Bollywood’s fascination with South Indian exotica is one for the history books. From Vyjayanthimala to Rashmika Mandanna, women from the southern states have ruled with their beauty, talent, and dancing skills. Nobody minded their faint accents, whether they played a tonga girl in dacoit-infested heartlands (Sholay) or an identical twin beating up evil relatives (Seeta Aur Geeta, Chaalbaaz). In Param Sundari, debutante filmmaker Tushar Jalota restricts this obsession to Kerala, and that too the tourist-brochure version of the state.
The film tells the story of Punjabi man Param Sachdeva (Sidharth Malhotra) and Malayali woman Thekkepattu Sundari (Janhvi Kapoor). It made me wonder when Bollywood will attempt a role reversal. Why can’t the man come from an exotic state with a distinctive culture? Why won’t the woman discover the state through his eyes?
Critiquing a film about a place you grew up in is tricky. Objectivity fades when you see caricatures, though one must admit cinematic liberty exists. Yet Param Sundari avoids showing the real Kerala where they go to school and colleges, excel in science and maths, debate, participate in arts, football, and politics, or munch on porotta, kappa, beef fry, banana chips, and a dozen varieties of fish.
Instead, the film offers a North India-approved idea of the state. No, Mr. Jalota, Malayalis do not touch every elderly person’s feet. Caste surnames are uncommon among Hindus who are born and brought up in the state. Young women do not bother to wear sarees and jasmine unless it is for a wedding or maybe (just, maybe) Onam. That said, there are only minor irritations. Because if the film wants to sell a resort version of Kerala, we should be okay with it.
The real problem, however, is that Param and Sundari’s story originates from an opportunity – Maddock’s hit song by the same name from Mimi. No one names a girl Sundari in Kerala, unless she happens to be a canine or feline friend, and not every catchy phrase can be turned into a portmanteau. If Guddu Rangeela works as a title, would you force a heterosexual romance out of it? And where would you find a woman named Rangeela? Probably in Telangana or Odisha, because Bollywood rarely looks outside the upper-caste circles of Mumbai, Delhi, Punjab, and the heartlands. Param Sundari proves it.
To give us an excuse for a plot (screenplay by Tushar Jalota and Aarsh Vora), Param is planted as a failed entrepreneur with a filthy-rich father (Sanjay Kapoor). He is foolish enough to travel to Kerala to meet Sundari, a match suggested by a mobile app. Logic, anyone?
Since the story is barely exciting (or interesting), the makers work only around aesthetics. In Kerala, Sundari runs a homestay, performs Mohiniyattam, and lectures Param and his friend Jaggi (an adorable Manjot Singh) about the differences among South Indian languages. Sundari’s defensiveness vanishes the moment she speaks Malayalam lines, which even I, as a native speaker, could not understand. Would it hurt to invest in a diction coach, at least at the dubbing stage?
The town of Nangiarkulangara in Alappuzha is painted with saree-shop vibrance. A fight scene around a wedding shows velichappads and Kalaripayattu artistes chasing Param. Why? Possibly because their robes look striking. Kerala’s country liquor, toddy, is a mainstay in Param Sundari, though it is not a staple in households or society anymore. Nor does every Malayali climb coconut trees or row boats as if it were part of their CV.
Then there is Jincy, a lusty nurse who must have given Sanjay Kapoor a massive déjà vu from Sirf Tum (1999). This way, mainstream Hindi cinema exposes how it may have advanced in cinematography and colour grading, but its content has only regressed. Through DOP Santhana Krishnan Ravichandran’s frames, Param Sundari doubles as glossy PR for Kerala Tourism. The couple hops across Alappuzha, Athirapally, Munnar, and Kochi, often in back-to-back scenes.
Performances sink the film further. Janhvi Kapoor is an exceptionally poor actor who renders Sundari dull and mannequin-like. Malayalis need not be offended because she would have ruined a Haryanvi or Bengali character just as easily. Sidharth Malhotra is no better, though to his credit, he pronounces “Nangiarkulangara” correctly, unlike Kapoor, who utters gibberish throughout. The actor tries his best to rescue Param Sundari, but it is he who needs saving here.
The supporting cast is also miscast, with non-Malayalis (Inayat Verma, Siddhartha Shankar) forced into roles with plenty of lines in Malayalam. Ironically, Renji Panicker is only a film or two away from speaking better Hindi than the female lead here. Priya Prakash Varrier shows up in a quick crowd scene, though she could have been an authentic choice for the lead. Finally, Sanjay Kapoor looks unusually weak, especially in suits under Kerala’s scorching sun.
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Param Sundari‘s only genuine strength is the soundtrack by Sachin-Jigar. ‘Pardesiya’ alone justifies the ticket price, and the rest of the songs are strong as well. Apart from a Set Max-level Malayalam lyric in ‘Danger’, the music is a firecracker. The dialogues in both Hindi and Malayalam are stale. Who approves lines such as “Venu se mujhe sukoon milta hai, aur Param se junoon”? (“Venu gives me peace, and Param gives me passion”)
The costume director (Sheetal Iqbal Sharma) is another entity who fails spectacularly. Janhvi Kapoor’s wardrobe is anything but Malayali, contemporary, or otherwise. If Ammu (Inayat) were a couple of years older, the film would probably have dressed her in a saree too. Which school-going child will make a gajra and roam around the house on a random day? Well, Ammu, with no friends in sight, seems to have all the time in the world.
Bollywood has romance in its DNA, yet in 2025, it is desperately seeking CPR from subpar writing. What is lost in Param Sundari is the romance itself. A love story must want to evoke the same feelings we had when Shah Rukh Khan spread his arms, Kajol turned back, or Sridevi waited 18 years to glimpse the man she loved. Jalota’s film refuses even to try, and is more interested in clothes, jewellery, and makeup. It ends up as a rare goof-up from Maddock Films, otherwise a dependable studio.
As for Malayalis, perhaps we can take solace in the fact that our state is still sold as lush and culturally vibrant to travellers on 5-day-4-night package tours. For the rest, when someone gets hurt, we know better than to run to a riverside to pluck leaves. We head straight to a state-run health centre with top-notch facilities.
Rating: ★ 1/2
