“Metro… In Dino” Made Me Miss My Train—and Question My Entire Dating Spreadsheet

I walked into the theatre last Friday strictly because my therapist said, “Maybe watch something that isn’t a true-crime doc for once.” Two hours later, I walked out feeling like Anurag Basu had bugged my WhatsApp chats. Metro… In Dino is supposed to be the spiritual sequel to Life in a… Metro multiple love stories scurrying through four cities yet it plays less like a sequel and more like a mirror held up to every urban relationship I’ve ever mismanaged. The box-office numbers are already climbing (₹16.75 crore in three days not bad for a film about feelings) (indiatimes.com), and I get why: it’s comfort food for anyone who pretends to be “too busy” for intimacy but secretly Googles “am I lonely or just dehydrated?”

Basu stitches together eight protagonists who could easily be your Uber drivers, podcast crushes, or that couple arguing in the IKEA lighting aisle. There’s Aditya Roy Kapur spiralling over commitment (“Aaj-kal ka pyaar confusing hai… it’s like cheese-Chinese Schezwan masala dosa covers Chennai to China but lands nowhere”), Sara Ali Khan bulldozing through red flags like they’re speed-breakers, and Pankaj Tripathi whispering, “Second chance toh banta hai,” which should probably be tattooed on every divorced Tinder bio.

What shocked me was how neatly each vignette doubles as a bite-size life lesson and not the Hallmark kind.

Lesson one: urban loneliness is a shapeshifter.Basu shows that you can share Wi-Fi passwords, playlists, even toothbrush holders and still orbit separate planets. It’s the same ache I feel in a Mumbai local at peak hour: surrounded, yet curiously single-player. The film isn’t preaching monogamy; it’s diagnosing why dinner tables for two often feel like interview panels.

Lesson two: age is a lousy deadline.Anupam Kher sighs, “Ab kya rokne ka fayda… naa woh umar rahi, naa woh shehar,”(glamsham.com) and Neena Gupta claps back, “Umar toh bas ek ginti hai, Parimal.” The subplot of late-life romance reminded me of my aunt who found love in her fifties and now FaceTimes from Ladakh road trips while her twenties-something nieces are busy curating breakup playlists. You realise deadlines are mostly marketing copy from matrimonial portals.

Lesson three: chaos is cheap; honesty is premium.Half the film’s conflicts could be solved by a single awkward conversation. Basu shoves that discomfort under bright lights: characters stumble, confess, detour and when they finally spit out the truth, you can practically hear the audience exhale. Watching it, I felt indicted for every “lol busy week” text I’ve ever sent to dodge emotional labour.

Lesson four: the city will bill you for everything, even love. My favourite line isn’t romantic at all—it’s the city itself roaring: “Yeh saala shehar jitna humko deta hai, ussi kahi jyada hamari leta hai.” Basu shoots Mumbai, Delhi, Kolkata and Bengaluru like caffeinated monsters that gift you skyline views but invoice you in solitude. The takeaway? If you don’t anchor your relationships, the city will hijack them for its own plotline.

And then there’s the meta-lesson: stories still matter. In an attention economy where reels expire faster than relationships, the film asks us to sit quietly for 130 minutes and feel something unfractionated. The result? That rare theatre silence where nobody doom-scrolls because everyone’s busy catching their own reflection on screen.

Will Metro… In Dino teach you how to love perfectly? No, Basu is too shrewd for quick fixes. But it might nudge you to text back sooner, to ask why you’re ghosting someone you actually like, or to realise commitment issues look far less charming outside a multiplex. Also, minor tip: carry tissues; not for tears, but for the self-drag when a character describes your avoidance style with creepy accuracy.

I left the hall and almost missed my local because I was busy replaying Pritam’s title track in my head. And for the first time in months, I didn’t open Hinge on the commute I opened Notes, jotting a promise to call that friend I’ve been “too swamped” to meet. If Basu’s anthology proves anything, it’s that the real metro you need to catch is the one running between your gut and your mouth. Delay that line too long, and even the best love story will leave the station without you.