By Kavita Mistry 
Kaalidhar Laapata is that rare gem, tender without tipping into sentimentality, rooted yet expansive in spirit. Directed by Madhumita, this Hindi adaptation of her acclaimed 2019 Tamil film KD (Karuppu Durai) finds its own quiet rhythm while retaining the emotional core of the original. In transposing the story from rural Tamil Nadu to the heartlands of Madhya Pradesh, she gives it a flavour that’s distinctly North Indian, yet never loses sight of what made the original so affecting: the humanity.
From this heartbreaking premise begins a journey, both literal and emotional, that sees Kaalidhar cross paths with Ballu, a precocious eight-year-old orphan with a smile that could disarm the hardest cynic. Their initial camaraderie is prickly, full of mischief and resistance, but the bond that eventually blossoms becomes the soul of the film. They are, in many ways, mirror images, one slowly being erased, the other trying to be noticed. Together, they carve out a space for healing, for living, for dreaming again.
Shot against the textured, unvarnished beauty of small-town Madhya Pradesh, the cinematography by Gairik Sarkar is outstanding. The light is soft, natural, the frames tenderly composed. There’s a lived-in warmth to the locations, temples, bus stands, small eateries, that bring a quiet dignity to the narrative. The production design, too, deserves special mention; nothing feels dressed up. It’s all worn and weathered, just like the people in this story. Costumes play their part with precision, never calling attention to themselves, yet helping build characters organically, from Ballu’s oversized shorts to Kaalidhar’s humble kurta, every piece fits perfectly into the world.
The bucket list, a device that could’ve turned gimmicky, is handled with simplicity and humour. Ride a bike, wear a suit, act on stage, dance in a baraat, sip angrezi alcohol, reunite with his first love. Each item is not just a wish but a reclamation of life, of dignity, of joy. And guiding KD through this list is Ballu, played with stunning ease by Daivik Bhagela, who is the beating heart of the film. There is no false note in his performance; he’s untrained in the best sense, raw, spontaneous, utterly believable.
Abhishek Bachchan, meanwhile, delivers one of his most touching performances in recent memory. He doesn’t perform so much as become Kaalidhar, broken, bewildered, and quietly brave. This is a role that doesn’t lean on theatrics. It demands stillness, presence, vulnerability. He gives it all. One only wishes he’d do more such parts, roles that peel away the star persona and reveal the actor underneath.
The supporting cast adds its own grace notes. Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub brings his characteristic sincerity to a government clerk with a conscience, and Nimrat Kaur lends elegance to the role of Kaalidhar’s long-lost love, Meera, though one wishes the script had given her more to do.
At its core, Kaalidhar Laapata is a meditation on what it means to be forgotten, and how connection can restore us. It speaks of familial neglect, but also of chosen families, of strangers who come to mean more than blood relations. In the tradition of Baghban and Vanvaas, the film reminds us of the silent, systemic sidelining of the elderly. Yet, unlike its predecessors, it offers a glimmer of hope: that love, however unexpected, can find its way back.