Is the heartbroken aashiq the new romantic hero in Bollywood? Is the 'I will die or kill for love' sentiment the benchmark for relationships? Doesn't 'consent'-one of the woke terms that have redefined courtship rules in recent years-exist in the scripts of Hindi film writers? Is violence the new love language? Do Bollywood's male lovers feel inclined to wear '100 shades of Kabir Singh' when it comes to negotiating their love lives? Is mental health mere lip service in the screenplay even when it's projected as the main cause of problematic behaviour?

These and several other questions raced through my mind while viewing Tere Ishq Mein, Aanand L. Rai's (Raanjhana and Tanu Weds Manu 1&2) latest film starring Dhanush and Kriti Sanon. Come to think of it, this film should have been titled Raanjhana 2 for it seems to be an apt spirit animal to the 2013 tearjerker that normalised stalking and glorified toxic male traits. In a day and age of franchises and sequels, I wonder why the filmmakers shied away from latching onto the trend, especially when the plot of this film is oddly reminiscent of that Dhanush-Sonam Kapoor-Abhay Deol drama.

Dhanush plays Shankar, a college student, dabbling in student politics who has a violent... make that... very violent streak. He throws petrol bombs, beats up people, fights his opponents, barges into classrooms, disrupts lovers on Valentine's Day...you know, the regular crazy antics of troubled young men in India. He has a kind father (a brilliant Prakash Raj) but doesn't do much in life other than creating a nuisance for others.

His life changes when he meets Mukti (Kriti Sanon), a PhD student who chooses him as her subject to prove her strange thesis about curing violent tendencies through psychology. During the course of research, Shankar falls madly in love. It doesn't occur to him that they are from different worlds or more importantly, she has no interest in reciprocating his feelings. Our man does not know the meaning of“no”. Mukti too, is a strange beast. She plays along, feebly mentions she can't love him back and behaves like a therapist giving him anger management lessons through elementary psychology.

A run-in with Mukti's IAS father (played superbly by Tota Roy Chaudhary) shakes up Shankar who now has a new mission: crack the UPSC exams in an attempt to make him worthy of her love. So it's a tale of love reforming a wastrel and giving him purpose, you think! But wait, Rai's protagonists have rarely walked the predictable path!

Shankar almost succeeds in his UPSC dream but realises Mukti can't and won't belong to him. And that's when all hell breaks loose as he turns violent again, unable to handle the truth of rejection. This rage-filled fury consumes his own life as well as those who love him besides impacting Mukti's mental health. Strangely though, troubling circumstances and moments of epiphany turns Shankar's life around as he trains to become a fighter pilot. The skies provide a channel for his anger and disillusionment but parallely, the object of his obsession spirals into her own doom, wrought by guilt and addiction.

Confused? Welcome to Aanand L. Rai's world, which-as seen in his movies like Zero or Atrangi Re-flirts with very out-of-the-box ideas, throws in moments of pure cinematic joy, brings up deep philosophies and then sprinkles the proceedings with such unbelievable, illogical and utterly bizarre elements that you keep wondering what just happened on screen.

Given this dilemma of having to make sense of too many things, we can look at Tere Ishk Mein in two ways. One is through the positive lens.

Shankar is a walking talking red flag, belonging to that category of men who can't take no from a woman but thankfully, the leading lady points his flaws to him in no uncertain terms. The female protagonist is also flawed (comparable to Sonam's character in Raanjhana) and they share a toxic relationship in every way but unlike the Kabir Singhs and Animals of the world, the story acknowledges the mess.“Still angry, still alpha” she tells him in a sequence.“Still suffering from God's syndrome" he retorts.

There are some nice moments of vulnerability between Shankar and his father (an incredible Prakash Raj), and a scene where richie-rich Mukti gets a sense of his lower middle class existence while visiting him in his shanty is wonderfully handled. From class differences to IAS snobbery and the UPSC struggle, the Delhi eco-system is captured rather well.

The positives also include AR Rahman's rousing music and the performances. Kriti, looking radiant, puts in a confident act, bringing out the confusion and complexity of her character. Dhanush is as always fabulous, and the story stays true to his Tamil roots.

However, keeping all the positives aside, is the negative mirror to the film. You can call the screenplay a deep dive into complicated relationships or term it a convoluted mess-trying to say too much without proving anything. There is also the little matter of logic taking a long walk in service of our leads. Mukti, introduced as a counsellor working with Indian defence, is called to assess Shankar. But she is pregnant, extremely stressed, fragile and unprofessional. Why would anyone-let alone the defence services-engage her services? After disrupting her wedding, Shankar disappears and only meets her years after he has cleaned up his act. How could she not have known his credentials as a pilot if she and her husband were closely associated with the sector? His rage is explained as unresolved childhood trauma but doesn't dwell on why this has made him so needlessly aggressive. Mukti's sudden change in feelings towards Shankar is alluded to guilt but how does her alleged guilt turn to passion? And what's that strange divine explanation about seeking mukti (salvation), love and sacrifice all about?

I began this review with a bunch of questions but as it turns out, the more I think about this film, the more questions it raises. Hopefully, you will have an answer if you watch it.

Rating: 2.5 stars

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