When Yash Chopra made Veer-Zaara in 2004, he wasn't merely producing another cinematic romance but was making one of the most celebrated cross-border love stories in Hindi cinema. The film captivated audiences with its romanticized world of love and longing and subtly uplifted the historically strained relationship between India and Pakistan. Hindi cinema like, at large, has long been a mirror of the complex Indo-Pak dynamic. As the two nations once again find themselves in a challenging phase, one can only look back at such cinema and visual archives with nostalgia and a yearning for times that imagined peace and harmony between them.
The current geopolitical relationship between India and Pakistan has taken a severe turn since the attack in Pahalgam, Jammu & Kashmir, on April 22. This tragic incident took the lives of innocent civilians and left the nation in shock. Following this, India launched a series of airstrikes- Operation Sindoor- targeting nine alleged terrorist infrastructure sites in Pakistan and Pakistan-administered Kashmir. Initiated in the dead of night, the operation escalated tensions and hostility between the two countries. In such escalating aggression and difficult moments, one longs for a restoration, and even a reimagination, of Indo-Pak peace and unity. However, love, romance, and peace seem to be the least desired in moments such as this.
One of the immediate outcomes of the Pahalgam attack was the widely discussed ban on Pakistani artists in India. Fawad Khan, who was preparing to release his new Bollywood film Abir Gulaal, will reportedly not see the movie released in India anymore. Instagram accounts of several Pakistani celebrities—including Atif Aslam, Mahira Khan, Hania Aamir, and Fawad Khan himself—have been blocked in India, making their content inaccessible to Indian users. When the already delicate relationship between the two nations is disrupted, it sends ripples through every sphere—cinema and the lives of its artists included. Renowned figures from both countries issued statements on social media. While Pakistani artists condemned India's response, Indian artists praised the airstrikes as a reflection of the nation's zero-tolerance stance toward terrorism. Thus, cross-border love becomes vulnerable within the cinematic space and among the figures who embody and perform that cinematic vision.
Yash Chopra's Veer-Zaara made a remarkable intervention that still resonates strongly in times like these, through its storytelling, particularly in the song Aisa Des Hai Mera. In this song, Chopra envisions the two nations not as enemies but as cultural brethren—equally beautiful and profoundly connected:
Mere des mein mehmanon ko bhagwan kaha jaata hai
Vo yahin ka ho jaata hai, jo kahin se bhi aata hai
Tere des ko maine dekha, tere des ko maine jaana…
Jaane kyun yeh lagta hai mujhko jaana pahchaana
Yahan bhi vahi sham hai, vahi savera…
Aisa hi des hai mera jaisa des hai tera
(Guests in my country are called God.
He becomes a part of here,
Irrespective of where he comes from
I've seen your country,
I've learned about your country,
I don't know why, but it looks familiar to me.
Here, the evenings and mornings are the same.
The evenings and mornings are the same.
Such is my country
Just like your country)
This song is a cinematic vision of unity in a world fractured by hard borders. Aisa Des Hai Mera becomes a gentle, poignant reminder of how intricately intertwined India and Pakistan are—not only geographically but culturally, emotionally, and historically. As the visuals shift between mustard fields, chulhas, bangles, and folk songs, the lyrics dissolve the binary of "us" versus "them." This is not a song of loud patriotism but a whisper of longing. It doesn't campaign for nationalism; it yearns for connection. In times thick with political suspicion and aggression, this song quietly asserts that both nations' souls are carved from the same earth, stitched with the same sounds, memories, and smells. It's this profound emotional and cultural sameness that the film foregrounds, challenging narratives of hostility by simply portraying love between people, families, and lands.
Another poignant moment comes when Saamiya Siddiqui (Rani Mukerji), a Pakistani lawyer, is appointed to defend Veer in court. Upon her first visit to Veer's prison cell, she confronts the jailer, who repeatedly addresses Veer as "Qaidi No. 786." As she leaves, she asks:
"Have you ever wondered why his number is 786?
From the thousands of prisoners here, how come this lone Hindu prisoner gets Allah's holy number?
This is not a coincidence. This is God's miracle.
His way of telling all of you that this is His own man.
Treat him with respect.
Next time you speak to him so rudely, give a serious thought to what I've just said."
