From Partition to Present: How Indian Cinema Became the Mirror of India-Pakistan Tensions
When the British Empire finally retreated from the Indian subcontinent in 1947, it left behind not only two nations but also two narratives. One birthed by trauma, the other by ambition. India and Pakistan emerged as bitter rivals from day one, divided not just by geography, but by identity, ideology, and bloodshed. But beyond the diplomatic cables and the barbed wires, there was one medium that quietly recorded every emotional beat of this rivalry — Indian cinema.
More than just a cultural product, Indian cinema has served as a national diary. From the pain of Partition to the swagger of modern-day military triumphs, Bollywood has mirrored India’s evolving stance on Pakistan — sometimes subtly, sometimes with thunderous clarity.
In today’s climate — where ceasefire violations dominate headlines and surgical strikes inspire national pride — it’s worth asking: how did Indian cinema become the unofficial battleground of Indo-Pak history?
Partition: The Wound That Birthed Two Nations and Endless Stories
The Partition of 1947 was not just a political decision; it was a human tragedy. Over a million people died. Countless women were raped. Families were ripped apart. For years, Indian cinema couldn’t even speak about it directly. The wound was too raw.
One of the earliest films to confront Partition was “Dharmputra” (1961) by Yash Chopra. But it flopped. The audience wasn’t ready. This silence reflected a national mood: reconciliation was the hope, and cinema didn’t want to stoke old fires.
It wasn’t until decades later, with films like “Garm Hava” (1973) and “Tamas” (1987), that filmmakers dared to hold a mirror to the trauma. These films didn’t point fingers at Pakistan; they looked inward. They explored how India itself had failed its citizens in the madness of Partition.
But by the 1990s, things changed. The mood shifted from sorrow to strength.
1990s: From Emotional Diplomacy to Nationalist Assertion
The 1990s were a turning point — both politically and cinematically. India opened its markets, but closed its patience for Pakistan-sponsored terrorism. After the Kargil War in 1999, Indian cinema found a new voice: assertive, emotional, and patriotic.
Enter “Border” (1997) and “LOC: Kargil” (2003) — grand war epics where Indian soldiers were heroes and Pakistan was the enemy. These films didn’t need metaphors. They shouted their message from the mountaintops. And audiences loved it.
This was not just entertainment. It was national catharsis. Indians who had seen decades of terror attacks and betrayals were finally watching justice — even if only on screen.
And then came the era of the “surgical strike films.”
Post-2016: Cinema as a Strategic Weapon
The 2016 Uri attack and the Indian Army’s surgical strike that followed marked a watershed. Not just militarily, but cinematically. “Uri: The Surgical Strike” (2019) became a blockbuster — not just in theaters, but in the national consciousness.
With the now-iconic line “How’s the Josh?”, Bollywood had found its new war cry.
This wasn’t just a film. It was soft power. It shaped perception. It rallied a nation. It sent a message — not just to Pakistan, but to Indians who wanted a bolder India.
Cinema was no longer about healing the wounds of Partition. It was now about reclaiming pride.
And yet, even as India found its voice, Pakistan found its excuses.
Pakistan’s Narrative: Silence, Denial, and Counter-Propaganda
While Indian cinema evolved into a tool for national expression and geopolitical messaging, Pakistan’s film industry — much smaller and tightly controlled — followed a very different path.
Post-Partition, Pakistani cinema (or "Lollywood") was more concerned with religious and cultural themes, often avoiding direct references to India. When India was portrayed, it was typically in the context of Kashmir, but always as an aggressor, never in a nuanced or introspective light. There was little space for complexity or criticism of the Pakistani state.
Unlike India, where democratic discourse allowed dissenting films like Haider (2014) or Firaaq (2008), Pakistan’s limited output often reflected the state’s preferred narrative. Films that tried to explore internal problems — from radicalization to military overreach — were either censored or shut down altogether.
India’s cinematic space, on the other hand, was dynamic and self-reflective. It didn’t just point fingers at Pakistan; it also critiqued Indian policy failures, such as in Madras Café (2013), A Wednesday (2008), or Shershaah (2021), which portrayed the price of war beyond its glory.
This contrast — between India’s confident storytelling and Pakistan’s constrained propaganda — tells its own story about the two nations’ political maturity and cultural openness.
Bollywood and the Politics of Soft Power
Over the years, Indian cinema has become a soft power tool — consciously or not — projecting Indian values, democracy, and resilience to global audiences. Films like Raazi (2018), based on the true story of an Indian spy married into a Pakistani military family, showed how even wartime espionage could be portrayed with emotional complexity.
Raazi wasn’t just about defeating Pakistan; it was about the internal conflict of duty versus emotion. It didn’t dehumanize the other side, but it didn’t whitewash history either.
