A man on a bus, returning to his small hometown in the mountains after 17 years in Delhi, is called back by his father's best friend, now old and dying, who wants to leave him the house that he and the man's father built together. Returning to Akhnoor, which for decades has been the target of attacks by insurgents, militants, terrorists - call them what you like, and has seen the death, wounding and scattering of its people - like the man on the bus and his parents, now dead. Returning to a town now desolate and empty, but where once the laughter of its children echoed in its valleys. Where the man, Rajat, and his best friend, Hassan, played as children and grew up. Where their two fathers built a house together. Where religion and politics weren't an issue. And as day turns to night in Akhoor, Rajat makes his way to the house, and the happy memories of his childhood come out to haunt him, turn into nightmares, and his nostalgia slides into terror, to meet, finally, the brutal, deadly reality of the present. There are few words as overused, as worn thin, as 'terror'. We have reduced it to one thing - the bloody acts of insurgents, militants, freedom fighters, resistance leaders, suicide bombers, governments, states, and regimes. But we have forgotten a greater, lasting terror - the nightmare that is the aftermath of conflict, the loss of friends, the fragmentation of families, the destruction of communities, the shattering of minds. With no dialog, the film 'Akhnoor' addresses the issue in a sensory, impressionistic way, by making the audience 'feel' the terror with their senses, through the powerful acting of Yashpal Sharma, and the disturbing hyper-real sound design.
