The problem with reviewing a film like A Real Pain is that it’s easy to get swept up in over-intellectualizing every aspect of it. In doing so, there’s a risk of missing the quiet simplicity the film also exudes. That said, it’s hard to put into words exactly what this film does to you as an audience.
The story begins at the airport, where David and Benji are about to board a flight to Poland. The brothers have planned a Jewish heritage tour, funded by money left to them by their late grandmother. Through this journey, they hope to reconnect with their Jewish roots and confront the horrors of the Holocaust that their grandmother survived. Their itinerary includes a visit to the home she once lived in and was forced to flee from during the war.
But beyond tracing their grandmother’s past, the brothers—once close—also hope to rebuild their own fractured relationship. Given their vastly different personalities, that seems like a near-impossible task.
From the outset, it’s evident that A Real Pain isn’t driven by plot. Written and directed by Jesse Eisenberg, (who also plays the role of David), the film has no dramatic twists or grand narrative arcs. Even as it takes the shape of a travelogue, the film resists the temptation of a sweeping, cinematic canvas. When the characters arrive at historically significant locations, the focus remains firmly on their personal reactions rather than the historical context—those details are mere passing references.
And yet, the screenplay remains compelling. It navigates a delicate spectrum of confusion, empathy, and detachment that the characters experience in the shadow of these haunted places. There is a lot of humor, but beneath all those funny lines and chaotic moments, there is something profound and deep. It’s the bedrock of the film and you get a sense of it from the very beginning.
In one of the film’s best scenes, while travelling first class, Benji is unable to reconcile the luxury they’re enjoying with the brutal history of those very tracks, once used to transport their ancestors to concentration camps. He suggests they move to economy class out of respect, but the others dismiss the idea, unwilling to share his discomfort. Frustrated, Benji exits the compartment in quiet protest.
This film, in terms of its acting performances, does not give a staged feel. It was fluid in a way that makes you question whether it’s a story that is unfolding or something that demands your immediate attention, for the realism of it all. It’s fiction at its best, when lies say very true things. For me, that was Kieran Culkin’s performance in this movie. He brought so much of himself into the film that I didn’t know how much was him and how much was the part he was playing.
On The Graham Norton Show, where both actors appeared together, Kieran revealed that Jesse cast him without having seen any of his work. Having known him somewhat, Jesse said he cast him based on his “essence.” This may sound bizarre—especially for a part he had originally written for himself, drawn from his own family history and a Jewish heritage trip he had taken years earlier.
However, after watching some of Kieran’s promotional interviews, his real-life persona feels remarkably similar to that of Benji. That said, he also admitted in those interviews that he wasn’t initially convinced about taking the role. But thankfully, for movie lovers, things fell into place. It couldn’t have been any other way—so far as the casting of Benji and David goes, both were perfect for their roles.
Kieran now has an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor to show for his efforts. The character of Benji is, without a doubt, the true standout of the film—dynamic, wild, and impossible to ignore. Eisenberg writes him with such finesse; he’s someone you both hate and love at the same time. Someone you don’t want to be, yet are easily enchanted by.
The way David navigates Benji’s chaotic presence is what makes A Real Pain such a deeply fulfilling watch. The backdrop of a troubled family Holocaust history gives the film its much-needed layers. But at its core, it remains very much a family drama—intimate, relatable, one that will stay with you.
Adolescence is a hard-hitting British drama series that defies categorization, shifting genres across its four episodes. It begins as a police procedural, evolves into a social drama, delves into the realm of an investigative/psychological thriller, and culminates in a family drama. But it’s true novelty lies not in this fluidity, but in its multifaceted exploration of a difficult subject—examining it from every angle with unflinching depth. Equally striking is its execution, with masterful cinematography and meticulously crafted scenes that leave a lasting impact.
The miniseries wastes no time, opening with the arrest of 13-year-old Jamie Miller, accused of murdering his schoolmate—a girl his own age. The police claim to have enough evidence to charge him, thrusting his parents into a nightmare they never saw coming. They believe in their son’s innocence; in the values they instilled in him. This is where the contract is signed with the audience, by writers Jack Thorne and Stephen Graham, and what follows makes for some gripping cinema. Graham also co-creates the series, and stars as Jamie’s father. His performance is one of the highlights of Adolescence.
One of the series’ most striking feature is its use of single continuous shots—each episode, nearly an hour long, unfolds without a single cut. The sheer planning and precision required to pull off such a feat is staggering, but the payoff is undeniable. This technique immerses the audience completely, whether inside the Millers’ home, a police station, a school, or even a moving car. The cinematography heightens the urgency, drawing viewers deeper into the unfolding tension.
However, at times, the dialogue feels repetitive. This may be an intentional choice—adding to the realism and avoiding a staged feel—but in places, particularly in the second episode, it slows the momentum. A tighter edit could have sharpened the impact without losing the authenticity.
The third episode is the standout, centering on the tense interrogation of 13-year-old, Jamie (Owen Cooper) by psychologist Briony (Erin Doherty). It plays like a film in itself—raw, emotionally charged, and deeply engaging. Both actors deliver spontaneous, natural performances that heighten the episode’s intensity, making every exchange feel immediate and real.
It’s in this episode that Adolescence truly soars, unraveling its deeper intentions. When asked to classify the series, Erin Doherty cited writer Jack Thorne, saying, “It’s not a whodunnit but a whydunnit.” The show isn’t just about solving a crime—it’s about understanding the motivations behind it. The creators dig deep into the psychology of their characters, examining parenting, masculinity, sexuality, peer pressure, and the relentless need for validation among teenagers in the age of social media.
Adolescence deserves to be in the Emmy conversation next year across multiple categories. Watching it, I was reminded of Baby Reindeer, another British drama that swept the 2024 Emmys. Both series tackle difficult subjects with unflinching depth, refusing to look away. And like Baby Reindeer, Adolescence is not an easy watch.
Here, the prime accused—if we were to call this a crime drama—is a teenager. The devastation his family endures is harrowing, making parts of the series deeply unsettling. Yet, it ends on a note of hope, particularly in its exploration of parenting. It confronts generational trauma—how it seeps through unnoticed, despite our best efforts, shaping us in ways beyond our control.
With its powerhouse performances, gripping screenplay, and fearless honesty, Adolescence is essential viewing—especially for parents and teenagers.
A discussion on gender equality and women’s rights is incomplete without acknowledging the 50% stakeholders in this debate—men. For they are not just participants but both beneficiaries and victims of the same oppressive system called patriarchy. If anyone in their right mind truly seeks to dismantle this system, they must take the bold step toward a more inclusive, honest conversation.
