“Abhi bhi kuch pal baaki hai” (roughly translated to “There are still a few moments left”) is a line that recurs in Saiyaara. In Mohit Suri’s film about two lovers (Ahaan Panday and Aneet Padda) who hold on to a bond that could break at any minute, the line signals inevitability. It also urges us to cherish the present. In doing so, Saiyaara plants the seed of eternal love, something the industry believes is long extinct.
Mohit Suri understands relationships. The longing, the urgency, and the heartbreak, it’s all right up his alley. The rage in his films often feels more authentic than that of several of his contemporaries. Saiyaara introduces the leading man in that spirit. It’s an atypical hero entry: a puff of a cigarette, followed by a sharp punch to someone’s face. And it lands, not just the punch, but the weight of his anger.
Krish Kapoor (Ahaan Panday) is a gifted musician, but he’s not the ‘softie-under-the-tough-guy-exterior’ cutie. Krish is raw and hardened. Saiyaara doesn’t portray a designer version of inadequacy. At one point, he nearly manhandles his alcoholic father – a glimpse of his pent-up anger. It feels grounded in experiences that today’s youth may relate to. And, as they say in films of this genre, there’s no real music without heartbreak. From what we see of Krish’s life, his heart is already in shreds, and his chartbusters flow from that pain. He isn’t chasing a stylish wardrobe or a luxurious life. The most expensive thing he owns is probably his motorcycle, which is only a modest means of travel.
Vaani (Aneet Padda), a talented writer, is the love of his life. The film opens with an event that leaves her traumatized. Saiyaara soon shifts gears to get us closer to its people. At a time when Gen-Z youth (and Bollywood actors) write Hindi in Roman script, Vaani is a Hindi Sahitya graduate who writes in Devanagari. It might be a small detail, but it makes a world of difference in creating a connection, from the metros to the heartlands. Not a time-appropriate MacBook Pro, Vaani carries a diary (a nod to The Notebook, perhaps) to pen poems, thoughts, and ideas. She also has a habit of forgetting it, a quirk that leads her to the man who would change her life – and vice versa.
A true-blue Bollywood musical with the quintessential Yash Raj Films grandeur, Saiyaara has its heart rooted in a solid screenplay by Sankalp Sadanah. We know Erich Segal’s Love Story and Nicholas Sparks’ The Notebook are perfect templates for melodramatic romances in the subcontinent. So much so that we’ve already seen them becoming narrative elements in films like Mujhse Dosti Karoge and Chalte Chalte, besides inspiring full-fledged remakes that are far too many. Then again, films aren’t always about the story. Often, it’s about blending familiar ideas to create something that moves you.
Sadanah understands the dynamics of its target audience very well. He knows we’ll instantly relate to a mother (Geeta Agarwal, lovely) who bluntly asks her daughter’s boyfriend, “Do you plan to marry her, or is this just timepass?” You recognize the silent, trustful gaze of a father (an earnest Rajesh Kumar) who knows the boy is right for his daughter. These aren’t conventionally cinematic moments, but I’m glad they’re finding space in mainstream films. The script references things like VRS, board exams, and overpriced de-addiction centres. There’s also a modern version of Aamir Khan’s ‘Chehra Gulaabi’ scenario from Akele Hum Akele Tum. Through these stretches, it’s clear that Sadanah and Suri also understand the value of money, unless, of course, Krish’s resolve is in the picture. The film’s socio-emotional awareness is sharpened by Rohan Shankar’s dialogues that brim with potential to go viral as WhatsApp and Instagram forwards.
Another clever trait of the screenplay is its use of repetition. From recurring cricket turf conversations to musings on how soul-stirring music gets made, each moment invites a mini-reflection. Together, Sadanah and Shankar display a profound understanding of Indian film writing, suggesting that the era of toxic masculinity disguised as pan-India blockbusters might finally be nearing its end.
Coming from similar yet different powerhouses (Mohit Suri and Yash Raj Films) who instinctively grasp the syntax of Bollywood music, the film’s soundtrack (composed by various artists) forms its emotional backbone. The title track (by Tanishk Bagchi, Faheem Abdullah, Arslan Nizami, Shreya Ghoshal, and Irshad Kamil) is designed to move you to tears, and its strategic use is nothing short of a screenwriting marvel. It is a reminder that Hindi cinema was once known for its music.
Ahaan Panday is an actor we can call industry-ready. There are zero rough edges; he’s polished and poised to give many young stars a serious run for their money. That’s why it’s almost ironic when Krish thrashes a critic in the film for favoring a “nepo kid” over him. Ahaan’s distinctly coarse voice is so unique, you’d recognize it even on a spam call. There’s something we notice when Vaani’s mother offers him dahi shakkar in a scene loaded with emotional subtext. Given Krish’s motherless existence and the lady’s stern instincts, Ahaan’s reaction in that moment sets him apart from the parade of mannequin-like newcomers with gym-sculpted bodies.
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Aneet Padda is the best Bollywood actress to debut in a leading role since Bhumi Pednekar ten years ago, incidentally, also for the same banner. Like Ahaan, she never betrays a hint of inexperience. She grasps the craft, which encompasses the language, expressions, rhythm, and an organic shiver in her voice when needed. The duo (who share the same initials) might as well clear some space on their shelves for next year’s crop of top acting awards, beyond just the debut categories. Alam Khan (as KV) brings an adorable charm to the bandmate frustrated by Krish’s unpredictable ways. Shaan R. Grover (as Mahesh Iyer) ensures his presence doesn’t go unnoticed.
Now, circling back to the formula part of it, Saiyaara reaffirms our faith in storytelling. Mohit Suri proves he still knows the pulse of a generation. My prime takeaway from the film is that times evolve, but our emotional make-up will always remain the same. In that sense, in a country where every young heart wants to be seen, Suri becomes a sounding board. Let the industry pundits and delusional stars keep guessing how a newcomer-driven film became a phenomenon. Meanwhile, the public will be out there — aching, smiling, and softly singing the title track as they exit the theatre. It offers a wonderful and timely reminder that Bollywood romance can still feel visceral — and if Saiyaara is any indication, audiences are ready for more.
Rating: ★★★★