The 786 number carries deep cultural and spiritual significance in the South Asian Islamic context. It numerically represents the phrase "Bismillah al-Rahman al-Rahim" ("In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful"), making it an auspicious symbol. Saamiya's recognition of this number's meaning becomes a narrative turning point, reasserting reconciliation, Veer's dignity, and reinforcing the film's broader intention of recognizing the neighbouring nation as equally special and God라이브 바카라 own.
This meeting of Saamiya with Veer opens his past. He fell in love with Zaara during their short time together, even confessing his feelings before parting ways at the train station, despite knowing she is engaged to another man, Raza Sharazi (Manoj Bajpayee). His words remain with her: if ever she needs a friend, she should remember the one who would gladly lay down his life for her, and lives across the border (India). Back in Pakistan, Zaara asks her mother (Kirron Kher) whether she could give her life for her husband (Boman Irani). Her mother responds that it is only ordinary for her to do so. Zaara then asks if her husband would do the same for her. Noticing her mother's silence, Zaara understands. Her mother follows up, warning Zaara not to have such expectations from her future husband.
As her mother turns to leave, Zaara speaks:
"But I know someone who would happily give his life for me.
Someone who doesn't care that I am Pakistani and he is Indian."
Her mother reacts with fury, warning her of the consequences, saying her father would take her life if he ever found out.
This scene is crucial. It subverts conventional narratives by showing that an Indian man could give his life for a Pakistani woman—and that a Pakistani woman could fall deeply in love with him. It is a profound demonstration of how human emotion can transcend borders, history, and conflict, portraying two individuals from two seemingly irreconcilable worlds as one soul.
Another deeply significant moment unfolds when Zaara's mother confronts Veer after discovering the depth of his love for her daughter. In a heartbreaking act of sacrifice, Veer promises Zaara's mother that he will leave and allow Zaara to marry the man her parents have chosen for her. He tells her that no love is greater than the value of human life and that he would never let his love for Zaara come at the cost of her family's honour or peace. His words are not spoken with bitterness but with quiet, dignified sorrow—a kind of love willing to let go.
Stunned by the magnitude of Veer's selflessness, Zaara's mother turns to him and asks, with visible emotion:
"Are all sons in your country like you?"
To this, Veer gently replies:
"I don't know if every son is like me…
But I do know that every mother in my land is like you."
This exchange is brief but pierces through generations of mistrust and boundaries. It is not just a conversation between two individuals but a powerful metaphor for India and Pakistan라이브 바카라 shared values, emotions, and humanity. Through Veer's humility and Zaara's mother's grace, the scene offers a glimpse into a relationship between the two nations that is not built on suspicion or fear but on mutual respect and deep empathy. It underscores the idea that despite the divides, the emotional fabric of both lands is woven with the same strands of love, sacrifice, and compassion.
Veer-Zaara is iconic for portraying an Indian (Veer) who sacrificed twenty-two years of his life in a jail in Lahore to give Zaara a happy life. Zaara, on the other hand, gave her life to fulfill the dreams of her beloved Veer in his home in India. It is this bond, this love, and this relationship that contemporary India and Pakistan are in dire need of—a relationship that isn’t controlled by suspicion, hatred, enmity, and war. Just like Veer felt, even when Pakistan was not his nation, it still felt like home to him. Or like how, even though India wasn't Zaara's, she made it her own. The two nations must unite again in nostalgia for their shared peace. What Veer and Zaara did years ago continues to reverberate even today. One hopes that the tension these attacks have caused—not just between the two nations but also among the artists of both countries—comes to an end. And once again, there is an exchange of talent, ideas, and cinematic creativity. One wishes to witness artists from both nations coming together—on screen and stage—just like we saw during the Zee Cine Awards 2005, where Pakistani artists Reema Khan and Humayun Saeed joined Preity Zinta and Shah Rukh Khan on stage, dancing to what almost felt like a patriotic song, “Aisa Des Hai Mera”.
Veer-Zaara is not only a romantic ideation—it's a silent yearning for togetherness in a fragmented world. While the current politics isolates the two nations, the movie reminds us that love, compassion, and common culture can unite them. And maybe it's time to allow art to accomplish what borders can't—construct a bridge transcending national tension.
Akishe L. Jakha is a Film and Media scholar from Nagaland, specializing in popular cinema and regional cinematic culture.