In my own experience, I have seen this drama play out in offices and homes, where much of the dialogue is mere lip service. Women are celebrated for their sacrifices, their ability to multitask, their emotional intelligence—yet how long will this rhetoric at homes and these hollow cultural programs in offices, designed to reinforce their “place,” continue? Women are awakening, at least those with access to opportunity. But men—men are the true losers here. They have failed to evolve, trapped in a system they believe serves them, when in reality, it robs them of their humanity. They are told they must not cry, must not express vulnerability. Their worth is measured only by their ability to earn, to take their rigid place at the head of the dinner table—the provider, the unshakable rock.
But this is a lie. A lie that has persisted for too long. Men know it, yet lack the courage to challenge a structure they believe works in their favor. And it is not just men who uphold this system. Women, too, are complicit—raising sons to believe they are gifts to the world, oppressing other women who are subordinate in this hierarchy. The truth is clear: this was never about gender alone. It was always about power. A power that sustains incompetent leaders, corrupt politicians, self-appointed gatekeepers—soulless figures who have traded their conscience for control.
And yet, the way forward is not just in recognizing oppression but in celebrating those who challenge it. There is an urgent need to amplify the voices of men who have chosen to break free, who have rejected the roles handed to them and become true partners—at home, at work, and in society. These men are not doing anything extraordinary. They are simply doing what is right in an equal, humane world. But human nature craves examples. People need to see others take the first step before they dare to follow. Women who demand equality must also recognize and speak of the men in their lives who have had the courage to embrace it. Change is contagious, but only when it is made visible.
In short, this nonsense must end. And it ends with you. You can choose to deny it, ignore it, close your door to it—but do so at your peril. Or you can choose to open that door, to open your mind, and reclaim the humanity stolen from both men and women. Do it not just for your daughters, but for your sons. Because a world that chains men to a false ideal of masculinity is just as broken as one that subjugates women. And no one—no one—wins in such a world.
Happy Women’s Day!
— Siddhartha Krishnan (Author – Two and a Half Rainbows)
Boman Irani’s directorial debut, The Mehta Boys, which he has co-written with Alexander Dinelaris, the Oscar winning screenwriter of Birdman, doesn’t feel like the work of a first-time filmmaker. A celebrated actor with a career spanning 25 years, Irani steps behind the camera to tell a story of a father and son navigating a complicated relationship. But aren’t all father-son relationships tricky? What sets this film apart in a genre well-explored in Hindi cinema? This is where the film’s sharp screenplay shines, offering a fresh perspective. The Mehta Boys is often funny but turns serious when it needs to, refusing to dilute its social commentary with humor.
When Boman Irani debuted as a Hindi film actor at the turn of the millennium, he didn’t look like a newcomer. Perhaps it was because he was already 40, bringing with him a wealth of life experience that shaped his performances. It’s something today’s young actors could learn from. This approach gave us unforgettable characters like Dr. Asthana (Munna Bhai M.B.B.S.), Kishan Khurana (Khosla Ka Ghosla), and Viru Sahastrabuddhe (3 Idiots), among many others. Now, at 65, he remains at the top of his game—both as an actor and, with The Mehta Boys, as a director.
The film opens with evocative shots of Amay’s home, played by an excellent Avinash Tiwary. His house, much like him, is flawed yet functional, holding itself together despite its problems. The first thing that stands out is the meticulous production design. Each room has a distinct personality, telling its own silent story. Much of the film unfolds within these walls, making the space almost a character in itself.
Another standout aspect of The Mehta Boys is its cinematography, which instantly reminded me of Birdman—not just in the way the camera moves, but in how light and color are used to heighten emotions. The camerawork is dynamic, adapting seamlessly to the film’s tonal shifts. In the chaotic, comedic moments, it moves swiftly, almost playfully. But when the film demands weight, the camera slows, locking into tight close-ups to amplify emotion before gradually pulling back to reveal multiple perspectives. There’s an old-school simplicity to the way scenes are framed, yet it blends effortlessly with modern techniques, ensuring that not a single moment feels dull.
But the true strength of The Mehta Boys lies in its performances. Boman Irani as Shiv Mehta, Avinash Tiwary as his son Amay, Puja Sarup as daughter Anu, and Shreya Chaudhry as Amay’s love interest, Zara—all are impeccably cast, delivering pitch-perfect performances. With the film relying heavily on tight and extreme close-ups, every expression had to land, and the actors rise to the challenge.
At its core, the film is an intense exploration of the father-son dynamic, where every scene carries weight. This makes the chemistry between Boman and Avinash crucial—and it crackles with energy. Yet, the most striking moment for me is Anu’s meltdown at the airport. As she realizes that neither her father nor her brother will budge, even in the face of crisis, her frustration erupts in a way that is agonizing, hilarious, and utterly human. It’s a scene that perfectly encapsulates the film’s emotional depth and sharp writing reminding me of earlier gems in this genre like Kapoor & Sons.
In an interview with ET Now, Boman Irani shared that The Mehta Boys doesn’t offer solutions to father-son conflicts—because that was never the film’s intent. Instead, it embraces the complexity of these relationships, capturing their highs and lows with honesty. And in doing so, it takes the audience on an emotional roller coaster. I laughed wholeheartedly. I cried just as much. I saw glimpses of my own relationship with my father—the love, the friction, the unspoken words.
But what lingers most is the realization that Boman himself never met his father, having lost him six months before he was born. And yet, he writes the character of Shiv Mehta with such depth, nuance, and style. That, more than anything, tells me this is a man who has truly lived and observed life. This is a stellar directorial debut by a brilliant actor.
Verdict:
IMDb rating – 7.3/10
My Rating – 4/5
The Mehta Boys is streaming on Amazon Prime Video.
The second season of Paatal Lok lacks the gritty, immersive atmosphere that made its predecessor so compelling. It misses the haunting presence of characters like Hathoda Tyagi and takes time to draw you in. Unlike the first season, which gripped you from the start, this one unfolds more slowly. But once it finds its footing, it drags you deep into its netherworld and holds you there until the very end.
In this season, when Hathi Ram and Ansari first arrive in Nagaland, it feels as if they’ve carried a piece of Delhi into unfamiliar terrain. They adapt too easily, moving through this alien landscape—its politics, language, and culture—with an almost unnatural confidence. It feels off.
Adding to the dissonance is the sheer number of characters who come and go without leaving much impact, making the narrative feel cluttered and confusing. But what struck me most was how sanitized everything felt. For a neo-noir crime thriller in the vein of Delhi Crime, the raw, shadowy, and saturated visuals that defined the first season are noticeably absent. Perhaps this was a deliberate choice by the makers, but for me, it dulled the show’s edge.
That said, Paatal Lok 2 has its strengths. Setting the story in Nagaland is a bold choice, and even braver is the decision to cast several actors from the North-East—some non-actors—and let them speak in Nagamese. This adds a layer of authenticity rarely seen in mainstream narratives.
The writing also captures the region’s simmering socio-political tensions, the aspirations of its people, and the web of deceit they’ve been ensnared in for generations. In staying true to these themes, the show preserves the essence of its first season, maintaining a sense of continuity
The narrative takes a crucial turn at the end of episode four. From there, the story gathers momentum, unraveling with precision and leading to a satisfying finale that leaves the audience with a sense of closure.
