AROUND ME, IN THE HERE AND NOW

SYNOPSIS

‘The Horizon is a Wound’ is a personal cinematic reflection on the vanishing sanctuary of the outskirts of Dhaka. Shot entirely from the director's window, balcony, and rooftop, the film captures the relentless expansion of a city that consumes the very peace its residents seek. The film’s narrative engine is the ‘unbearable noise’—a constant, rhythmic industrial violence that marks the beginning of every day. What was once a journey toward a quiet suburban life has transformed into a front-row seat to the demolition of the horizon. Through a series of observational frames, the documentary explores the irony of modern dwelling: the director’s own home, which once offered comfort, now stands as a barrier that ruined the view for another, just as the new skeletal structures outside now cage his own perspective. Moving beyond a mere complaint about urban noise, the film delves into an existential duality. The camera gazes upon the construction workers not as invaders, but as figures of shared struggle, finding a strange, melancholic comfort in their presence amidst the chaos. By focusing on the textures of rising concrete against the fading sky, the documentary portrays the ‘Here and Now’ as a transitional space where silence is a luxury and the horizon is a memory in the making.

DIRECTOR'S NOTE

"The Horizon is a Wound" is my personal cinematic reflection on the vanishing sanctuary I once found in the outskirts of Dhaka. Through my lens, I capture the relentless expansion of a city that consumes the very peace I came here to find. My film is shot entirely from the intimate boundaries of my life—my window, my balcony, and my rooftop—documenting the moment my private world was invaded by the public chaos of urban growth. The narrative engine of my film is what I call "industrial violence"—that unbearable, rhythmic noise that now dictates the start of my every day. I wanted to show how my journey toward a quiet suburban life has been subverted into a front-row seat to the demolition of my own horizon. Through a series of observational frames, I explore the deep irony of my modern dwelling: I am forced to realize that my own home, which provides me comfort, once stood as the very barrier that ruined the view for someone else—just as these new, skeletal structures now cage my own perspective. Moving beyond a mere complaint about noise, I use the camera to delve into an existential duality. I choose to gaze upon the construction workers not as invaders, but as figures of a shared struggle; I find a strange, melancholic comfort in their presence amidst the surrounding chaos. By focusing on the harsh textures of rising concrete against the fading sky, I portray my "Here and Now" as a transitional space—a place where silence has become a luxury and the horizon is becoming nothing more than a memory.

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