Milestone: Ivan Ayr's very deep take on life.

Milestone (2020/01:38m)

A Quiet Lament on Distance, Loss, and the Road That Never EndsDuration: 1h 38mDirector: Ivan AyrCast: Suvinder Vicky, Lakshvir SaranStreaming on: Netflix

There’s a moment early in Meel Patthar that defines the emotional landscape of the film. Ghalib, a seasoned truck driver, is seated on the passenger side of his truck—a position unfamiliar and uncomfortable for him. His young apprentice, Pash (short for Pashu), takes the wheel, and for the first time, Ghalib is not in control. The camera lingers on his face, weathered and withdrawn, eyes revealing the turmoil that words never do. That moment—silent, simple, but emotionally loaded—tells you everything you need to know: this is a man quietly grappling with displacement. Not just of employment, but of identity, of love, and of life itself.

Ivan Ayr’s Meel Patthar is a meditative film that moves like a long-haul journey: slow, steady, with moments of breathtaking stillness and abrupt realisations. It is a story about men and machines, but more so about grief, labour, and legacy. It unravels at a rhythm that respects the silence of mourning and the quiet violence of being replaced—by youth, by time, by systems.

The Man and His Machine

Ghalib, portrayed with immense depth and dignity by Suvinder Vicky, is a man in his fifties who has just set a record at his transport company for clocking 500,000 kilometers—a milestone in both number and symbolism. He’s achieved something grand, yet he seems less celebratory and more resigned. His face carries the burden of someone who knows that the milestone is both a mark of endurance and an impending ending. The road behind him is long; the road ahead, uncertain.

Though he owns a modest apartment in town, Ghalib hardly ever visits it. His real home is his truck—an extension of his identity, his escape, his companion. We rarely see him outside it. The truck appears in nearly every frame, not just as a backdrop but almost as a co-actor, breathing and humming along with Ghalib’s state of mind. Ayr’s direction and Angello Faccini’s cinematography ensure this machine becomes a silent witness to the unraveling of Ghalib’s world.

Of Morals, Mortality, and Machinery

Ghalib is a man of principles. He believes in the dignity of labour, in being just and fair—even when those around him are losing that very capacity. But when one’s livelihood is threatened, even the firmest ideals tremble. This becomes evident when Ghalib begins to suspect that Pash, the young apprentice he’s been asked to train, might eventually replace him. After all, this is what happened to Dilbag, another veteran trucker whose fate echoes like a cautionary tale. What’s worse is that Ghalib is asked to facilitate his own obsolescence—to guide the very person who could displace him.

What we witness is not a dramatic confrontation but a gradual internal decay—a kind of emotional erosion that leaves Ghalib more isolated with each passing mile. And yet, through it all, he holds on to his integrity, refusing to become bitter or malicious. His struggle is both external and deeply internal—how does a man cope with a life that’s moving on without him?

But perhaps the deepest wound he carries is the one least spoken of: the death of his wife. It’s revealed slowly and indirectly, yet its presence is everywhere. Ghalib’s grief is not loud—it simmers beneath his every word and silence. In one of the most touching sequences, he visits a therapist but struggles to articulate what he feels. The pain doesn’t spill out in dialogue but in his retreat, his haunted expressions, and in how he clings to the truck as a symbol of constancy in a world that is rapidly changing.

The Apprentice and the Shadow of the Future

Lakshvir Saran as Pash delivers a nuanced performance as the new entrant in this world. He’s eager, respectful, and slightly oblivious to the gravity of Ghalib’s internal struggle. There’s no villainy in Pash—he is simply the future, unaware of the displacement he symbolizes. His presence challenges Ghalib to reckon with his mortality not in the literal sense, but in relevance, in purpose, in legacy.

The interactions between Ghalib and Pash are layered. At times, Ghalib is a mentor. At times, he’s a silent rival. But most times, he’s simply an ageing man trying to come to terms with his place in a world that is no longer waiting for him to catch up.

A Poetic Portrayal of the Working Class

One of the most poignant aspects of Meel Patthar is how it speaks of class without ever turning into a sermon. It offers an unflinching gaze into the lives of truck drivers—men who live on the road, sleep in cabs, bathe in roadside facilities, and remain mostly invisible to the society that depends on them. Their struggles, both economic and emotional, are painted with empathy and detail.

The film also includes a powerful subplot involving labour protests. A striking moment is the inclusion of Aamir Aziz, a poet known for his anti-CAA protest verses, who plays the head of a workers’ union fighting for fair wages. His brief appearance adds a layer of political subtext and urgency. It reminds us that while individuals like Ghalib grapple with personal losses, they are also part of a larger, more systematic erasure—where profit is valued more than people.

The truck, in this case, becomes a metaphor—not just for movement, but for the burden carried by the working class. It is both vessel and weight, home and trap.

A Landscape of Silence and Sound

Cinematically, Meel Patthar is a masterpiece of minimalism. The camera is never intrusive. It watches, observes, contemplates. Shots of fog-laden Punjab farms at dawn, long stretches of highway bathed in early morning light, and industrial backdrops with a somber stillness—all contribute to the film’s meditative tone. The film avoids loud background music, relying instead on ambient sounds—the whir of an engine, the silence of a lonely room, the rustle of wind against the truck body. It creates a sonic atmosphere that feels both intimate and isolating.

Ivan Ayr, who earlier directed the acclaimed Soni, brings the same restrained storytelling to this film. He understands that some stories need to breathe, to unfold slowly, like an old man’s confession. There’s a lyrical stillness to his frame—almost like a poem in motion.

Final Thoughts

Meel Patthar is not for those looking for quick resolutions or dramatic highs. It is for those who appreciate the pauses between the words, the silences between the scenes. It’s a contemplative piece that requires patience and empathy, but rewards you with a deeply affecting experience.

Anupama Chopra aptly described it as “contemplative and beautifully disturbing,” and that phrase lingers like the film itself. Because Meel Patthar isn’t just about Ghalib. It’s about all of us who’ve been overtaken by time, who’ve been forced to reckon with our obsolescence, who carry grief that doesn’t always find a voice.

It is a quiet elegy for a life that keeps moving forward, even when we’re not ready to.

Verdict: A poetic, profound, and emotionally rich journey that speaks volumes in silence. For those who believe cinema is not just entertainment but reflection.