Divya Delhi: Seventeen years. It feels like yesterday. And yet, a lifetime has passed. On May 16, 2008, Jannat walked into our lives—not with fanfare, but with that quiet confidence some stories carry when they know they’ve touched something true. Now, as I look back, what comes to me is not the success, not the applause—but a moment. A face. I was in Gurgaon, at a friend’s home, when his wife—a middle-class woman draped in ordinariness but lit from within—was serving me hot chapatis. With a quiet intensity in her eyes, she said, “Jannat is about the war inside every man. Between the hunger to grab everything in the shop window—and the strength to walk away.” She didn’t speak of Arjun and Zoya as characters, but as mirrors. She had seen the film not just with her eyes, but with her life. Zoya, she said, was the true hero. Because when the man she loved broke under the weight of his own desire, she chose to endure. She chose dignity. And that one moment—her son returning a toy because his mother couldn’t afford it—cut deeper than any scene I’ve ever staged. In that simple act, a generation turned. The father, who once smashed windows to steal what he craved, was gone. The child had chosen another way. That, to me, was Jannat’s true victory.