The writing in the final four episodes is particularly strong—balanced, clever, and well-paced. With multiple loose ends to resolve, the screenplay ensures that every thread is tied up seamlessly, without anything feeling forced or unnecessary.
The show’s greatest strength remains its protagonist. This time, Hathi Ram Chaudhary is largely on his own, commanding maximum screen time, with a stellar Tillotama Shome in top form. But make no mistake—this is his show. The camera adores him, and Jaideep Ahlawat delivers a masterclass in acting, embodying Hathi Ram with absolute conviction.
Every detail—the weary eyes, the slight paunch, the limp, the accent—paints a portrait of a man burdened by ambition yet unwilling to compromise his integrity. He is street-smart but principled, flawed yet self-aware. One of the finest characters to emerge from the Indian OTT space, Hathi Ram feels even more layered this time around, and Jaideep surpasses his own benchmark from the first season with remarkable nuance and skill.
Verdict:
Paatal Lok 2 is a worthy successor to its predecessor. It takes time to find its footing, but once it does, it delivers a layered, immersive crime thriller that rewards patient viewers. At its heart is Jaideep Ahlawat, in peak form as Hathi Ram Chaudhary, delivering one of the finest performances in recent times.
When we think of prison dramas, classics like The Shawshank Redemption, The Green Mile, and Escape from Alcatraz come to mind. Unfortunately, Indian films have rarely explored this genre in depth. While a few films have touched upon it, none have left a lasting impact. This is the reason why Black Warrant, a TV series conceived by Vikramaditya Motwane and Satyanshu Singh, and helmed by six directors, instantly piqued my interest. The fact that it is based on real-life incidents from India’s most notorious prison makes it even more compelling.
Based on the book by Sunetra Choudhury and Sunil Gupta, Black Warrant follows Gupta’s journey as a rookie jailer at Tihar Jail. Set in the 1980s, it unravels real-life events from his perspective, offering a rare, unfiltered glimpse into Tihar jail.
The series’ greatest strength lies in its razor-sharp screenplay by Satyanshu Singh and Arkesh Ajay. From the very first scene, it grips you—tense, fast-paced, and laced with unexpected humor. In an interview with film critic Baradwaj Rangan, journalist and author, Sunetra Choudhury talks about how the screenplay focused on aspects of the book that would make for compelling cinema.
The writing is intelligent, layered, and relentlessly engaging. Many scenes feel fresh and unlike anything seen before in Indian TV shows. Some kept me on the edge of my seat, others left me deep in thought, and a few even made me laugh out loud—a rare combination that makes Black Warrant truly exceptional from a writing standpoint.
Another standout aspect of the show is its impeccable casting and performances. Every actor fits their role like a glove, bringing authenticity through nuanced expressions, effortless improvisations, pitch-perfect dialogue delivery, and spot-on accents.
Among them, Rahul Bhat as DSP Rajesh Tomar and Zahan Kapoor as Sunil Gupta deliver compelling performances. Sidhant Gupta as Charles Sobhraj steals the show whenever he’s on screen, armed with some of the series’ best lines. He portrays the serial killer as a celebrity, delivering the show’s most philosophical one-liners.
The production design is also exceptional, meticulously recreating the era while keeping the storytelling sharp and modern. The editing is crisp, leaving no loose ends, making Black Warrant an engrossing, fast-paced thriller—despite being set within the confines of a prison.
Verdict:
Black Warrant is a must-watch for fans of the genre. It transports you to a bygone era, peeling back the layers of India’s most infamous prison with gripping storytelling and immersive detail. Riveting, raw, and unexpectedly entertaining—this is prison drama at its finest.
Horror is my favorite genre because it’s fluid and adaptable, like water—filling any shape, taking on any tone. Its strength comes from something primal: fear, a pulse that flows through every living being, often in ways we barely recognize. It waits quietly beneath the surface, until some trigger—pain, grief, or madness—brings it flooding out. As Guillermo del Toro says, “Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes they win.” Horror endures because fear is universal, a constant that binds us all.
Yet horror is also a genre worn thin; tropes are overused, sub-genres fully explored and jump scares have begun to bore. But every so often, a filmmaker breaks through, pushing the boundaries and bringing fresh depth to the screen. This list celebrates 13 such films from around the world, all available on streaming (except one). Selected for their craft, impact, and originality, these aren’t big-budget spectacles but films that redefine the genre’s limits. Some had quiet releases but have since found a devoted cult following. Each deserves a place on any horror fan’s must-watch list.
Warning – None of the films in this list are for the faint of heart.
13. Longlegs (2024) : Language – English, Country – USA, Director – Osgood Perkins, Streaming – Amazon Prime Video
Longlegs introduces a chillingly real villain, Dale Ferdinand Kobble—a character so disturbing he could be the twisted sibling of Hannibal Lecter and Pennywise. Played by an unrecognizable Nicolas Cage, Kobble is the only non-supernatural villain on this list, making him even more terrifying.
The story follows FBI Agent Lee Harker, who is assigned to a long-cold serial killer case. As Harker delves deeper, new evidence emerges, hinting at occult involvement. Soon, Harker discovers a haunting personal connection to Kobble and must stop him before he strikes again.
IMDb rating – 6.7/10
My Rating – 7/10
12. Vivarium (2019) : Language – English, Country – USA, Director – Lorcan Finnegan, Streaming – Amazon Prime Video
Gemma (Imogen Poots), a high school teacher, and her boyfriend Tom (Jesse Eisenberg), a landscaper, visit a bizarre suburban development called Yonder. They’re shown house number 9 by an unsettling real estate agent, Martin, who vanishes after learning they don’t have children. As they attempt to leave, they find themselves trapped in a nightmarish maze—no matter the route, they end up back at house 9. With no choice but to stay, they’re supplied with tasteless packaged food by an unknown source. Desperate, Tom sets the house ablaze and spends the night outside with Gemma, only for them to receive a chilling package the next morning: an infant and a note reading, “Raise the child and be released.” What ensues is an absurd, terrifying descent into the surreal, where reality bends in disturbing, darkly humorous ways.
IMDb rating – 5.9/10
My rating – 7/10
11. Babadook (2014) : Language – English, Country – Australia, Director – Jennifer Kent, Streaming – Amazon Prime Video
Amelia, an exhausted single mother, struggles to cope with the trauma of her husband’s tragic death, which occurred as he drove her to the hospital while she was in labor. Now, she faces the daily challenge of raising her troubled six-year-old son, Sam, who exhibits erratic behavior and is fixated on an imaginary monster he believes is haunting them. One night, Sam asks her to read a disturbing pop-up book called Mister Babadook, which seems to appear out of nowhere and eerily describes a menacing creature. As the story convinces Sam that his monster is real, a series of terrifying events blurs the line between reality and nightmare, binding Amelia’s past, her grief, and her fears into a haunting tale of psychological horror.
