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Kankhajura Review:   Roshan Mathew Leads a Haunting Tale of Family, Guilt, and Redemption Image Source- Adgully.com I didn’t expect  Kankhajura  to linger in my mind long after the credits roll. It starts quietly, almost too quietly, like a harmless bug creeping into your ear when you’re least expecting it. But just like the centipede the series is named after, it burrows deeper and deeper, crawling into uncomfortable spaces and uncovering emotions you didn’t even realize were simmering quietly. You might expect horror or something more sinister from the title alone. Yet,  Kankhajura  is far more unsettling than anything loud or obvious. It’s not about jump scares or fast-paced twists. Instead, it’s about the quiet dread of returning home after years of absence, walking into rooms filled with memories you tried to erase, and facing the people you’ve hurt or who have hurt you. This show doesn’t just tell a story. It asks what happens when you try to rewrite your...

 Piku (2025 Re-Release): A Bittersweet Ride with Irrfan Khan That Still Feels Like Home

Image Source- Sony LIV

It’s tough to watch Piku without a lump in your throat today. Now, with its re-release on May 9, 2025, this gentle, heartfelt film returns not just as cinema, but as memory. A memory of Irrfan Khan, the actor who spoke volumes in silence, who turned everyday characters into poetry in motion.

I revisited Piku like one revisits an old photograph, familiar, comforting, but tinged with ache. It’s been nine years since it first graced theatres in 2015, and yet, the emotional core still feels more relevant than ever. It’s a story of love, aging, frustrations, and responsibilities, but most of all, it’s a story that reminds us of those fragile threads that bind us as family.

Watching it now, in a quieter world and with Irrfan no longer among us, Piku has become more than a film. It is a moment to pause, reflect, and honour the spaces he filled not just on screen, but also in our hearts.


A Plot That’s As Messy As Life, and Just As Beautiful

Piku isn’t about some grand adventure or earth-shattering drama. It’s about the small, everyday chaos that builds a life. At first glance, Piku seems like a slice-of-life film where nothing “big” happens, no twists, no grand climaxes. But that’s its magic. 

It follows Piku Banerjee (Deepika Padukone), a successful architect in Delhi, who is also the reluctant caretaker of her aging, hypochondriac father, Bhashkor Banerjee (played flawlessly by Amitabh Bachchan). And somewhere along the way, a reserved, practical man, Rana Choudhary (Irrfan Khan), enters the picture not as a saviour, but simply as someone who listens, drives, and notices.

The story takes us on a road trip from Delhi to Kolkata, but the real journey happens within. It’s about aging, letting go, holding on, and saying those things we often avoid saying to the people who matter most. There’s no resolution or any dramatic crescendo. It's quiet, sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking, the kind of moments that feel too real and hit you too deep.

It’s a narrative that doesn’t pretend to be more than it is. And that’s exactly why it works so well. It’s imperfect, emotional, and full of love, just like the families we all come from.


Performances That Linger Like A Memory

If you’ve ever loved Irrfan Khan’s work, Piku will feel like a personal memory. He isn’t flashy here, not that he needed to be. His silence speaks, his glances carry weight, and even his understated humour creates space in a film full of emotional clutter. You don't even realize how deeply his presence matters until the movie ends, and then suddenly you miss him like a friend who’s left too soon.

Deepika Padukone, as Piku, gives a performance that feels lived in. She’s irritable, caring, vulnerable, and strong all at once. You can feel the burnout in her silences, and the fierce protectiveness in her sharp replies. She’s not always likable, and that’s what makes her so real.

Amitabh Bachchan as Bhashkor Banerjee is both infuriating and lovable. His obsession with digestion, control, and mortality is truly unbearable if it wasn’t also tinged with an aching fear of being left alone. It’s a performance that blurs the line between comic and tragic so beautifully that it’s hard to separate one from the other.

Together, this trio doesn't just perform — they exist on screen, the way only the best actors ever can.


The Heartbeat of Piku: Direction, Score, and Subtle Magic

Shoojit Sircar doesn’t just direct Piku, he breathes life into it, one quiet moment at a time. The storytelling is so natural, it almost feels like life unfolding rather than a script being followed. There’s a beautiful awkwardness in how each scene flow from a messy breakfast table to tense silences in a car  and none of it is forced. It’s this raw, slice-of-life way that makes the film so unapologetic and yet exquisite.

Anupam Roy’s music floats through the story like a memory, the one that is gentle, unintrusive, and deeply nostalgic. The soundtrack doesn't demand attention; it quietly wraps itself around the narrative, amplifying emotions you didn’t even know were building. And yes, the Journey song that never gets old, no matter how many times you listen to it.

Visually, the film feels warm and lived-in. From the old Kolkata house to the open highways, every frame is filled with a quiet charm that mirrors the intimacy between the characters. There’s no drama for the sake of it, just life, as it is, with all its chaos and calm.


Final Thoughts – A Goodbye That Feels Too Soon

Piku is the kind of film that reminds you to call your parents. To pause. To listen more. It’s a movie that feels like life, equal parts frustrating, funny, and full of feelings. And re-watching it in 2025, in the absence of Irrfan Khan, it cuts a little deeper. There’s something about his presence here- calm, kind, quietly solid like the one that feels like a warm hug you didn’t know you needed.

It’s not just a film. It’s a reminder of people we’ve lost, conversations we still need to have, and the beauty of imperfections.

As I sat with the lingering warmth of Piku, I couldn’t help but smile at how cinema, when honest and heartfelt, never truly grows old. Just like Andaz Apna Apna, which found its way back to theatres this year, some films simply refuse to fade. They age with us, and somehow, always feel like home.




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