Haider (film) - Wikipedia. Haider is a 2. 01. Indian crime drama film written, produced and directed by Vishal Bhardwaj, and co- written by Basharat Peer.

It stars Shahid Kapoor as the titular protagonist, and co- stars Tabu, Shraddha Kapoor and Kay Kay Menon. Irrfan Khan appears in an extended special appearance. The film is both a modern- day adaptation of William Shakespeare's tragedy Hamlet and an adaptation of Basharat Peer's memoir Curfewed Night, set amidst the insurgency- hit Kashmir conflicts of 1. Haider, a young student and a poet, returns to Kashmir at the peak of the conflict to seek answers about his father's disappearance and ends up being tugged into the politics of the state.[4]Haider is the third installment of Bhardwaj's Shakespearean trilogy after Maqbool (2. Omkara (2. 00. 6).[5] The film was screened at the 1.

Busan International Film Festival,[6] and released worldwide on 2 October 2. The direction, performances of Kay Kay Menon, Tabu and Shahid Kapoor, screenplay, film score and editing received praise and garnered several accolades. Watch Un Homme Et Une Femme Dailymotion.

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Haider was the first Indian film to win the People's Choice Award at the Rome Film Festival.[4][7] Among several awards and nominations in India, the film won five National Film Awards: Best Male Playback Singer, Best Dialogue, Best choreography, Best Costume Design, and Best Music Direction. In 1. 99. 5, during the insurgency in Kashmir, Hilaal Meer (Narendra Jha), a doctor based in Srinagar, agrees to perform an appendectomy on Ikhlaque, the leader of a pro- separatist militant group. To avoid detection, he performs the surgery at his house, much to the chagrin of his wife Ghazala (Tabu), who questions his allegiance. The following day, during a military raid, Hilaal is accused of harbouring terrorists. A shootout ensues at his home, during which Ikhlaque is killed and Hilaal is taken away for questioning. The doctor's house is bombed subsequently to kill any other militant hiding inside.

Several days later, Hilaal and Ghazala's son, Haider (Shahid Kapoor), returns from Aligarh Muslim University to seek answers about his father's disappearance. Upon arrival, he is shocked to find his mother singing and laughing along with her brother- in- law, Khurram (Kay Kay Menon).

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Unable to understand his mother's behaviour, he begins searching for his father in various police stations and detention camps with the help of his childhood sweetheart Arshia Lone (Shraddha Kapoor), a journalist. Saddened by the growing closeness between Ghazala and Khurram, and unable to find any leads, Haider begins to lose hope. However, Arshia encounters a stranger, Roohdar, who asks her to inform Haider that he will be able to provide information about Hilaal. Haider contacts Roohdar (Irrfan), who turns out to be part of a separatist group. Roohdar then narrates the story of how he met Hilaal in one of the detention centers, where they both were tortured. Hilaal attributes his imprisonment to his brother, Khurram. Roohdaar then tells the story of how Haider's father was brutally murdered by Khurram's made- up terrorist group and how Roohdar survived after being shot and thrown into the river with Haider, which stopped his bleeding and allowed him to escape, though Hilaal died.

Roohdaar then tells Haider that he simply wanted to pass on his father's message to him: revenge for Khurram's betrayal. Thereafter, angry and swearing to avenge the injustice done to his father, Haider breaks down at Hilaal's grave site and becomes mentally and emotionally shattered. He starts suffering from the effects of a post- traumatic stress disorder, shaving his head and behaving strangely. Khurram, after learning of the meeting between Haider and Roohdar, tells him that Roohdar was the one who killed his father. Haider is now confused as to whom to believe despite knowing the truth himself, and discloses his dilemma to Arshia, adding that Roohdar gave him a gun to kill his uncle. Arshia confides this to her father Pervez, who informs Khurram about the gun.

Khurram, at a ceremony related to his marriage with Ghazala, which has now been solemnised, immediately orders his men to corner Haider and send him to a mental institution. The following morning, Haider is all set to kill his uncle but cannot accomplish it because his uncle is offering prayers and his morals prevent it.

Haider is captured by Pervez who orders him to be executed, but Haider manages to escape, although not before mercilessly killing his captors, the Salmans. He contacts Roohdar, who suggests getting trained in Pakistan to avenge his father's death, and Haider agrees. He calls his mother and informs her about it to which she asks him to meet her once before going to the other side of border. During the meeting, Ghazala discloses that she had told Khurram about the terrorists hiding in their house not knowing that he was an informer of the Indian army. Pervez traces them and is about to shoot Haider when Haider shoots him dead and escapes. Tormented by her father's death at the hands of Haider, Arshia is emotionally traumatized and commits suicide. Meanwhile, Ghazala finds Roohdar's contact number from Arshia's diary and calls him.