IMDb rating – 6.8/10
My Rating – 7.5/10
10. The Platform (2019) : Language – Spanish, Country – Spain, Director – Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia, Streaming – Netflix
The Platform is a Spanish dystopian thriller that explores human nature through a brutal, thought-provoking lens. Set in a massive tower with hundreds of floors, inmates are fed by a descending platform that starts fully stocked at the top but dwindles to scraps—or nothing—by the lower levels. Each floor must survive on the leftovers of those above, and anyone who defies the system faces horrific punishment. Adding to the chaos, residents are randomly reassigned floors each month, thrusting them from privilege to desperation. What unfolds is a harrowing tale of survival that, while not strictly horror, taps into our deepest fears and lays bare the darkness of human behavior in a world of scarcity.
IMDb rating – 7/10
My Rating – 7.5/10
9. The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017) : Language – English, Country – USA, Director – Yorgos Lanthimos, Streaming – Amazon Prime Video
The Killing of a Sacred Deer, directed by the audacious Yorgos Lanthimos, follows Steven, a cardiovascular surgeon, who crosses paths with a peculiar 16-year-old boy named Martin after performing an open heart surgery. Steven invites Martin for dinner, where he meets Steven’s wife and two children and quickly becomes unsettlingly close with the family. As Martin’s presence in their lives intensifies, he begins to invade Steven’s world in increasingly disturbing and inexplicable ways. A series of bizarre, even supernatural events unfold, forcing Steven to confront Martin’s dark, enigmatic motives. Lanthimos crafts a chilling, surreal narrative that leaves audiences with haunting questions—and no intention of offering any answers.
IMDb rating – 7/10
My rating – 7.5/10
8. Talk to Me (2022) : Language – English, Country – Australia, Director – Danny and Michael Philippou, Streaming – Amazon Prime Video
Talk to Me, an Australian horror film, breathes new life into the well-worn theme of spirit channeling which includes—Ouija board, table seance etc. The story follows Mia, a teenager grappling with her mother’s death, who attends a high-stakes party seeking escape. There, the kids toy with a sinister new method of contacting the dead—a disembodied hand that allows them to become mediums. What begins as a thrill quickly spirals into horror as they lose control, crossing into dangerous, unseen realms. With clever twists, stylish camerawork, a trippy background score and razor-sharp editing, Talk to Me delivers a gripping, nightmarish ride that reinvents the genre.
IMDb rating – 7.1/10
My rating – 8/10
7. Lamb (2021) : Language – Icelandic, Country – Iceland, Sweden & Poland, Director – Valdimar Jóhannsson, Streaming – MUBI
On the absurdity scale, few films rival the Icelandic film, Lamb. The story follows farmers Ingvar and Maria, a grieving couple, who live a solitary life, unable to move beyond the loss of their only child. Their days are filled with the hard, numbing work of tending to their farm—until a shocking event disrupts their routine. A sheep gives birth to a creature that is part lamb, part human. The couple decides to raise this hybrid as their own child, creating a life that’s as tender as it is unsettling. What unfolds is an eerie, darkly humorous tale that’s hauntingly original.
IMDb rating – 6.3/10
My rating – 8/10
6. Midsommar (2019) : Language – English, Country – USA & Sweden, Director – Ari Aster, Streaming – Apple TV for rent
In Midsommar, director Ari Aster weaves a disturbing tale of grief, psychological torment, and cultural horror. After a tragic family loss, Dani (Florence Pugh) accompanies her distant boyfriend, Christian, and his friends to a secluded Swedish commune’s midsummer festival. What begins as a peaceful celebration soon descends into a nightmarish ordeal. The group is subjected to brutal rituals, psychological manipulation, and strange communal customs, including sacrificial ceremonies and hallucinogenic trips. As Dani is drawn deeper into the cult’s world, she finds herself torn between horror and acceptance. The final scene’s shocking twist reveals Dani’s unsettling transformation, challenging viewers with its potent blend of folk horror and emotional vulnerability.
IMDb rating – 7.1/10
My rating – 8/10
5. Goodnight Mommy (2014) : Language – Austrian, Country – Austria, Director – Veronika Franz, Severin Fiala, Streaming – Amazon Prime Video
In the Austrian psychological thriller Goodnight Mommy, twin ten-year-old boys are unsettled when their mother returns to their idyllic lakeside home after facial surgery, her face swathed in bandages with only her eyes and mouth exposed. Her behavior is cold and unrecognizable—she imposes silence, demands the blinds stay drawn, and insists they only play outside. Convinced this is not their mother but an imposter, the boys take matters into their own hands, tying her to the bed and subjecting her to disturbing acts to make her confess. Far from a simple “torture fest,” the film explores identity and trust in a nuanced, yet chilling descent into horror, made even more haunting by the fact that the perpetrators are children.
The film was remade in English with the same name and released in 2022, starring Naomi Watts.
IMDb rating – 6.7/10
My rating – 8/10
4. Bramayugam (2024) : Language – Malayalam, Country – India, Director – Rahul Sadasivan, Streaming – Sony LIV
Bramayugam draws deeply from the folklore, myths, and legends of Kerala, telling the haunting story of Thevan, a low-caste court singer who narrowly escapes slavery only to find himself in a mysterious, ominous mana (mansion). Its owner, Kodumon Potti, is a menacing figure whose words and intentions are shrouded in deceit. As the story unfolds, it slips into the supernatural, revealing Kodumon Potti’s dark identity and malevolent plans. Set entirely in black and white, director Rahul Sadasivan’s choice evokes nostalgia, recalling tales passed down through generations, while intensifying the story’s eerie, oppressive atmosphere. Bramayugam is both a chilling supernatural thriller and a profound commentary on power, greed, and social oppression, set against the backdrop of a surreal world.
IMDb rating – 7.8/10
My rating – 8.5/10
3. The Witch (2015) : Language – English, Country – USA & Canada, Director – Robert Eggers, Streaming – Amazon Prime Video on rent
Robert Eggers’ haunting directorial debut and a breakout role for a young Anya Taylor-Joy, is a chilling New England folktale set in the 1630s. After a Puritan family is banished over a religious dispute, they build a farm on the edge of a dense, foreboding forest. Soon, sinister forces seem to close in, as their newborn mysteriously vanishes—taken, it seems, by a witch lurking in the shadows. What unfolds is far from a typical supernatural tale; it’s a slow-burning descent into dread, artfully shot and rich with subtext. The film’s use of animals to amplify terror creates an unsettling atmosphere.
