeper than ideology.

A Personal Apocalypse

The film excels in portraying Partition not as a political event, but as a personal, household tragedy. It shows how betrayal can happen in our hearts, among friends who lived ten feet apart, at the shared kitchen table where they celebrated Eid and Diwali together — how violence creeps in through rumor, fear, and desperation. Like “Garam Hawa” or “Pinjar,” the film forces us to confront the everyday heartbreak of those years. Even Rahim’s wife isn’t a villain. Her actions are born of trauma, of inexplicable human fear in times of turmoil. The film resists binaries and embraces the gritty complexity of human bondage and suffering.

“Once Upon a Time in Lahore” resonates deeply today. In a world rife with identity politics, sectarian violence, and greed-fueled division, the film’s warning is urgent. It asks: Who do we become when fear defines us?

Visually, “Once Upon a Time” is artful and austere. The cinematography is claustrophobic, steeped in shadows and close-ups. The house itself becomes a silent character — a sanctuary now tainted. The director Jagat Joon exercises masterful restraint, allowing silence and stillness to speak volumes. Flashbacks of childhood mischief, festivals, and shared kheer are woven delicately into the film, deepening the sense of loss. The pacing is slow but deliberate, demanding reflection. The ambiance is mournful, echoing emotional decay.

Though tragic, the film also suggests that love can be resisted. Rahim’s final choice…to share Ram’s fate is both a protest and a prayer. It’s a heartbreaking reminder that even in divided times, human connection can transcend ideology. This idea recalls “The Kite Runner” or “Jojo Rabbit” — where bonds formed in innocence are tested by violence, yet flicker through the darkness with integrity. 

A Story for Our Times

“Once Upon a Time in Lahore” resonates deeply today. In a world rife with identity politics, sectarian violence, and greed-fueled division, the film’s warning is urgent. It asks: Who do we become when fear defines us? How easily can love dissolve into hate?This is not just a film about the Partition of India. It is a lament for a lost childhood, a lost world, and a desperate plea for humanity to value human lives. It’s emotionally raw, visually poetic, and morally courageous. It reminds us of a painful truth: before we were enemies, we were just people — breaking bread, playing, laughing, celebrating, and speaking the same language.

A Conversation with Sanjay Arora

Who came up with the original concept for “Once Upon a Time in Lahore”?

The original concept was developed by the film’s director, Jagat Joon. Jagat shared this emotionally powerful story with me—centered on friendship during one of the most divisive periods in history. I instantly connected with the narrative, and we decided to bring it to life through film.

Where did you shoot the film, and how did you recreate the 1947 atmosphere of Lahore?

The film was shot in a village near Gurgaon in North India, selected for its striking resemblance to the pre-Partition era. Through careful art direction and cinematography, we recreated the look and feel of 1947 Lahore.

Which historical sources or literary works influenced the narrative, especially in depicting Hindu-Muslim friendships during Partition?

The story was inspired by an account read by Jagat’s friend in a book. This tale formed the backbone of our narrative and helped us present an authentic emotional and historical portrayal.

How did you approach casting the characters of Ram and Rahim, given the emotional weight and historical context required?

We cast actors who had previously collaborated with Jagat. Their existing rapport and deep understanding of his direction enabled them to embody the emotional complexity required for these roles. We also held extensive rehearsals to deepen their performances.

How long did it take to complete the film, from scriptwriting to the final edit?

The scripting process took about two months, with several revisions to ensure accuracy and emotional depth. The full production, from concept to final cut, was completed in  4 months.

What were some of the biggest challenges you faced during the making of the film?

Filming during the peak summer months of May and June near Delhi was a significant challenge. Temperatures soared to 45–48°C, which made working conditions extremely demanding for the cast and crew.

How was “Once Upon a Time in Lahore” received at Cannes? What kind of responses did you get from international audiences?

The film was featured in the Short Film Corner at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival. Audiences from various countries watched it and shared that they felt a deep emotional connection with the story, regardless of their cultural background.

What do you hope audiences—especially younger generations—take away from this film?

At its core, the film is not about religion—it is a story about true friendship. We hope younger audiences see the importance of compassion, understanding, and the human bonds that transcend borders and beliefs.

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With one foot in Huntsville, Alabama, the other in her birth home, India, and a heart steeped in humanity, Monita Soni writes as a contemplative practice. She has published hundreds of poems, movie reviews, book critiques, and essays, and contributed to combined literary works. Her two books are My Light Reflections and Flow Through My Heart. You can hear her commentaries on Sundial Writers Corner, WLRH 89.3 FM.