Gulabo Rani is a gradually consuming film, weaving elements of horror and psychological depth into something truly disturbing. Directed by Usman Mukhtar, this 35-minute short film becomes a captivating study in the genre—one that uses the supernatural to create tension while also investigating the intricacies of isolation and the human psyche. It is that unique horror film where you don’t jump right away; it creeps under your skin, instead making you feel uneasy while events slowly unfold. This movie is available on Youtube for FREE.
The story revolves around Akhtar, a young, fresh student who has just secured admission to one of the hundred-year-old prestigious universities. The new beginning would excite most; however, Akhtar is quickly thrown into a hazy and spine-chilling reality when he is assigned to Wing C, one of the old and deteriorating blocks of the dormitory. From the start, the movie carries this feeling of unquestionable foreboding. At first, Akhtar hardly seems to take the superstitions surrounding his new living quarters seriously. However, it is not long before he grows increasingly anxious as peculiar incidents begin to invade his mundane life.
The beauty of Gulabo Rani lies in its atmospheric tortures. Mukhtar never puts you through the jarring onslaught of jump scares or gory moments; he makes sure you feel the mood and rhythm. Even the dead silence of the desolate dormitory and the tiniest hint of something sinister will keep your heart racing. The more bizarre Akhtar’s experiences become, the more you question how much of it is real and how much is just in his head—this is the soul of the film. This equilibrium creates depth; the audience is left wondering if Akhtar is undergoing serious supernatural hauntings or whether it is his mind that is cracking under pressure and isolation from his unfamiliar new environment.
A fine cast is responsible for bringing life to this narrative. Usama Javaid Haider as Akhtar gives a gripping performance that makes you want to slowly witness the disintegration of his character. The fear looks credible; it doesn’t feel forced, and with every change from skepticism to terror, you feel every moment of this emotional shift. The supporting cast is equally important, where each contributes in their own way against the backdrop of building terror—be it with subtle interactions with Akhtar or their own sinister tendencies. Those small, almost inconsequential actions by other characters provide layers of intrigue to the narrative and compel you to question every interaction and every unexplained sound in the background.
Another noteworthy aspect of Gulabo Rani is the camerawork. Furqan Gul, the cinematographer, uses the camera to create a very strong effect of discomfort. The desolate corridors of the university are framed in a way that makes the environment feel like a character in its own right within the narrative. Shadows play a vital role in traversing corners and warping reality. It is a stylistic choice that fits the ambience—creepy, uncanny, and hauntingly beautiful. The limited lighting then amplifies Akhtar’s feelings of isolation amid such strange happenings. The dorm room that should have been a refuge away from home and a place meant for study instead becomes a claustrophobic prison.
Sound design is another strong complement. The slight whispers—almost inaudible—the creak of a timeless door, the whispers far away—are the sounds that keep you alert. It is these very subtle sounds that somehow manifest themselves against the silence and forcefully shut out the codifying calm. The ambience here adds adrenaline to the visuals and pulls you deeper into Akhtar’s world. As the tension rises, swelling sounds announce themselves to warn you that something is coming—and horror fans know, it is always the long seconds of silence that are most unsettling, allowing your mind to fill the gaps.
Gulabo Rani goes beyond the realm of horror and takes the viewer through a psychological trip into the face of fear and its manifestations. Its thematic outlook includes isolation, alienation, and perhaps the psychological toll of being bullied or misunderstood. Akhtar fights inside himself as much as he confronts external forces. This also becomes a personal journey in terms of supernaturalism, as the fear is not just from Wing C’s ghostly apparitions but perhaps from a dawning realization that his perception of reality is slowly fragmenting. It’s a story that speaks to those who’ve ever felt out of sync, disconnected, or overwhelmed by their surroundings.
More than anything, it offers an unusual blend between the supernatural and the human. It does not rely on surprises; rather, it creates a slow burn that makes one begin to question the boundaries between the real world and the unknown. This is horror at its most cerebral, making one dig deeper into what truly frightens them.
Gulabo Rani was released and has been part of many international film festivals, receiving awards like Best Short Film, Best Director, Best Cinematography, and Best Sound Design. All of this highlights the talent and dedication that went into making this film emotionally and artistically compelling on a global level. Not just Mukhtar and his team—the whole South Asian cinema thrives as this proves that horror has no strict formula for being effective. Gulabo Rani does not restrict itself to being “scarier”; it carries deeper meaning, since scars often speak of a deeper truth about fear, identity, and perception.
This film is the kind that most horror enthusiasts will squirm to categorise, for it deals more with the psychological and emotional impact that fear creates, rather than its overt manifestations. Here, it’s not what you saw, but what you felt. Add this to a slow build, quiet tension, and an unsettling atmosphere, and it makes for a reality that lingers long after the credits roll. In an age where horror often leans into gore and jump scares, Gulabo Rani reminds us that the scariest place is the one that remains just out of comprehension and control.
What many may not know is that Gulabo Rani is the first installment in Usman Mukhtar’s larger horror anthology universe. The director has hinted at a thematic continuity across upcoming shorts, all rooted in Pakistani folklore and urban legends. This effort to build a regional horror legacy through independent cinema deserves praise—not only does it promote original storytelling, but it also reclaims South Asia’s rich heritage of oral ghost stories, now repackaged for the digital age.
Rating: 5/5
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