IMDb rating – 7/10
My rating – 8.5/10
2. Tumbbad (2018) : Language – Hindi, Country – India, Director – Rahi Anil Barve, Streaming – Currently not streaming since it was re-released in theatres
Tumbbad is arguably India’s finest horror film in recent years—original, intelligent, and hauntingly crafted. Set in 1920s Tumbbad, it follows three generations of a family suffering the consequences of their greed after building a forbidden temple for Hastar, the first-born of the Goddess of Prosperity. Hastar, a cursed entity, can grant gold but brings ruin to those who seek it. Legend has it that when the Goddess created the world, she bore Hastar first, favoring him, but his insatiable greed led him to seize both wealth and food. In fury, his divine siblings overpowered him, sparing his life only on the condition that he would never be worshiped.
The story centers on Vinayak, a man consumed by poverty and desperate for wealth, who uncovers the dangerous secret of accessing Hastar’s riches. Tumbbad explores the boundless depths of human greed with a chilling allegory, underscored by breathtaking cinematography and masterful production and sound design. It’s a timeless tale of temptation and consequence, both eerie and unforgettable.
IMDb rating – 8.2/10
My Rating – 9/10
1. Hereditary (2018) : Language – English, Country – USA, Director – Ari Aster, Streaming – Amazon Prime Video
Ari Aster’s debut film, Hereditary, is a modern horror masterpiece that exemplifies nuanced storytelling. The story follows Annie, a miniature artist, and her family as they grapple with the death of her secretive mother. Soon, buried family secrets begin to surface, and the family’s grief opens a door to the supernatural, pulling both Annie and her family into dark, otherworldly experiences. As they confront generational trauma and sinister legacies, evil forces entwine their lives with terrifying consequences. Haunting cinematography, impeccable framing, and Toni Collette’s powerful performance elevate Hereditary, making it one of the most unforgettable horror films of the last decade.
IMDb rating – 7.3/10
My Rating – 9.5/10
You’ll notice some big-ticket films like Get Out, Train to Busan, and IT aren’t on this list. These movies have already gained massive attention, so instead, this list spotlights hidden gems that may have flown under the radar of horror fans. In terms of craft and originality, they stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the best. Hoping it’s of some use.
It’s not easy to put loss into words. More so for eventualities like death, which are permanent. It’s not that they can’t be worded, but they cloud our minds so much that we lose the ability to think logically, to the point where we lose a sense of reality. I guess it’s the permanence of the loss that makes us feel that way. It’s also perhaps the reason why, within our species, the death ritual is the most ancient, at least that’s what science tells us.
I lost Joshua in July of 2021. It took me a while to understand the loss.
***
After Joshua’s first arthritic attack, recovery was slow but steady. It had taken him six months to just stand. So we knew it wasn’t going to be easy thereafter. A strict diet, daily walks, therapy, and massages gradually helped him regain strength. He had lost a lot of weight, and his gaunt frame was a constant reminder of the battle he had fought. But dogs don’t dwell in misery for long. Joshua, resilient and stubborn, was young at heart. Within a few months, he was ready to go on his walks.
We moved again, this time to an apartment in a quiet colony with wooden floors—perfect for him. The floors gave him better traction than the slippery tiles of our earlier house, and the absence of stray dogs meant he wouldn’t get agitated or risk further injury. Even so, he remained unpredictable.
On sunny days, we’d go out for slow walks. He’d stop often, mesmerized by the rustling leaves, the birds in the distance, or a new scent carried by the wind. Sometimes, he would just lie down, letting the breeze tousle his fur. These walks weren’t about covering ground anymore; they were to keep him engaged, a part of the world. He barked less—just a low grumble now and then—but mostly, he was quiet, and observant.
Rainy days were the hardest. On those days, our walks were confined to the basement. He’d often collapse on the driveway, too tired to get up right away, forcing cars to wait. But most of the time, the neighbors were kind. They understood his condition.
His spirit, though, never waned. And in those quieter moments, watching him look at the world, I realized he was teaching me something—about aging, about resilience, about letting go. He was 11 years old then.
My father’s health was also failing during this time. He had been dealing with limited mobility for over a decade, the aftermath of a stroke and a recurring vertigo. He would watch Joshua’s struggle closely, as he dragged himself across the floor, or when he had an accident and needed help, or when he slowly made his way to the balcony.
He rarely spoke about it, but once in a while, he’d break his silence. “He’s struggling a lot. It’s difficult to watch.” I never knew how to respond to that. I would just nod and leave the room, unsure of what he was really feeling as he sat there, blankly staring at Joshua’s struggle.
Pain, both mental and physical, is difficult to put into words. And even when you do, you quickly realize how inadequate it sounds—like you’ve diminished something that can’t be contained in sentences. It’s easier to talk about happiness or hope. Those moments may be fleeting, but they’re far easier to describe.
A year passed. Joshua was now 12, and we noticed he was losing his vision. In hindsight, the long stares during his walks—those moments when he seemed lost in thought—may have been the first signs. But dogs, they say, can live happily without sight; their noses guide them well enough. Still, his steps had become more cautious, more hesitant.
He had also developed small lumps on his legs. At first, we assumed they were a result of his reduced mobility over the past few years. They weren’t soft or painful, so we didn’t worry much until the vets suggested they could be tumors. Fortunately, they didn’t seem malignant, and surgery, at his age, was too risky. We were told to let it be.
Amid all of this, we tried to preserve some normalcy. Joshua still had a strong appetite, and whenever he ate, there was that familiar joy. In times like these, you learn to celebrate the little wins, to find hope in small moments of happiness. It’s what keeps you going.
We invited friends and family who knew him well to visit often. They would sit with him, cuddle, or just lie next to him—nothing fancy, just company. That’s all he ever wanted. Well, except for those moments when the scent of tandoori chicken wafted through the air during get-togethers. Then, out of nowhere, that familiar bark would resurface, a reminder of the dog he always was—alert, hopeful, and never too far from the next treat.
It was then that a tiny, invisible force entered the world of humans, a harbinger of ruin. They called it COVID-19. It struck like a blow from behind, knocking the breath out of us. And when we came to our senses, the world had changed—everything we once knew had to be done differently. Some fortunate souls reveled in the novelty of working from home, but for others, it felt like staring down the barrel of a gun. We were confined to our ghettos, our bubbles grew thicker, and life became smaller.
But amidst the chaos, the shift was especially cruel for our pets—particularly for a dog like Joshua. What would become of his walks now that the world had shut its doors? He didn’t have much time left as it was. How would this isolation, this disruption, impact his already ailing body?
We didn’t have to wait long to find out. A second arthritic attack struck him down, harder and faster than we’d expected. Time, it seemed, had made its decision.
Fortunately, during the pandemic veterinary services were deemed essential. Despite continuing his earlier medications, we felt the need for someone to check on Joshua’s progress. Luckily, we found a vet who was willing to visit our home during those uncertain times. This was nothing short of a godsend.
The silver lining of the pandemic was that we were all home, able to tend to him. This wasn’t just a comfort for Joshua—it became a source of strength for us as his caregivers. The shared presence and attention gave us the collective support we needed.
