Dhabkaaro: A journey into the meaning—and futility—of apology

After I was transferred as the Times of India representative in Gandhinagar, the Gujarat capital, in 1997, one of the many changes I noticed in my interaction with state officialdom and politicians was the kind of courtesies extended to me—even by those I would rarely meet. One such courtesy came in the form of a phrase I knew nothing about: Micchami Dukkadam.

I had no idea why I was receiving so many Micchami Dukkadam messages every year—first as greeting cards, and later as SMSes after I acquired a mobile phone. I eventually learnt that these were sent on the last day of the month-long Jain fasting observance known as Paryushan.

Call it my ignorance—I took little interest in religious matters (and still don’t)—but the Prakrit phrase means: “I ask pardon of all living beings; may all of them pardon me; may I have friendship with all beings and enmity with none.” But why was I receiving such messages—if they can even be called greetings? Simply because my surname is Shah, which also happens to be a common Jain surname.

Frankly, I had little knowledge of my paternal origins. A well-researched article published in the Gujarati journal "Kumar"  after the death of my father, Jagubhai Shah, in 2001—a well-known artist—described him as a Jain.

The confusion stemmed from the fact that my paternal grandparents had passed away when my father was just three. He grew up in a well-maintained Jain orphanage in Mangrol, a town in Saurashtra. However, my father always believed he was a Hindu belonging to the Khadaita (Bania) sub-caste, based on what he had been told by those he considered distant relatives.

Ironically, all Micchami Dukkadam messages stopped—imagine!—after I retired from the Times of India in January 2013. Clearly, I had ceased to be “important” enough. The courtesy of seeking pardon, it seemed, was more an exercise in opportunism—extended when useful, withdrawn when not.

I was reminded of Micchami Dukkadam the other day while watching the Gujarati film “Dhabkaaro” (meaning heartbeat). I was invited to its premiere a day before its theatrical release by a close family friend, whose son, Aayush Patel, is one of its producers—an energetic and insightful young man. The film tells the story of a man who sets out to seek forgiveness for a deceitful and cruel life he had lived 30 years earlier.

The protagonist, a multi-billionaire who has reinvented himself as Dahyabhai Patel while letting the world believe that his original self, Ashokbhai, is dead, is shown living a luxurious life in a fictional Gulf country called Numai. There, he behaves ruthlessly—with servants, hotel staff, and anyone who crosses his path.

So deeply ingrained is his deceit that when he suffers a heart attack outside a hotel and is admitted to a hospital, he uses his influence to bypass a long queue and secure a heart transplant.

This transplant—used symbolically by director and screenwriter Abhishek Shah—triggers a supposed “change of heart.” Dahyabhai begins his “new life” by apologising to the doctor who operated on him for obtaining the transplant illegally.

The narrative unfolds through Dahyabhai’s journey back to Gujarat in search of his family and acquaintances in his native village, Saraspar. Robbed of all his belongings, he is found unconscious under a tree by a taxi driver, Kano Kathiyawadi. Kano agrees to drive him to Saraspar on one condition: that Dahyabhai narrate his life story along the way.

Dahyabhai does so candidly, telling Kano that he owns a Rs 1,000 crore business empire, even as recounting how he abandoned his family after reaching New York and declared himself dead, how he built an opulent life in Numai, and how he now wishes to seek forgiveness from those he wronged—including his sister Ganga and his wife Urmila, whom he had brutally assaulted before leaving them.

"Dhabkaaro", Abhishek Shah’s third major film—after the award-winning “Hellaro”, based on a folk tale, and “Kamthaan”, adapted from Ashwinee Bhatt’s satirical novella—continues his engagement with serious social themes. Like his earlier works, the film stands apart from the often conservative and sentimental mould of Gujarati cinema, and is enriched with sharp, witty, and sarcastic dialogue in the Kathiyawadi dialect.

Yet Dahyabhai’s quest for forgiveness is no simple redemption arc of the kind often seen in formulaic Bollywood films, where a villain repents and is readily absolved. Instead, the film probes the limits of apology. Can late remorse undo decades of cruelty?

Upon reaching Saraspar, Dahyabhai begins searching for his wife. At each place he visits, he finds letters she has left behind, indicating her next destination. Kano drives him to these locations: the home of an ageing pastor, a dargah, the Jain pilgrimage centre of Palitana, and finally the grand Dwarkadheesh temple.

At the temple, Dahyabhai finally finds Urmila—but she does not recognise him, as she suffers from dementia. He repeatedly seeks her forgiveness, but she remains unresponsive. Kano then quietly reveals that Urmila will not respond—because she is his mother. In this restrained, non-dramatic moment, it becomes clear that Kano is Dahyabhai’s estranged son.

The film ends there, leaving the audience to grapple with its central question: can one seek forgiveness after living a life marked by sustained cruelty? The closing image—“Sorry” flashing across the screen—lingers as a stark, unsettling note.

Deven Bhojani, as Dahyabhai/Ashokbhai, and Aarjav Trivedi, as Kano Kathiyawadi, deliver outstanding, award-worthy performances. Abhishek Shah’s screenplay deftly weaves in themes of friendship, gender equality, and class discrimination, all underscored by a subtle but effective layer of humour. Mehul Surti’s music—including a memorable Sufi qawwali—adds emotional depth to the narrative.

With a runtime of 126 minutes, “Dhabkaaro”—though not a conventional commercial film—is among the first Gujarati projects backed by a major Bollywood banner, Nadiadwala Grandson Entertainment (Sajid Nadiadwala). Following its premiere in Mumbai, the film received praise from several quarters, including Aamir Khan, who described it as a “golden film” with a powerful story.