Himjyoti Talukdar’s Taarikh is not just an Assamese film about grief; it is a profound exploration of trauma, silence, memory, and the ethics of care in the aftermath of violence. The film is set against the bloody backdrop of the 2008 serial bomb blasts in Assam, which claimed hundreds of lives.
Among the victims, the protagonist, retired Professor Durlov Dutta, a widower, lost his only son on the day of the bomb blast—30th October 2008. Struck by trauma, he refuses to mourn and retreats into silence. His silence, in fact, becomes the central voice of the film.
In this context, Talukdar uses trauma and silence as a conceptual framework for Taarikh. Trauma is an emotion that resists vocal representation yet manifests through silence and absence in everyday life. It becomes a lived condition, as in Durlov Dutta’s case. Although the year is 2025, for Dutta, time has remained frozen since 30th October 2008, and his memories seem trapped before that date.
Trauma, however, is neither private nor isolated—it is political and collective in nature. Although the 2008 serial blasts have been reduced to historical events, Talukdar goes further to critique society’s tendency to naturalize violence and forget the traumas that follow. This societal forgetting silences survivors, perpetuating the violence. Dutta’s inability to speak thus becomes a continuation of the original trauma.
Despite this, Taarikh also moves beyond trauma and its violent continuum. Talukdar portrays the ethics of care for those silenced by such experiences. Anuran Hazarika, a humanitarian journalist, attempts to provide a voice to Dutta—not by erasing his trauma, but by creating a space for him to mourn his deceased son, even while remaining silent.
The film asks us to reflect on a society that largely places the burden of trauma on the survivor rather than assuming collective responsibility. To notice, to question, to help—these are acts that resist the normalization of trauma and violence. Talukdar argues that ‘healing’ is possible when trauma is shared and witnessed by others, however partially.
Ignoring the silenced among us invokes a new form of violence. The film raises critical questions about care, challenging conventional societal boundaries: care requires a willingness to live through discomfort, to listen to the silenced, and to honor memories that might otherwise be erased with time.
In this way, Taarikh does not offer closure by ‘resolving’ trauma, restoring memories, or breaking silences. Instead, it calls for recognition of trauma and the silenced voices around us.
The film foregrounds personal suffering within broader socio-political contexts, presenting an ethical responsibility to engage with the pain of others. Care, Talukdar suggests, is not optional—it is essential for co-existence in society.
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