However, a lot happened during the first wave of Covid. The morning after the first lockdown was announced, my father suffered a minor stroke. He was in Kolkata with my brother, and I had no way to travel to him. Fortunately, he recovered and was out of hospital in a day. Soon after, my sister-in-law contracted Covid. She too pulled through, without vaccines and—miraculously—without spreading it to the rest of the family.
It was a time that reminded us of how fragile life really is. Everything we had once taken for granted suddenly felt precious. The reality of our own mortality loomed large, and we knew it was only a matter of time before the virus reached our doorstep. The question was: how long could we hold off the inevitable?
As the first wave of Covid subsided, Joshua was well into his 13th year, and by some stroke of luck, we had emerged largely unscathed. The pandemic had forced the world to reassess its priorities. People began to rediscover forgotten dreams, lost hobbies, and the finite nature of everything became strikingly clear. I managed to publish the book I had been working on for two years—a small victory amidst the chaos. Marketing it without bookstores or face-to-face interactions was a nightmare, but I never expected miracles from my first book. Just getting it into the hands of readers and having them share their thoughts felt like a win. Over time, it found a small, loyal reader base. For me, the greatest satisfaction was in proving I could finish what I had set out to do.
But this period took a heavy toll on Joshua. Much like how we now talk about the long-term effects of isolation on children—physically, behaviorally, and mentally—it was also a difficult time for our pets. Though Joshua survived the worst of his second arthritic attack, it aged him considerably. He could still stand and move around for a few minutes, but the effort left pain etched across his face. His legs would eventually give out, and he’d collapse. The medications, while necessary, were taking their toll. His once-strong body had become frail, emitting a persistent odor suggesting his health was slipping away. He frequently injured himself, leaving bloodstains on his feet and other places. The writing was on the wall—he was in the final stretch of his life.
At no point did we want to prolong Joshua’s suffering. Yet, much like how a person with dementia might experience brief moments of clarity, Joshua too found a sudden surge of energy—echoes of his old self. For a while, there was renewed vigor in his steps, a spark that gave us hope. In hindsight, it was a fleeting illusion. But as caregivers, we cling to such moments; they become our own source of comfort, a kind of pill to keep us going.
We were living in a dream—one that quickly crumbled. As the first wave of Covid faded, humanity reverted to its old habits. People disregarded social distancing, ignored caution, and the virus returned in a more virulent, deadly form. The second wave came crashing down, relentless and unforgiving. It overwhelmed us, catching everyone off guard, just when the weight of the first wave had begun to lift.
It was the worst possible timing. Any glimpse of normalcy felt like a cruel mirage. The world seemed to spiral deeper into despair. Headlines screamed of crumbling relationships, surging mental health crises, suicides, alcohol and drug abuse, domestic violence—anger and hopelessness consumed the masses. We were drowning in it all, and amidst this, Joshua’s final chapter was unfolding.
The Closure
Attachment that drives us to madness, fear that paralyzes us from letting go, and stories that shield us from facing reality—these are the fiends that whisper in our ears, convincing us to cling to convenient lies rather than confront the inconvenient truth.
For me, it was accepting that truth that proved hardest. For Kavita, it was the act of letting go. For Advay, our son, it was the pain he saw in us and his fear of what it would mean for our family. The bubble of these intertwined fears became our shared story, but no matter how tightly we held onto it, the truth loomed before us, relentless.
Now in his 14th year, Joshua in body was a faint shadow of his younger self. I don’t know if there was a younger soul in him or not. Maybe? But there was hardly any life left in him. How long were we going to keep this going?
In July of 2021, the inevitable decision was made. It was Kavita who had to voice it—not because I couldn’t, but because it was her right. She had been his mother, the one most bonded to her baby. For a long time, until then, she had been in denial, unwilling to let go. But in the end, it was her courage that broke the silence. She broke it, just like on the day she got him. It was clear and precise. I know how difficult it was for her, but it was a final act of love. Joshua had always been her dog, her companion, and his loyalty to her was unmatched.
That day is still as vivid as daylight. We chose to euthanize Joshua at home, not in a sterile hospital. It felt right—only we, his family, should be there to see him off. He deserved to leave this world lying in our laps, with our whispers of love surrounding him. The vet, who had been with us through the last two years of Joshua’s decline, agreed to help. As the injection entered his veins, he slipped quietly into a sleep from which there would be no waking. The pain that had etched itself on his face for so long finally vanished. He was free from everything—both the joys and the suffering.
We buried him close to his friends at the boarding house, the place he loved when we were away. In our hands, we carried letters that tried to capture the depth of our loss, and photographs filled with memories. As we placed these tokens into his grave, a gentle drizzle began to fall. The rain mixed with our tears, masking our grief, but not the cries of agony we could no longer hold back. For Kavita and me, Joshua wasn’t just our dog; he was a chapter in our lives, a chapter of growing up—from wild, carefree days to learning what it means to love deeply and to let go.
When I reached home, I was overwhelmed with the loss. I had always believed I was the one more prepared for it, but I was shattered. All that had transpired in the last few years flashed before my eyes. It took me a while to truly understand the depth of the loss.
Dogs can’t do anything material for you, and yet they leave an impact on your life that’s beyond measure. They are always there for you, and that’s all they can do for you. Their entire lives are spent observing us, trying to please us. This is why I could see Joshua in every corner of the house, after he was gone. It’s because he was everywhere, following us wherever we went.
This friendship between our species has shaped not just their evolution, but ours as well. But their love is more unconditional than ours, because they know how to live in the moment, to experience life to the fullest. We’ve lost that ability, and I have no doubt about it. After all, which other animal can love another species more than its own?
Here’s a quote that has me in tears every time I read it. It also sums up my thoughts at this moment.
“A dog has no use for fancy cars, big homes, or designer clothes. A water log stick will do just fine. A dog doesn’t care if you are rich or poor, clever or dull, smart or dumb. Give him your heart and he’ll give you his. How many people can you say that about? How many people can make you feel rare and pure and special? How many people can make you feel extraordinary?” – John Grogan – Marley & Me (2008)
***
Two days later, a puppy came home. He was just 35 days old. We had no intention of picking him up, but he chose us—he ran right toward me, as if he had been waiting for that moment. His eyes were the most expressive, marble-like that was hard to resist. That rainy night, with the deluge pouring down, we took him home. It felt like the rain was washing away the pain, making way for the next chapter.
We named him Nimbus. He’s three years old now. Last year he became a father to a girl we named Nola. I try not to see Joshua in Nimbus. He is beautiful, and unique in his own way. But what am I supposed to do with these stories in my head?
In the wild, power isn’t about stories or perceptions—you either have it or you don’t. Joshua sensed this instinctively, even as a puppy. Biological evolution hadn’t shaped him to buy into human narratives. In many ways, when things got tough, he remained a wolf at heart, untamed by the stories we tell. But I was still human, conditioned to believe in those stories, and that made me vulnerable.
