Tere Ishq Mein is a visually ambitious but narratively confused film that tries to pass off a deeply toxic romance as an intense, grand love story. Despite committed performances from Dhanush and Kriti Sanon, the movie collapses under its own messy writing, glorified violence, and outdated ideas of masculinity and love
Film overview and premise
Tere Ishq Mein is a 2025 Hindi romantic drama directed by Aanand L Rai, reuniting him with Dhanush after Raanjhanaa, and pairing Dhanush with Kriti Sanon for the first time. The story follows Shankar, an angry, volatile young man in love with Mukti, a psychology student who initially treats him as a “case study” for her thesis on violence and healing.
The film opens with Shankar as an Air Force officer in Ladakh, already battling inner demons, before flashing back to his college days and the twisted evolution of his relationship with Mukti. What begins as a campus romance quickly spirals into obsession, control, class tension, and emotional destruction, with violence and melodrama driving almost every major turning point.
Performances versus writing
Across reviews, one consistent bright spot is Dhanush, whose portrayal of Shankar is described as raw, layered, and emotionally charged enough to elevate even badly written scenes. His body language, simmering rage and vulnerability give the character a disturbing authenticity, even when the narrative undermines him.
Kriti Sanon, as Mukti, brings dignity and commitment to a role that is conceptually interesting, a psychology student and later counsellor trying to “fix” a violent man, but is written with baffling contradictions. Her character arc swings from academic analyst to self-destructive lover with little psychological grounding, making her choices feel less tragic and more illogically scripted. Prakash Raj, as Shankar’s father, emerges as the emotional anchor in several scenes; whenever injustice is done to his character, the audience is meant to feel genuine hurt.
A messy thesis on toxic love
Tere Ishq Mein aims to be a commentary on violence, trauma, and redemption through love, but instead becomes an uncritical celebration of toxicity. The script piles on themes, childhood grief, self-harm, alcohol abuse, class divide, possessiveness, gendered power dynamics, without exploring any of them with depth or responsibility.
Instead of interrogating Shankar’s aggression and entitlement, the film repeatedly frames his behaviour as an extreme but passionate expression of “true love”. Mukti’s decision to stay, return, or even enable him is presented less as a complex psychological pattern and more as melodramatic sacrifice, reinforcing the idea that “good women” absorb violence in the name of love.
Narrative logic and pacing issues
At nearly three hours, the film feels overstuffed and exhausting, with multiple subplots that add length but not meaning. A UPSC-style exam track, airport confrontations, and melodramatic confrontations are inserted more for emotional highs than organic storytelling, making the film resemble a buffet where nothing fully satisfies.
Basic logic is frequently sacrificed: age limits for Air Force exams are ignored, Mukti’s academic timeline (doctorate and post-grad in impossible timeframes) is implausible, and supporting characters like security guards appear and vanish based on plot convenience. These shortcuts break immersion and highlight how little the script respects real-world rules while claiming to be a “serious” reflection on violence and healing.
Treatment of toxicity and gender
One of the most troubling aspects is how the film romanticises dangerous behaviour under the banner of intensity. Shankar’s aggression, stalking-like persistence and eruptive violence are repeatedly aestheticised, framed with grand music, heightened visuals and emotional speeches that seek sympathy rather than accountability.
Mukti, despite being educated in psychology and counselling, is written with a pronounced “saviour complex”, convinced that her love can detoxify an obviously unsafe man. The script uses her as a device to justify staying in harm’s way, ultimately reinforcing the regressive notion that women must fix broken men at the cost of their own safety and sanity.
Visuals, music and craft
Visually, Tere Ishq Mein uses locations like Ladakh and Benaras to create a dramatic backdrop, with sweeping frames and atmospheric lighting that underline the operatic tone of the story. The staging of crowd scenes, confrontations and emotional breakdowns shows that the film has scale and technical polish, even when the content falters.
The biggest disappointment for many is the music, given that A.R. Rahman is on board. Apart from the title track and a Tamil song that manage to stand out, much of the soundtrack fails to leave a lasting impact, weakening a film that relies heavily on emotional crescendos and lyrical reinforcement of its themes.
Where the film lands
Tere Ishq Mein ultimately becomes a loud, melodramatic, and often disturbing portrait of a relationship that should have been framed as cautionary but is instead packaged as aspirational intensity. The film may connect with audiences who enjoy high-pitched, tear-heavy, toxicity-laced romances, especially in smaller centres where such tropes still draw crowds.
For viewers seeking responsible storytelling and contemporary portrayals of love, however, the film feels like a step back into the dark ages of Bollywood romance, where male anger is glorified and women’s pain is aestheticized. Powerful acting and impressive craft cannot save what remains a messy, troubling thesis on toxic love that mistakes obsession for passion and harm for destiny.