Aanand L. Rai is a wild filmmaker. Wild in the “Did he really think this through?” sense. Who else can make Shah Rukh Khan a vertically challenged man, send him to space, and drop him at what might well be Point Nemo? I even double-checked the title credits during Raksha Bandhan because of how shockingly disconnected the film was from what it wanted to convey. In his latest outing, Tere Ishk Mein, Rai reunites with his favourite actor Dhanush, opening the floodgates to a barrage of polarising reactions (mine included).
Set in New Delhi, Leh-Ladakh and a geographically confusing third spot, the film charts a ridiculous one-sided romance. The leading man, Shankar (Dhanush), is toxic. Tere Ishk Mein initially tries to sugarcoat it as childhood trauma. When none is justifiable in a sane way, we conclude that Shankar is simply violent. Shankar’s instinct is to break heads, earn no income, and patrol the campus like a local goon. He isn’t wealthy either, yet the police let him walk free after every offence.
Enter Mukti (Kriti Sanon), the manic-pixie “DU” girl with a doctoral dissertation on a topic her faculty believes is absurd. Can counselling turn an innately violent person into a silent, gentle spirit? Obviously, Shankar falls right into her lap, giving her the perfect case study before she earns that coveted “doctor” tag.
Tere Ishk Mein spends the next consistently entertaining hour watching Shankar and Mukti bounce off each other. As any toddler could predict, he falls for her; she doesn’t. The angry man soon becomes hangry for her love. She gets a crucial signature she wanted, but guilt lingers: did she ruin his life? Her academic understanding of mental health can’t quite fix that.
Well, I’m all for far-fetched writing when the film convinces you of it. There’s a reason Aamir Khan falling at Kajol’s doorstep from a helicopter feels silly in Fanaa, but Jaya Bachchan sensing her son’s presence at random places in Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham works. The latter is referenced here, too.
So I had no problem with Shankar leaping from CBSE to UPSC in Tere Ishk Mein to impress Mukti. If the “men in love” stereotype exists, let it live. Even Mukti’s instincts, I didn’t mind. Their toxic camaraderie is oddly compelling. Mukti checks into hotels when he demands fun. She doesn’t move an inch when he approaches her with a bottle of suspicious liquid. Their red flags match beautifully… until the writers (Himanshu Sharma, Neeraj Yadav) decide to go full Ae Dil Hai Mushkil on her.
We know it’s a thing to show persistent male counterparts in Indian films – the kinds that would push a woman to say yes – and then he dies or they both do. A more acceptable choice would be Shah Rukh Khan in Dil Se and Devdas. Yet we cannot underestimate the appeal of Dhanush and Rai’s own Raanjhanaa (2013) – a film they reference through subtle background score nods in Tere Ishk Mein. This time around, however, both leads are unhinged and eccentric.
If Shankar’s violence is irrational, Mukti is more manipulative than the film admits. She repeats one line twice: “Won’t you take risks for a beautiful girl? See how beautiful I am?” Mukti tries every trick in the book to reform Shankar. Yet she isn’t written as a person, more like an idea in his head that pushes him to go crazy. The UPSC outburst felt painfully relatable: like an engineering course that gives you bad grades, no girlfriend, no job, and then your parents’ voice comes echoing, “iske baad tera life set.”
Unlike the women in Animal and Kabir Singh, the woman here has some agency. On her terrace, easily the film’s most sensible scene, she finally says everything she should’ve said long ago. I wished Tere Ishk Mein would pivot from this point, but Rai crashes it instead.
Minutes later, a priest (Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub) appears to dispense wisdom nobody requested. From then on, the film behaves as if possessed by someone who binge-reads embarrassing Hindi pulp fiction. Characters flip personalities. Mukti develops new habits. Shankar discovers a random new career path and literally walks into the Indian Air Force. I need this kind of confidence in life. Not Shankar’s, but the writers’.
Now the big question: does Tere Ishk Mein pack any feeling in it? Surprisingly, yes, though (sadly for the film) not romantically. Despite Rai’s film lecturing us about millennials being the last generation capable of “mohabbat”, I found myself feeling sorry for Shankar and Mukti. With timely care, both could’ve been better humans, avoiding the violence and heartbreak they unleash on each other.
I also empathised with the fathers, both essayed by terrific actors. Rai must have enjoyed Prakash Raj with Dhanush in Thiruchithrambalam, so we get a poorer yet similar family equation in Shankar’s home. Mukti’s IAS father’s (Tota Roy Chowdhury) attitude toward the violent youth, somehow, is oddly compassionate. We want this character to do some madcap villainy, but he does not.
Honestly, I didn’t dislike Tere Ishk Mein for having a toxic protagonist. Such men, too, can have love stories; why not? It doesn’t glorify him as the Sandeep Reddy Vanga universe does. My issue is how unfair the film is to its leading lady. So, Mukti is a woman written by men, which inherently creates confusion in the context of gender politics. But if the man can be violent and walk free, why can’t she be scheming and guilt-free?
ALSO READ: ‘Atrangi Re’ review – Aanand L. Rai’s love story is twisted, not in a good way
Shankar didn’t particularly deserve justice, or at least the film cannot convince us that he does. Mukti is clear-headed when she tells her fiancé what kind of love she doesn’t want. What gets into her later? Please don’t say it was the Ganga Jal from Banaras, and that the names Shankar and Mukti are purposeful metaphors.
Essaying Shankar with energy and a big heart, Dhanush is a treat to watch. However, writers should stop giving him heavy Hindi prose. It makes his delivery clunky. Kriti Sanon handles it better, being a native speaker, but what’s with the kinky-sounding “labourer’s salty sweat” metaphor? Who talks like that, especially while bleeding from multiple places? Sanon is fabulous enough to pull off Mukti’s madness, and the film practically screams for a desi Kill Bill starring her, with more mind games.
Priyanshu Painyuli deserves more than the jobless bestie cardboard piece Bollywood films are infested with. Vineet Kumar Singh is flawless in a brief turn as an Air Force officer. A. R. Rahman gifts Rai some lovely songs, with the sufi-tinged “Deewaana Deewaana” in his own voice being a heartbreaker. DOP Tushar Kanti Ray delivers the bizarre brief: at times a rom-com, at times a war film, a gaming montage, and occasionally a dark Tamil actioner. The pacing is uneven, dipping majorly whenever we return to the Air Force camp.
By the time Tere Ishk Mein reaches its finale, the absurdities have hit the ceiling. Now it becomes a full-blown video game. Enemy ships, fighter jets, a father, a mother, a lover, an unborn child, a damaged liver — pick your chaos. Nothing makes sense, but there’s an odd fun that Rai squeezes from the commotion, which might just make the film a blockbuster. If you’re going for logic, do blame the Delhi Police. They never filed an FIR against a man who thrashed someone every other day. If not that, he and his friends flung crackers at young lovers on Valentine’s Day. And nobody cared. Where are DU’s climate warriors? An AQI of 800 is a joke or what?
Rating: ★★ 1/2