This balance — telling hard truths while maintaining artistic dignity — is one reason why Indian films are increasingly recognized at international festivals, streamed globally, and discussed in think tanks and policy circles.
Meanwhile, Pakistan has responded not through cinema, but through denial: denying terrorism, denying support for groups like LeT and JeM, and denying the impact of its own internal radicalization.
From Soldier to Citizen: A Broader Canvas Emerges
Modern Indian films are now pushing beyond the binary of “India good, Pakistan bad.” Movies like The Family Man (Amazon Prime) explore the psychological burden of being a counter-terrorism officer. Series like Special Ops dive into deep-state strategy and long-term intelligence games, reflecting a sophisticated understanding of modern warfare.
This evolution matters. It shows that Indian storytelling isn’t stuck in the past. It’s maturing with the times. It understands that the real war today is not just on the border — it’s in narratives, perception, and influence.
Moreover, such stories help young Indians — many of whom didn’t live through Kargil or 26/11 — understand the stakes of national security without being indoctrinated. This is cultural nation-building at its best.
Cinema as a Site of Healing — and Accountability
It would be unfair to say Indian cinema has only served as a nationalist megaphone. It has also been a forum for difficult questions.
Take Haider (2014), based on Shakespeare’s Hamlet, set in conflict-ridden Kashmir. It questions the role of the Indian Army and the state. It sparked massive debates. But it was allowed to be made. That’s what separates India from its western neighbor — creative freedom.
Or consider Firaaq (2008), set in the aftermath of the 2002 Gujarat riots. It showed how communal trauma affects people for years — not just the victims but the bystanders, the guilty, and the complicit.
These films are not anti-national. They are profoundly Indian — because they demand accountability, justice, and truth.
The Strategic Timing of Films — Coincidence or Coordination?
In recent years, the timing of certain films has raised questions. Uri released just months before the 2019 general elections. The Kashmir Files (2022) released amid rising national debate about minority rights and terrorism.
Critics argue that these films serve as soft propaganda to build public mood. Supporters say they simply reflect a rising consciousness.
The truth likely lies in between.
What’s clear is that cinema has become deeply intertwined with India’s strategic and political identity. It doesn’t operate in a vacuum. Whether intentional or not, films now contribute to public opinion — and that opinion often finds its way into voting booths and foreign policy debates.
Beyond War: Looking Toward Peace?
It is easy — and sometimes necessary — to make films about war, revenge, and pride. But what about peace?
There are exceptions: Veer-Zaara (2004), a cross-border love story, showed how even the harshest boundaries cannot kill human connection. Bajrangi Bhaijaan (2015) flipped the script entirely — portraying a kind-hearted Indian helping a mute Pakistani girl return home.
These films resonated because they reminded us: underneath the flags and the politics, we are still people. The India-Pakistan conflict is real, but it doesn’t have to be eternal.
However, peace narratives only thrive when there’s some gesture from both sides. In today’s climate — with Pakistan still sheltering terror operatives, and India adopting a more muscular stance — peace films are fewer and farther between.
Where We Stand in 2025: Films Reflecting Facts, Not Fantasies
As of 2025, India finds itself in a new geopolitical position. Post-Article 370 revocation, post-Balakot, post-Operation Sindoor, and now with Operation Keller — India has sent a clear message: it will not tolerate cross-border terrorism, and it will not bend under nuclear blackmail.
Cinema, as ever, is adapting. Upcoming films now draw from real intelligence operations. New filmmakers are emerging with access to retired military advisors and actual case files.
The result? A new genre of “realist nationalism.” Less chest-thumping, more chess-playing. Less slogans, more strategy.
And while this may unsettle critics abroad, for Indian audiences — tired of decades of denial and double games from Pakistan — it rings true.
The Road Ahead: Responsibility with Reach
Indian cinema is now one of the most powerful cultural tools in the world. With global streaming, multi-language dubbing, and international press coverage, every Indian film is now a statement — whether it wants to be or not.
This power comes with responsibility. Filmmakers must avoid turning cinema into unchecked propaganda. But they must also not shy away from hard truths — whether about Pakistan’s duplicity or India’s own moral struggles.
We need more Raazis and Haiders, but also more Uris and Shershaahs. We need stories that inspire pride, but also provoke thought.
Because at the end of the day, the story of India is not just one of wars — it’s also one of wisdom.
Conclusion: When the Reel Reflects the Real
Cinema cannot stop a bullet or sign a treaty. But it can shape the mind that does.
From Partition’s agony to today’s strategic clarity, Indian cinema has been more than just entertainment — it has been education, expression, and empowerment.
In the battle of narratives between India and Pakistan, India has already won on the screen. And perhaps, one day, when the guns fall silent, it will be cinema — not soldiers — that tells the final story.
