Sarala Subbarao Movie Review: A retro tale of love and parenthood

Sarala Subbarao movie review:

One slips into the world of Sarala and Subbarao before realising it. The film moves like a quiet page-turner unfolding with the patience of a Triveni story, where emotions surface slowly, tenderly. Based on Vasantha Gana and directed by Manju Swaraj, Sarala Subbarao feels like a memory you did not know you were carrying.

Set in the mid-1960s and early 1970s, the India–Pakistan war hums softly in the background. Section 156 empties the streets after six, power cuts swallow entire evenings, and radio bulletins instill fear into homes. Amid this quiet, the film asks: when nations fight, who becomes the real soldier in the house? Often, it is the woman.

Director: Manju Swaraj

Cast: Krishna Ajai Rao, Misha Narang, Rangayana Raghu
Veena Sundar, Vijay Chendur, Raghu Ramannakoppa, and
Ramakrishna

Subbarao, fondly called Subbu (Kishna Ajai Rao), is an English professor whose calm routine is unsettled when he meets Sarala (Misha Narang), a young woman whose gentle presence quietly draws him in. Their bond grows with patience, in moments of anticipation, small smiles, and the delicate beginnings of love.

As their relationship unfolds, they marry and build a life together. The film dwells on the everyday, showing how love deepens through shared responsibilities, ordinary gestures, and the rhythm of domestic life. Subbu watches Sarala step into motherhood, seeing her strength and the quiet changes it brings, while their mutual care deepens in subtle, intimate ways.

Ajai Rao is quietly compelling as Subbu, moving from shy admirer to devoted partner with gentle conviction. Misha Narang, in her debut, radiates an unforced warmth, inhabiting Sarala fully. Rangayana Raghu and Veena Sundar lend familiar comfort, Vijay Chendoor and Raghu Ramanakoppa bring soft humour, and Rama Krishna’s brief presence anchors fatherhood with weight. Special appearances by Rishika Naik and Shree add small, thoughtful touches.

Ajaneesh Loknath’s score carries the 1970s nostalgia with a delicate hand, never overstating, only suggesting. Some dialogues echo the theatricality of the era, and the cinematography flows effortlessly between classrooms, corridors, and home, capturing love that grows in quiet increments.

Sarala Subbarao feels retro not through costumes or props, but because it believes in waiting, in a look held a moment too long, in love that blossoms softly. By the end, it does not feel like a film you have watched; it feels like you have stepped into someone’s preserved memory. In that gentle shift, their bond deepens, richer and tender with each passing day. In a country at war, the story reminds us that parenthood belongs to both mother and father, and that for a woman, giving life is a quiet battle and a kind of rebirth of her own. Sadly, stories like this are rarely experienced in today's life, or on screen. But just as Triveni’s novels quietly captured such lives, this film too deserves to find a place in our hearts.