In 2019, I received a request for a documentary production from an indie filmmaking group based in Singapore. They wanted to make a docu-series of stories revolving around the borders of various countries, hence the name of the project was Borderlands. The producer, Joscylenne Kua, had selected India–Pakistan, Laos–Myanmar, Myanmar–Thailand, and China–Vietnam as subjects, and wished to explore villages at these borders. I was accompanied by my teammate Hetal Patel, and our Punjab unit was assisted by Inderjeet Singh and Akshay Joshi, the latter of whom showed us villages at the Attari border and in the Tarn Taran district. It was a surreal experience, as for Indians, seeing Pakistani land beyond fenced wires evokes a very different, unexplained kind of emotion. There is an unsaid rule for any Indian or Pakistani—that seeing our neighbour, and also our most hostile political relation, will definitely move us, even if we aren’t personally affected by partition.

We witnessed the Wagah Border ceremony, and it was here I realised that Wagah is actually in Lahore district of Pakistan, whereas the Indian side is Attari. The houses still date back to the 1940s or even earlier, and not much in their economic lifestyles has changed. The residents of those villages told us horrors of partition, which they witnessed as children. Several houses have been vacated ever since, recalling the gruesome months of bloodshed that once occurred there.

Satnam Singh and his father, Kewal Singh, were farmers who lived a few minutes away from the ‘no-man’s area,’ where they went farming under an unsaid understanding that no one would fire their guns. Satnam Singh goes to the nearby town of Attari to sell his crops, and the earnings keep their household running. They told us that in case of any border tensions, they are asked to relocate to another village or house. Interestingly, Kewal Singh had previously been arrested and jailed in Pakistan for a period of 10 years, but was released after only 3.5 years. He had been charged with drug peddling—a problem that has shattered thousands of homes globally.

Gurpreet Kaur, Vice Principal of Hari Krishnan School, is deeply concerned about the children during any border escalation. Along with education, she has made it her mission to help children affected by political turmoil between the two nations, which impacts residential areas the most, plundering families and emotions for a very long time.

At the Attari–Wagah border ceremony, we met Guru Singh, a balloon-seller. Over his 25 years of life, he had switched multiple professions but had been selling balloons for the past three years at that time. Selling balloons to kids whose cheeks were painted with the tricolour, as they prepared to witness a moment of a lifetime, gave him immense joy, although it’s not certain how many times he himself had watched the ceremony.

Jaspal Aman runs a unique hotel business around Attari. His restaurant, Sarhad, serves fusion meals from India and Pakistan. His aim was to hire a Pakistani designer for his restaurant, which I assume he may have achieved by now. He also mentioned that the hateful image created by the media was shattered when he actually met Pakistanis, whom he described as warm, friendly, and equally helpful.

While visiting the lanes of Amritsar, I was personally and deeply affected. From finding peace at the Sri Harmandir Sahib, or Golden Temple, to feeling painful agony at the Jallianwala Bagh memorial and the Partition Museum, I experienced all waves of emotion. Even though I don’t belong to Punjab, the stories of these two painful events affect me deeply, and I couldn’t control my emotions at the time. The bullet marks on the walls in Jallianwala Bagh, the well (poorly preserved) where people jumped to their deaths, the narrow lanes (still kept in their original form) blocked by the brutal British officer, and the haunting images displayed in the Partition Museum—these make up a history that every Indian, Pakistani, and even Bangladeshi knows. It is perhaps the only moment where all three nations would stand silent, reflecting on what could have been avoided.

The relationship between India and Pakistan is filled with complex emotions. The more we talk about it, the deeper it gets. It is a mix of both negative and positive traits and is extremely vulnerable to political imbalance and public outrage. Yet, only those who actually visit these places gain a completely different perspective. Unfortunately, during the permissions process, the Balakot airstrikes occurred, and we couldn’t complete the paperwork as the project was becoming too expensive for the filmmakers. Still, the recce became an important part of both my professional and personal life. I will always have a very special corner for Punjab and, hopefully, get to film something there in the future.