During our roughest times, he understood his reality far better than I did, even though he was fully dependent on me. Sometimes, when I looked into his eyes, I saw a wolf—wild, free, and unbound.
***
When Advay was about three, Joshua developed a slight limp. At first, we didn’t think much of it. He’d often had issues with rough paws that could be fixed with a simple oil or cream rub. But this was different. The signs were there, but we missed them—too distracted by everything else going on. The writing was slowly appearing on the wall, but we had lost our watchful eye.
That’s how rough times start—one thing leads to another, and before you know it, a pile of problems weighs you down. And if you’re not prepared, no matter how sudden it seems, it feels like you should have seen it coming. Like somehow, it’s still your fault.
We had moved yet again, this time to a flat with a terrace garden—a little patch of lawn and open air that felt like a gift. The sunlight, the greenery, a touch of nature amidst the concrete jungle—it gave us a reprieve, especially with all we were juggling.
Since the start of 2015, I had been working from home after switching jobs. This offered us some flexibility in moments of crisis, which seemed to come often. Kavita, tied to her marketing job, had no such option, and back then, remote work was still a distant idea—three years before COVID would teach us that everything has a workaround. Affording full-time help wasn’t immediately possible, and even when it was, finding someone reliable seemed impossible.
Amid everything happening in my personal and professional life, I never expected Joshua to fall sick the way he did. He had suffered the most brutal arthritic attack. Looking back, I blame myself. But at the time, I felt a helplessness I had never known. I always thought, despite my shortcomings, I could somehow fix things. But I was wrong. When things start to go wrong, they have a way of unraveling entirely.
One day, he didn’t get up. At first, we weren’t sure what to make of it. For years, we had come to believe he would bounce back, just as he always had. He was the most resilient, bull-headed mutt I’d ever known. Sturdy in ways that made us forget he wasn’t invincible. Joshua had never been overly dependent on us—unlike a typical Labrador. Maybe it was the Boxer in him that made him behave that way.
Yet, his mixed breed came with its drawbacks. He had the bulk of a Labrador but the slender, athletic legs of a Boxer, an awkward combination that aggravated his joints. Like many large breeds, hip dysplasia and arthritis eventually became a problem. His body, though powerful, was ill-equipped to carry his weight as he aged.
And then there was his appetite—a trait we had spoiled him with, no question about that. Joshua was a voracious eater, and if he hadn’t eaten well, he could bark from dawn till dusk. His nose, sharp and insistent, would go on its own hunt if he even caught a whiff of food nearby.
One morning, after Kavita left for work and my son for pre-school, I stepped out to pick up breakfast from a nearby joint. It took me a little longer than usual—an unexpected rush kept me waiting. When I finally returned and opened the door, a foul smell hit me, pulling me back to that thunderous night years ago. Joshua wasn’t in sight. I called out, my heart pounding, and heard the faint sound of labored breathing.
He was behind the curtains.
I pulled them aside and found him lying there, weak and helpless. He had tried to drag himself toward the terrace door, desperate to get outside, but no one had been there to open it. In his frustration, he had soiled himself and was rolling in his own excrement. His eyes met mine—eyes that once brimmed with mischief and defiance now filled with pain and fear. The freedom he had always cherished was slipping away, and he knew it.
That look… it was so different from the fierce spirit I had known in him as a puppy, on that rainy night long ago when he had once caused so much chaos. Now, his wild heart was dimming, and it broke mine.
We took Joshua to several vets close to home, but his condition barely improved. In the end, we had to travel across the city to the vet who had saved him as a puppy—the one who’d revived him during that terrifying dehydration episode. He showed us the report card—severe bone degeneration in his left leg. The right wasn’t in great shape either. Full recovery was almost impossible, but walking again was within reach—slow, gradual, with medication. He also needed laser therapy, water therapy, warm compresses for his joints, and plenty of sunshine.
Those were dark days. There was a lot on my plate, and the weight of it all pressed down on me. The demons in my head made me feel like my world was crumbling, that it was happening only to me, though I knew that wasn’t true. But it sure felt like it.
I needed an escape. I knew no one else could offer a solution—the battle was mine alone. That’s when I turned to writing.
It was a rainy, gray afternoon—just the kind of day that invites reflection. The house was quiet, no distractions. I sat down and put pen to paper, intending to write about my tangled state of mind. For two hours, I wrote non-stop, something I had never managed before. When I finished, I was stunned. In my hands was a short story—fiction, no less—drawn from a memory of childhood but transformed into something entirely new. I hadn’t planned it. The words hadn’t felt heavy or forced. Somehow, a gate in my mind had opened, and the words flowed through it effortlessly.
I kept going. Personal experiences and stories I had heard and read started weaving themselves together. Within ten days, I had written five short stories. Soon enough the idea of compiling these stories into a book sprouted in my mind.
That rainy afternoon had changed something in me. It wasn’t just about the stories I wrote, but about the release, the catharsis of finding a voice in the silence, of creating something beautiful out of the weight I had been carrying. It gave me hope. Something we humans cannot live without.
Joshua was right beside me when I wrote those pages. I never thought I could garner the resolve to do what I was doing, but looking back, I realize Joshua was my inspiration. It was heartbreaking to see him so helpless, yet he hadn’t given up. He wanted to live. He was willing to push through the grind. Even in his desperate state, the moment he caught a whiff of food, he’d let out his signature bark, as if to say, “I’m still here.” Despite his immobility, in every other way, he was still himself—remarkably, he had learned to live with his pain while I was still struggling with mine.
It was time to stop overthinking and start acting. My days were a whirlwind of juggling work, home, and caring for Joshua. At night, with Kavita’s help, I found time to write. Joshua had his own routine, which was separate from ours, with medication and a strict list of things that needed attention. Luckily, we had a small lawn—a godsend—where he could bask in the afternoon sun.
Every day, I would drag him out to the lawn, letting him soak in the sunlight, surrounded by nature. Butterflies, in every color, danced around the flower bushes, and pigeons would occasionally wander in—pigeons Joshua had once loved to chase. Now, he’d just glance at them and let out a bark. They teased him for a while, but when his bark turned to a low grumble, they’d leave.
Things weren’t normal, but we tried to create a sense of normalcy, clinging to the hope that one day, he would get up and chase those pigeons again.
But recovery was slow, and despite everything we did for him, Joshua wasn’t showing much improvement. For a dog, a walk is more than just exercise—it’s their way of connecting with the world, a spiritual ritual. As the months dragged on, our hopes were fading. Joshua was in pain, no doubt about it. At night, he’d drag himself around, sometimes whining, his body betraying him. It was heartbreaking to watch.
We did what we could—changing his position several times a day to prevent sores—but his skin was turning blue, and a faint stench had begun to settle. I’m not one for miracles or a big believer in God, but we still found ourselves hoping for something extraordinary to happen. I didn’t want him to go like this. Joshua was a fighter. But he was rapidly losing weight, and time was running out.
