Shiuli, that pristine white flower with a distinct orange centre, is beautiful. It also has a unique story, blooming at dusk and breaking off its stem before dawn. Yet this flower, which mostly blooms in October, never wilts even as it hits the ground. Its fragrance lingers, as does its freshness. October the film, that uses the shiuli as a recurring motif and also names its leading lady after it, is like the flower — it’s beautiful, it touches on the fragility of life and it stays on with you long after the end credits roll. 

October is Shoojit Sircar’s bravest film. It talks about empathy and grief and redefines love. Yet, Shoojit — with writer Juhi Chaturvedi, who also wrote his Vicky Donor and Piku — never makes you feel like a disconnected spectator. The characters are rooted in reality and the situations, though brutal, are believable. This could be your story or mine.

That’s what Dan (Varun Dhawan) is — an Everyman, not the alpha Bolly hero. As a trainee at a star hotel in Delhi, Dan is constantly floundering at work, has a volatile temperament and is a square peg in a round hole. More importantly, he couldn’t care less, and the film doesn’t make him particularly lovable, at least initially. 

His colleague Shiuli (debutante Banita Sandhu) is the exact opposite — she’s a star employee — but Dan and Shiuli don’t really have a connection and haven’t ever had a decent conversation. Life goes on without them really noticing each other. But when Shiuli’s last words are, “Where’s Dan?” before she meets with an accident, it turns both their lives upside down. Shiuli lands up in hospital and Dan becomes obsessed with wanting to know why she’d asked for him. 

But October is much more as a film. It’s a slow burn watch that gradually peels off the layers, constantly shifting between hotel and hospital. Dan becomes a man from a man-child, turning into a figure of support for Shiuli’s family, sleeping nights on the pavement outside the hospital, having one-sided conversations with a semi-comatose Shiuli and simply willing her to become herself… yet never quite understanding why he’s doing so. 

Parts of October may remind you of the 2017 film The Big Sick, particularly the hospital scenes, but the melange of melancholy and hope in October has rarely been seen in Indian cinema. This is a story where the odds are stacked up against its protagonists, but tears are rarely shed. There is dignity here, despite disappointment. Much like life. 

At 116 minutes, October is economical in pace and length. Its biggest strength is that it keeps you invested even in the mundane — daily hospital visits, hotel double-shifts, Shiuli’s slow progress or the lack of it, Dan curled up in pain on his bed. 

There’s no crescendo, no big twist, no climactic background score, but Shoojit ensures you watch most of October with a lump in your throat. 

A film so sombre can unsettle and depress. But October culls humour out of the hopeless, like that delightful scene where Dan smuggles a beautician into the hospital ICU to trim Shiuli’s eyebrows. 

Also, October is never judgemental. People move on, seasons change, life is not always the same… and the film talks about the importance of accepting that without anger. 

“My superpower in this film is my vulnerability,” Varun had told t2 in the run-up to the film’s release. And Varun becomes Dan — an ordinary boy called to step up to an extraordinary situation. You feel his confusion as much as his pain, and the occasional boyish smile tugs at the heartstrings. 

Banita barely has five sentences in the film, but those eyes speak a million words. This is a brave choice for a debut film. A special mention for Gitanjali Rao’s solid act as Shiuli’s mother.       

Avik Mukhopadhyay’s camerawork is another marvel. He frames the dark, dismal interiors of a hospital corridor as beautifully as the first rays of the sun falling on Shiuli’s face. There are no songs in the film, but Theher ja, scored by Abhishek Arora, and Anupam Roy’s Tab bhi tu are on our playlist. 

That closing moment when Shiuli’s mother asks her brother to shake off his grief and head to his tuition classes will remind you of the final badminton scene in Piku. It’s about letting go and moving on. But October, which hurts in parts of you you never knew existed, is a film that doesn’t let go of you. Because love doesn’t always mean ‘I love you’. It also means ‘I’ll be there for you’.  

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