Haider goes to his pickup point, the graveyard where his father was buried. At the graveyard, Haider contemplates about the universal nature of mortality. On seeing Arshia's brother Liyaqat in the graveyard, he realises that the corpse is of Arshia. He runs towards her body where Liyaqat sees him and informs Khurram.

A fight ensues between Haider and Liyaqat, resulting in the latter's death. Khurram arrives with full force and a gunfight ensues; meanwhile Roohdar drops Ghazala at the graveyard. A fierce exchange of bullets and bombs leaves only Haider and few men on Khurram's side alive. Just when Khurram is about to kill Haider, Ghazala pleads for a chance to convince Haider to surrender. She confronts her son who says that he cannot die before avenging his father's death. Ghazala tells him that revenge only results in revenge and there is no end to this cycle, but Haider, who is bent on revenge, does not understand.

1 I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul.

Ghazala kisses Haider goodbye and steps outside, only to reveal that she is wearing a suicide vest (given to her by Roohdar). Khurram and Haider rush towards her but she pulls the pins of the hand grenade resulting in a big explosion, killing herself along with the rest of Khurram's men and gravely injuring Khurram himself, while Haider is only slightly thrown back from the force of the explosion. Haider goes to his mother's remains, weeps by her side and goes to kill Khurram, whose legs have been severed from his body. He is reminded of his mother's words that "revenge only results in revenge" and thus decides to let Khurram live. Khurram begs Haider to kill him to free him from the burden of guilt and to avenge his father's death, but Haider doesn't oblige Khurram, instead ignores him and leaves.

Production[edit]Development[edit]Initially, Vishal Bhardwaj and Shahid Kapoor were in talks of making a sequel to their blockbuster film, Kaminey (2. The project was put on hold and a new project with Kapoor in the lead was confirmed, titled as Haider, which was reportedly based on an adaptation of William Shakespeare's Hamlet.[9] The adaptation was made to portray the political intrigue and history of Kashmir as well as the play's sexual conflicts.[1. Bhardwaj was initially developing the play as a contemporary espionage thriller with author Stephen Alter.[1.

Song of Myself. Won't you help support Day. Poems? 1. 81. 9- 1. I celebrate myself, and sing myself. And what I assume you shall assume. For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul. I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air. Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their. I, now thirty- seven years old in perfect health begin.

Hoping to cease not till death. Creeds and schools in abeyance. Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten. I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard. Nature without check with original energy. Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with.

I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it. The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it. The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the.

It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it. I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked. I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

The smoke of my own breath. Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love- root, silk- thread, crotch and vine. My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing. The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and. The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of. A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms. The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag.

The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields. The feeling of health, the full- noon trill, the song of me rising. Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? Have you practis'd so long to learn to read? Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of.

You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions. You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through. You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me. You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self. I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the.

But I do not talk of the beginning or the end. There was never any more inception than there is now. Nor any more youth or age than there is now. And will never be any more perfection than there is now. Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. Urge and urge and urge. Always the procreant urge of the world.

Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and. Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.

To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it is so. Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well. Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical.

I and this mystery here we stand. Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen.

Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn. Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age. Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they.

I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself. Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean. Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be. I am satisfied- -I see, dance, laugh, sing. As the hugging and loving bed- fellow sleeps at my side through the night. Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house with. Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes.

That they turn from gazing after and down the road. And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent. Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?

Trippers and askers surround me. People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and. I live in, or the nation. The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new. My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues.

The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love. The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill- doing or loss. Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news. These come to me days and nights and go from me again. But they are not the Me myself. Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am.

Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary. Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest. Looking with side- curved head curious what will come next. Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it. Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with. I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait. I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you.

And you must not be abased to the other. Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat. Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not. Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice. I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning. How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me.

And parted the shirt from my bosom- bone, and plunged your tongue. And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.

Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass. And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own. And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own. And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women. And that a kelson of the creation is love. And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields. And brown ants in the little wells beneath them.

And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and. A child said What is the grass? How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green. Watch Tiger House Streaming. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord.

A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt. Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see. Whose? Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic. And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones. Growing among black folks as among white. Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Tenderly will I use you curling grass.

It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men. It may be if I had known them I would have loved them. It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out. And here you are the mothers' laps. This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers. Darker than the colorless beards of old men.

Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues. And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women. And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken.

What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere. The smallest sprout shows there is really no death.

And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the. And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses. And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.