You know the kind: two strangers talking softly near the window seat, one confessing they miss someone they shouldn't, the other nodding like they've lived it too. You don't mean to listen, but something about it pulls you in. That's Life In A... Metro. Not loud, not preachy, just quietly chaotic. Like Mumbai itself.
Released in 2007, before therapy was trending and red flags were labelled, Life In A... Metro was that rare Hindi film that dared to sit with urban loneliness, sexual tension, failing marriages and late-in-life romance without making a spectacle of it.
Anurag Basu's hyperlink drama is back in conversation as its long-awaited spiritual sequel, Metro... In Dino, is gearing up for the release on Friday (July 4).
So we did what any curious Gen Z viewer would do: we rewatched the original. But this time, through the lens of a generation raised on emotional boundaries, green flags and the art of the soft block.
So, does it still hold up? Or does nostalgia come with a few hard pills to swallow?
A Map Of Messy Lives
At its core, Life In A... Metro is a story of modern loneliness told through the lives of nine characters in Mumbai, a city that's constantly on the move, even when the people inside it are falling apart.
Their stories were small, but the emotions were large and in many ways, still relevant.
The stories collide, cross paths, and brush past each other, just like we do on a crowded Mumbai local.
Let's give it credit where it's due. Anurag Basu knew how to connect threads without making it feel gimmicky. The editing is crisp, the pacing sharp and Pritam's music, played literally by a wandering band, is a risk that pays off emotionally, if not always stylistically.
But the biggest win? The casting.
Shruti (Konkona) and Monty (Irrfan) are the kind of opposites-attract pairing that rom-com dreams are made of. Their chemistry is endearing, authentic and manages to avoid cliches.
Amol (Dharmendra) and Shivani (Nafisa Ali) give us something we still don't see enough of: older characters with agency, desire and romantic arcs that don't feel like token nostalgia.
Even Kangana as Neha, in a performance that predates her tabloid persona, delivers a heartbreaking portrait of self-worth eroded by power dynamics.
For Gen Z audiences, however, the viewing experience is split. The film impresses with its quiet honesty and strong performances, but also frustrates with its lack of accountability, particularly when it comes to how it treats its women.
Still... A Tough Pill to Swallow In 2025
Now for the part that made Gen-Z collectively squint. We're talking about Shikha's storyline and how it was written as a "compromise" that feels like a betrayal.
Where Life In A... Metro begins to falter is in how it handles accountability in relationships, particularly the one between Shikha (Shilpa Shetty) and her husband Ranjit (Kay Kay Menon).
Ranjit is emotionally unavailable, openly unfaithful and deeply entitled. His affair with Neha (Kangana) spans two years and when confronted, he lashes out with cruelty and misogyny.
Yet when Shikha, who finds a momentary emotional connection with another man (Shiney Ahuja's Akash), confesses her feelings, she becomes the one burdened with guilt.
In the film's climax, she returns to her marriage. Not because her husband has changed, or shown growth but because apparently "bacchi toh meri hai na?" is a valid enough mic-drop for redemption.
The narrative never really questions Ranjit's entitlement or double standards. Instead, it punishes both Shikha and Neha with guilt, shame and heartbreak while the man who set fire to everyone's peace ends up... forgiven?
From a 2025 lens, this isn't just problematic, it's disheartening and exhausting. It sends the tired message that a woman's capacity to forgive is her greatest virtue. Not her courage to walk away. Not her ability to rebuild.
In a post-therapy, post-#MeToo world, it just doesn't sit right.
Desire, Shame And The Double Standards
If there's one theme that still hits hard, it's how Life In A... Metro handles female desire, especially the way it's punished.
Two characters in particular, Shikha and Neha, carry the weight of judgment for daring to want more. Their stories are filled with shame, self-doubt and emotional punishment, while the men in their lives navigate moral lapses with ease.
Neha is slut-shamed, gaslit and told by her married boss that she's lucky to be "used" in exchange for business class flights. Shikha can't even kiss someone in private without spiraling into guilt. In her most vulnerable moment, she internalises blame with a line that still stings: "I feel like a slut." Shruti? Still being judged on her "body count" (spoiler: it's zero).
For Gen Z, a generation that's trying to unlearn generational shame, this is rage-inducing. But also... painfully familiar. Because 15+ years later, we're still untangling the same knots, just with slightly better vocabulary.
The Verdict: It's Complicated (Just Like Real Life)
Watching Life In A... Metro in 2025 is like texting your ex "wyd" at 2 AM, you know it's not perfect, but there's something undeniably human in the mess.
Yes, it's dated. Yes, it needs an asterisk next to Shikha's ending and a rewrite of Ranjit's redemption arc. But there's also something heartbreakingly true about how these stories unfold.
Love, loneliness, bad decisions, missed connections, they don't follow perfect arcs. And Anurag Basu gets that.
For Gen Z, the film is both a cautionary tale and a time capsule. A glimpse into what our parents may have silently endured and a mirror to what we're still trying to outgrow.
So will we be watching Metro... In Dino this week? Of course. But with fingers crossed for female agency, healthier men and an ending that doesn't reward toxic behaviour with forgiveness. Because, Gen Z knows better than to romanticise the wreckage.
And maybe, just maybe, someone will finally scream "I deserve better!" and mean it.
