Arnab Banerjee

In the last decade, Hindi cinema has witnessed a surge of patriotic historical dramas, each striving to present tales of courage rooted in pivotal moments of India’s past. Within this landscape, 120 Bahadur, directed by Razneesh “Razy” Ghai, sets its sights on one of the most stirring chapters of the 1962 Sino-Indian conflict. Farhan Akhtar steps into the challenging role of Major Shaitan Singh, the charismatic commander whose steadfast leadership during the Battle of Rezang La has long been revered but insufficiently explored on film. The result is a work that marries emotional solemnity with the visceral spectacle of war, aiming to honour a legacy that remains vital to national memory.

That an older gentleman should tumble helplessly into infatuation with a sprightly young woman is hardly the stuff of headlines; it is practically a civic tradition in our cinema. But that a vivacious, bubble-gum-bright twenty-something should lose her heart to a much-married man with two full-grown offspring is an exotic rarity—particularly in the hallowed halls of Hindi films. The former trope has been inspected from every possible angle: by R. Balki with his Big-B-powered reverie Shabd, by Rakesh Omprakash Mehra’s Aks, and even by Basu Chatterjee’s Shaukeen, that unabashed comedy of lecherous seniors on the loose. Yet the idea of a 50-plus man seeking romantic renewal with a partner who isn’t his first, but his wife—round two—remains something our storytellers regard with the suspicion usually reserved for budget overruns.

In 1978, Shah Bano, an elderly Muslim woman from Indore, filed a petition seeking maintenance that her estranged husband, Mohammed Ahmad Khan, had abruptly ceased paying. What began as a private plea for sustenance evolved into one of India’s most seminal legal battles. The litigation culminated in a historic 1985 Supreme Court judgment—Mohd. Ahmad Khan v. Shah Bano Begum—which upheld a divorced Muslim woman’s right to maintenance under Section 125 of the Criminal Procedure Code.

There’s something innately delicious about a good mystery — the kind that tightens its grip with every scene, whispering secrets just out of earshot, inviting the viewer to lean in, connect dots, and squint into the cinematic shadows. Alas, Lord Curzon Ki Haveli is not that film. Instead, what unfolds is an overwrought chamber drama that aspires to Hitchcockian suspense but lands somewhere between amateur theatre and a particularly awkward dinner party.

Can two ex-lovers rekindle an old flame, amicably, no less? Even if it involves impersonations, preposterous plans, and enough emotional confusion to make Freud reconsider his career path? Of course they can—especially if they’re in a 135-minute Bollywood rom-com, a genre that continues to churn like a butter factory run by hopeless romantics. Now, while global cinema gallops into bold territories—where genre-bending narratives and offbeat themes are embraced with open arthouse arms—our beloved Hindi films remain steadfast in their commitment to unearthing every last angle of the same timeless theme: love.

Homebound, directed by Neeraj Ghaywan and written with Varun Grover, Shreedhar Dubey, and Sumit Roy, is a poignant exploration of caste, faith, friendship, and survival in contemporary India. The marginalised have never had it easy—but in our own fractured land, their journey is not just arduous, it is often soul-scarring, as Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound reveals. Arnab Banerjee’s review of the film. With unforgettable performances, sharp social commentary, and emotional depth, Homebound stands as an unflinching cinematic mirror to caste oppression, religious prejudice, and human dignity in India today.

Film ideas often originate from a simple “spark”—a personal experience, a keen observation, or even an arbitrary thought—that is subsequently nurtured through creative techniques such as brainstorming, research, and writing. Once an idea takes root and begins to blossom, there’s no turning back for the creator. Following the phenomenal success of Jolly LLB (2013), writer-director Subhash Kapoor drew inspiration from the complexities of the Indian legal system, rather than from a specific case, and capitalized on this concept with the sequel Jolly LLB 2 (2017). Now, the third instalment in the series, Jolly LLB 3, continues this tradition, promising yet another legal comedy-drama that blends elements from real judicial cases into entertaining, and often humorous, narratives that highlight both the legal system and its human side. Directed by Kapoor, the film stars Akshay Kumar, Arshad Warsi, and Saurabh Shukla, with Amrita Rao and Huma Qureshi reprising their roles from the previous films. The plot is inspired by the 2011 land acquisition protests in Uttar Pradesh.

Ah, the age-old tale of twin brothers with identical looks but vastly different values. It’s been done to death in Hindi cinema, and yet, here we are again—because why not revisit a classic, right? In Nishaanchi, Anurag Kashyap takes another swing at his Gangs of Wasseypur-like canvas, complete with brotherly brawls, betrayals, love affairs, and the occasional redemption arc. You know, just your typical Bollywood recipe for family dysfunction. Produced by Ajay Rai, Vipin Agnihotri, and Ranjan Singh under JAR Pictures, in collaboration with Flip Films, this film stars newcomer Aaishwary Thackeray alongside Monika Panwar, Vedika Pinto, Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub, and the inimitable Kumud Mishra. Kashyap once again takes a deep dive into the murky waters of small-town India, where politicians are corrupt, cops are bent, and men are generally itching to pull the trigger. It’s not just about a bullet to the head, though—no, no. The real violence here is much more intimate, and yes, we’re talking about the good ol’ Purabiya slang. Let’s be real: this is not the polite underworld; it’s the kind where you need to duck every five seconds.