Namrata
In a world saturated with hyperbole and heartbreak, Gulkand, the 2025 Marathi-language family comedy directed by Sachin Goswami and written by Sachin Mote, arrives as a tender, fragrant bloom — rooted in memory, nourished by companionship, and unfurling through the gentle tensions of intergenerational relationships. On the surface, it is a light-hearted family drama. Beneath that, it is a quiet revolution in storytelling, one that centres women not only as emotional anchors but as agents of clarity, dignity, and transformation.
Plotting the Unexpected
At the heart of Gulkand lies a deceptively simple premise: a young couple in love introduces their parents, only to discover that the boy’s father and the girl’s mother are former lovers. From this moment of dramatic irony unfurls a deeply engaging narrative that resists cliché at every turn. The film moves not with the urgency of conflict, but with the rhythm of reconciliation, between past and present, desire and duty, tradition, and evolution.
What makes the plot so compelling is not just its originality, but its emotional architecture. The screenplay is tight yet expansive, managing to feel intimate even as it speaks to broader social themes. The climax, a masterstroke of narrative timing, shifts the emotional gravity of the film without veering into melodrama.
A Stage of Women, by Women, for All
Esha Dey as Ragini Tai delivers a commanding performance as the nuanced, dignified, and quietly assertive mother of the groom. Sai Tamhankar is luminous and restrained as she becomes the embodiment of grace under pressure. Vanita Kharat’s portrayal of Dhone Bai is both hilarious and humane, while Sarvil Apte’s Nakul provides comic balance without ever devolving into caricature.
But perhaps the most striking performance comes from Samir Choughule who renders a male character that is open-hearted, emotionally accessible, and refreshingly not threatened by strong women. In contrast, Prasad Oak as Girish Mane embodies the nostalgia and quiet regret of a man who once loved, lost, and now learns to honour that love with respect.
What Gulkand achieves is rare in regional or even mainstream Indian cinema: it allows women to occupy space as people first — as mothers, friends, ex-lovers, leaders of families, and architects of emotional truth. The film does not romanticise women’s pain; it honours their clarity.
Marriage as Companionship, Not Contract
One of the film’s most profound achievements is its redefinition of marriage, not as a transactional contract or a romantic high point, but as a living, evolving companionship. Through its central characters, Gulkand gently asserts that lasting relationships require nurturing, communication, and mutual respect.
A particularly graceful narrative choice is that the ex-lovers do not rekindle their past. Instead, the woman is resolute and content as reaffirms her commitment to her marriage. It’s a powerful reminder that emotional closure doesn’t always mean reunion, and that true strength lies in tending to the life one has chosen with integrity and presence.
There’s a deeper message here: Marriage is not a fixed state, but a relationship one must keep returning to, with intention, care, and accountability. Love, in this sense, isn’t loud or performative. It is quiet, consistent, and built slowly over time. Like planting a seed on your wedding day, and watering it daily until it grows into a tree that offers shade, comfort, and strength as life unfolds.
Gulkand challenges the dominant, often patriarchal narratives of romance and presents marriage as a slow-growing tree, rooted in respect and watered by companionship. The story reminds us that in long-term partnerships, it is not love alone that sustains. It is shared language, mutual patience, and trust that become sheltering branches.
Shot between Mumbai and its fringes, the cinematography captures the interiors of homes as extensions of character, tastefully decorated spaces that speak more through set design than spectacle. The visuals serve the narrative rather than distract from it, and the indoor settings feel lived-in, familiar, warm.
The music is subtle yet emotionally resonant, never overpowering. The background score supports the rhythm of the film, part lullaby, part memory.
The dialogues are crisp, often humorous, and deeply rooted in Marathi linguistic and cultural cadences. But beyond their wit, they reflect something rarer, a language of emotional intelligence, especially in the women characters. These women speak not just to be heard, but to be understood and to understand.
For a film that so thoughtfully celebrates companionship, trust, and emotional maturity, particularly within equal marriages and later-life relationships, this moment lands awkwardly, as if the script took a step back from the very ground it had so confidently claimed. When a major misunderstanding arises, it is the woman who painstakingly revisits every interaction, clarifying her stance, motivations, and emotional responses in full view of family and former love. She lays bare her inner world with composure, humility, and grace.
The man, however, offers a brief apology: “I am sorry. I made a mistake.” And nothing more.
This disparity is striking not because his words are inadequate, but because his silence is left unexamined. In a narrative that has so carefully built a world where communication is valued, where feelings are spoken and not assumed, the man’s reluctance to explain his own behavior feels like a cop-out. It reflects a persistent reality in many relationships that women are expected to do the emotional heavy lifting, to soothe, to explain, to bridge the gap, while men are often excused with minimal introspection.
What could have been a moment of mutual reckoning, an equal claiming of responsibility, turns into a familiar tableau: the woman as the emotional interpreter, the man as the distant apologiser. The opportunity was there for the film to model something rarely seen on screen, a man who owns not just his mistake, but the emotional consequences of it, and who walks others through his thought process as openly as the women in his life do. That choice would have not only deepened his character, but also reaffirmed the film’s own ethos of equality and emotional transparency.
Instead, the imbalance lingers, not as a flaw in the character, but as a blind spot in the narrative. And yet, this moment does not undo the film’s larger achievement.
Gulkand still is a breath of fresh, rose-scented air. It is a film about emotional clarity, chosen families, and the quiet reconciliation between past relationships and present-day commitments. It honours not the revival of old love, but the resilience of current bonds, especially those rooted in long-standing, respectful companionship. It reminds us that women’s stories don’t end at marriage. They continue to grow within it, shaped by companionship, respect, and the emotional labour that often goes unseen. With time, these stories deepen, finding richness not in grand gestures, but in the quiet resilience of everyday partnership.
In a cinematic culture that often sidelines senior characters and sidelines women even more, Gulkand places them and their emotional landscapes at the centre. It is a gentle reminder that love doesn’t always arrive with fanfare. Sometimes, it is already present, quietly asking to be noticed, honoured, and nurtured.
Gulkand is streaming on Amazon Prime.
Namrata is a writer, columnist, literary critic, and podcast host. She hosts Chapter to Cinema, a podcast exploring book-to-screen adaptations in Indian cinema. Her work spans book marketing, literary consultancy, and commentary on literature, gender, chronic illness, and travel. Social media handles: X | LinkedIn
Featured images: theatrical release posters of Gulkand