***
Six months had passed, marked by rare good days and far too many bad ones. There was little left to believe he’d ever stand again. Then, an unavoidable family function came up. Over the years, we had built a support system of trusted house helps for moments like this. Our maid’s husband, Birender, offered to take care of Joshua for the three days we’d be gone. I was wary—this wasn’t a small task. But Birender, a patient man with no fear of dogs, especially unpredictable ones like Joshua, took it seriously. He learned every part of Joshua’s care—massaging, cleaning, medication, therapy.
With great apprehension, we left for the function. I called Birender several times each day, and he reassured me everything was fine. Somehow, those three days passed.
When we returned, Birender greeted us, and there was Joshua, lying in his usual spot. He glanced at us, as he always did. Birender left, and I went inside to change. Moments later, the doorbell rang. It took me a minute to answer. It was a parcel. As I locked the door, I felt something familiar brush against my leg. I turned, and there was Joshua—standing beside me.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. He hadn’t stood in six months. Everything we had done for him, every painful, hopeful moment, flashed before me. It was a moment I’ll never forget.
We celebrated Joshua’s revival that weekend. Everyone who had known him over the years paid a visit. It seemed he was trying to get back to his old ways. But we knew he had aged considerably after the ordeal of the past months. His eyes were getting weaker as well, and a deadly virus was about to wreak havoc in the human world.
Around 30,000 years ago, when man and wolf were natural foes, humankind made one of its most profound decisions—to domesticate the wolf and create the dog. The dog was the first animal to be domesticated by humans. Scientific evidence suggests this monumental shift may have begun with a lone wolf, outcast by its pack due to poor hunting skills, scavenging for scraps near a human encampment. One fateful night, this wolf, in search of food, alerted the human tribe to the presence of a more powerful animal—perhaps a tiger or an elephant—unknowingly saving their children and securing their trust. In that moment, a bond was forged between man and wolf, evolving into a partnership that has endured millennia and reshaped the future of both species. Through all the evolving roles of man—as hunter, farmer, herder, warrior, and family man—the dog has stood by his side, whether as a tireless worker or a loyal companion. In essence, the story of mankind is incomplete without the story of the dog.
Anyone who has ever had a dog knows this is true.
***
In December 2014, our baby arrived. I was nervous about how Joshua would handle this new chapter in our lives. For so long, he’d been the center of our world, soaking up all the attention. Given his unpredictable ways, we’d done our research on how to introduce him to the baby without overwhelming him. But despite all the preparation, there was a thread of fear that lingered—because of his past.
Joshua always slept under our bed, and during the day, he never left Kavita’s side. In those final months before the delivery, he’d rest his nose gently on her baby bump, his eyes searching ours. We knew then—he knew.
Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what that first meeting would feel like.
The night before Kavita and the baby were set to come home, I brought a small piece of the hospital with me—our baby’s clothes. Sitting on the sofa, I called Joshua over. He came, cautiously. It was just the two of us in the house. I held out the clothes, and he sniffed them, his head turning slowly toward me. I’ll never forget his eyes that night—full of questions, understanding, and something else I couldn’t quite name.
He kept looking at me, as if we shared a quiet secret, and then he walked away to a corner of the room, lying down. In that moment, I knew he felt it too—the world had shifted. Something deep, something permanent.
The next day, we brought Advay (our son) home. Joshua was overjoyed to see Kavita after three days—his usual burst of energy filled the house. But the moment he saw the baby, he changed. He approached with curiosity, his movements unusually gentle, as though he instinctively knew this was a delicate, new presence. He sniffed Advay carefully, then, just like the night before, he retreated to his corner, watching from a distance.
Joshua was seven then, no longer a young dog but still full of energy. We worried that having to share our attention with a baby might worsen the issues he’d struggled with. But we were wrong. Though he seemed sad at first, Joshua embraced Advay with a quiet strength. In the days that followed, he became the baby’s silent guardian, lying next to his pram, alerting us when he cried or stirred.
Advay, even as a baby, was restless—never one to sit still for long. He didn’t nap much during the day, leaving us exhausted as we balanced work and his constant need for attention. But Joshua, in his calm and watchful way, became our greatest ally. When Advay turned one and started to toddle, and eventually run, Joshua kept his distance but stayed close enough to keep an eye on him. If Advay took a tumble, Joshua would be the first to check on him, gently licking his hands as if to say everything would be alright.
Still, I had my worries. Joshua wasn’t always predictable, and I feared that in one of Advay’s wild bursts of energy, he might accidentally step on Joshua’s tail, sparking a reaction. That fear was put to rest one evening.
It was almost dusk, and the light in the room was dim. I switched on the tube light and sat with my laptop, working on an email, while Advay played on the other side of the room. I glanced up to see him, a toy in his hand, laughing and babbling to himself. Suddenly, he decided to run toward me. My heart jumped—Joshua was lying directly in his path. “Stop!” I yelled, but Advay was too caught up in his excitement. Just then, the electricity went out, and the room plunged into darkness.
I heard a thud, followed by a low grumble from Joshua, and then—after a beat—Advay’s cry filled the room. My stomach sank, but before I could react, the lights flickered back on. There was Advay, sprawled on the floor, crying, and Joshua—licking his head and hands, comforting him.
Advay had tripped over Joshua in the dark, landing hard on the floor. If it had been anyone else, Joshua might have snapped. But for Advay, he showed nothing but care. In that moment, I knew my fears were unfounded. Joshua had chosen to love our son, fully and without hesitation.
That night, I felt a quiet relief settle over me. Joshua had found his place in this new family, not as a jealous older sibling but as a gentle protector, willing to share the love and attention he had once had all to himself.
And just like that we had learnt our eighth lesson as a pet parent. Never underestimate the maturity of a dog. They are more intelligent and sensitive than you think.
In the years that followed, Advay and Joshua grew into a bond that was uniquely theirs. Joshua wasn’t the kind of dog he could cuddle with or hold close. He kept his space, sometimes reminding Advay who was the elder, but he was always there, watching from nearby. And Advay loved him for it—understanding, even as a young boy, that their bond didn’t need constant affection to be strong.
I was proud of both for accepting this relationship with such grace. There was no struggle, no sense of wanting more.
With a toddler in the house, time moved quickly. Days blurred into months, and before we knew it, two years had passed in what felt like a blink. But life has a way of surprising us, and I was about to face some of my toughest years. Joshua, now nine, was beginning to show signs of age. His health started to decline, small issues creeping up as the years caught up with him.
It was a hard time, not just because of Joshua’s health but because life, in general, seemed to weigh heavier. But it’s in these moments that we find the strength of our connections tested, and for me, it was also the beginning of something new. During those tough years, I found solace in writing. What started as a way to process everything eventually led to something I’d never imagined—writing a book. And, in many ways, Joshua had a hand in guiding me there.
His presence, his quiet strength through it all, became a source of inspiration I hadn’t anticipated.
