Jasmine That Blooms In Autumn Review | A Quiet, Queer Rebellion Of Love

About eight years ago, I wrote a piece titled, “Where are all the lesbian love stories in Bollywood?” I was searching for stories that were tender, nuanced, and real. I was looking for queer joy. In 2017, the mainstream Hindi film industry had yet to give us a movie about two women in love without eroticising their bodies. Between Deepa Mehta’s Fire (1996) and exploitative low-budget films like Men Not Allowed (2006) and Girlfriend (2004), there was no space for stories that were not marked either by violence, grief, tragedy, or titillation. Co-written by Rahul Roye and Chandradeep Das—who also directed the short—Jasmine that Blooms in Autumn is exactly the kind of story I was searching for since.

Jasmine that Blooms in Autumn won the “Best Indian Narrative Short” at the recently concluded 16th edition of Kashish Pride Film Festival, Mumbai. The production team also includes Roye in addition to Nikita Ivanenko and Tushar Tyagi, with executive producers Sein Lyan Tun and Abdullah Al Kandari providing additional support. That this film is their labour of love is evidenced by the team’s humble size.

Das’s film captures a brief chapter in the quiet love story between two elderly residents of an old age home. As the shadows of an oppressive society linger even in their autumn years, Meera (Sudipa Basu) and Indira (Uma Jhunjhunwala) find pockets of joy hidden away from the prying eyes of everyone at the senior home they reside in. Meera may have a pension to fall back on, but if people find out about their romance, the authorities might kick them out. So, they express their love through stolen glances, a voice recorder, poetry, and paan.

Meera threads together fragrant jasmine flowers for Indira to wear in her hair—something she was forbidden to do while married to an abusive husband. Indira makes paan for Meera, rolling and garnishing each betel leaf with care. She even tastes one before keeping it back in the box she prepares for her amour—like a stolen kiss tucked away in a corner. She leaves reminders for Meera to chew softly, for the betelnut might hurt her teeth. The warmth of their care for each other embraces the viewer through these glimpses. They may not share the screen in these moments, but their longing for each other is palpable in their separation.

Jasmine that Blooms in Autumn has less than 15 minutes of runtime, but it is woven together with the grace and beauty of a feature film. Manas Bhattacharyya’s cinematography, Aritra Dutta Banik’s editing, Sougata Banerjee’s sound design, and Shehrose Mian’s score weave together this delicate tale with so much poise that it almost feels magical at times.

But between these glimmers, the spectre of reality continues to haunt. Meera and Indira still have to hide who they are from the world. They still have to live in fear of tragic consequences, in addition to worrying about their mortalities and fading memories (Meera has amnesia). They still have to chalk out plans for when they can be openly together far from the madding crowd.

It is a delight to witness Sudipa Basu (of Ek Akasher Niche (2000) fame)—who moved from the world of theatre to daytime bengali TV—playing such roles in the digital era. Basu, along with Uma Jhunjhunwala, who also has roots in the world of theatre, bring a soft and nuanced presence to Jasmine that Blooms in Autumn.

The Shelly Chopra Dhar film Ek Ladki Ko Dekha To Aisa Laga (2019)—one of the rare Bollywood films about a lesbian couple—centred its narrative heavily on male perspectives, treating Sweety’s identity as a dramatic revelation. It was more about male allyship than queer autonomy, framing acceptance as something granted rather than inherently lived. The more recent, Harshavardhan Kulkarni’s Badhaai Do (2022) offered Suman and Rimjhim only a fragile fairytale cloaked in a lavender marriage.

In Jasmine that Blooms in Autumn, Meera and Indira—much like the protagonists in Badhaai Do and Ek Ladki Ko Dekha To Aisa Laga—continue to navigate the constraints of a deeply patriarchal society. But Das and Roye’s story subtly challenges these mainstream tropes by focusing on the internal worlds of its female leads. It does not pretend to have a saviour complex. Meera and Indira’s choices and freedoms are tethered to patriarchal whims, but the decisions they make are their own.

Queer love stories in Indian cinema, ones which steer clear of violent endings and gratuitous eroticisation, are more refreshing than what is the norm even today; and therefore, that much more needed. They present cinematic fantasies that are more celebratory, joyous, intimate, and resilient without being brutal or bloody. Jasmine that Blooms in Autumn has a leg up even here as it unapologetically focuses on two elderly women—a demographic routinely pushed to the margins of storytelling. Meera and Indira’s desires and search for companionship are portrayed with a kind of honesty, depth, and normalcy that ends up confronting the mainstream—which often dismisses such narratives for not appealing to the heteronormative male gaze.

Of course, the film carries within its confines the despondent reminder that true freedom is still a work in progress. But in embracing both its beauty and boundaries, Jasmine that Blooms in Autumn paves the way for richer representations of love that honour complexity without resorting to tragedy or spectacle.

Jasmine that Blooms in Autumn won the “Best Indian Narrative Short” at the16th edition of Kashish Pride Film Festival, Mumbai.

Debiparna Chakraborty is a film, TV, and culture critic dissecting media at the intersection of gender, politics, and power.