Tere Ishk Mein Review: Aanand L Rai, Dhanush, and Kriti Sanon’s Regressive Film Shows Obsession and Violence as Passion

Every year, there comes a romantic film not just to disappoint you but to enrage you. Aanand L Rai’s Tere Ishk Mein is that film for me this year. But it is not the first one to make me furious in 2025. I walked in expecting at least a refreshing attempt at romance from Rai, whose Raanjhana also has major issues. After all, we are in an era where genuine love stories are disappearing from mainstream cinema. However, I was again disappointed because what I saw was a regressive, tone-deaf narrative that mistakes destructive obsession for passionate love. If that wasn’t enough, we are even lectured in the end about how the same kind of love won’t happen in the new generation.

Tere Ishk Mein Review

Tere Ishk Mein begins with Mukti (Kriti Sanon), a psychology student who is trying to pass her thesis on human behaviour. However, her professors are not convinced after witnessing another student, Shankar, violently attacking a fellow student. Mukti takes it on herself to “fix” Shankar and turn him into a good person because of his volatile nature. The plot could have been compelling if handled with sensitivity or realism. Instead, the film by Aanand L Rai embraces a deeply problematic fantasy: that a woman’s role, this time under the guise of her career, is to “fix” a broken, angry man. Even in 2025, we are still writing about women as emotional rehab centres for male rage.

Once I understood Mukti’s mission, I realised how the story would develop further. It’s like there is no logic or no ethics in psychology, and Mukti’s mission was more about orbiting Shankar, even though she made it clear it is only for her work! Shankar becomes violent or emotionally uncontrollable whenever Mukti expresses disinterest or sets boundaries. His reaction to rejection is not sadness or introspection; it is destruction, threats, fire, rage, and violence. The movie doesn’t hold Dhanush’s character responsible; instead, it puts the emotional burden of his heartbreak on Mukti. He becomes the victim, while Mukti is portrayed as the trigger and reason for his pain, despite no one asking her in the entire first half whether she loves Shankar or not. I found myself thinking: we’ve seen this narrative for decades; why are we still romanticising it? How is a man who cannot handle his feelings and heartbreak a victim without ever trying to learn anything about the woman he claims to “love” passionately?

The double standards become even more evident as the story progresses. A man’s heartbreak places him in a zone of empathy, justifying his unreasonable behaviour, and ultimately leads him to become disciplined in his life while also becoming emotionally detached. But when a woman experiences heartbreak, she is portrayed as broken, reckless, and unstable for years. This film portrays Mukti as a drunkard, careless, and disoriented, even when she is heavily pregnant. The scenes of her smoking and drinking deep into her ninth month were not just irresponsible filmmaking; they were nauseating. It shows what happens when a woman’s heartbreak is written by a man; the male gaze is disturbingly evident. It felt as though the film punished her for recognising her worth and desires, suggesting that a woman should not choose what is best for herself instead of focussing her life on a man who refuses to mature and lacks ambition.

There’s a lot to pinpoint about how Rai has shown Mukti and Shankar’s story in Tere Ishk Mein. But if that wasn’t enough, then comes the cringe-inducing subplot involving the unborn baby. The series of dialogues and emotional moments that fail to resonate feel forced and ridiculous. As it comes during the climax, I know the intention was to leave the audience in tears with an emotionally heavy and chaotic third act. But to be honest, I could barely keep a straight face. It was bizarre and absurd.

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By this point in the film, I felt like Aanand L Rai was less interested in telling a solid story and more interested in blaming the audience, who he knows won’t accept the definition of love as obsession. The references to two films starring Shah Rukh Khan felt like a slight. And this belief is confirmed in the final dialogues by Shankar, where Aanand L Rai essentially declares that his is the last generation that “knew how to love”, while the new one will be successful in life but incapable of such a kind of life. It felt less like a scene and more like a passive-aggressive attack on younger viewers and critics who would dare to call out the film’s clear portrayal of emotional abuse, boundary violation, and violent obsession.

Despite such beautiful compositions by AR Rahman, I didn’t find a single moment to appreciate in Tere Ishk Mein. For quite some time, Indian cinema has been starving for genuine love stories that are heartfelt, grounded, humane, and adorable. I genuinely believed that “Ek Deewane Ki Deewaniyat” was the lowest point in portraying toxic romance in 2025. Only if I knew that I was going to see a grander version of the same stupid obsession and absurdity with two talented actors on screen. The anger, frustration and disbelief I felt while watching EDKD is precisely what I felt while watching Rai’s film today.

Tere Ishk Mein Review: Final Thoughts

Overall, the Dhanush and Kriti Sanon starrer is highly disappointing and disturbing and leaves you feeling disgusted. In 2025, women deserve more meaningful roles than simply fixing immature and emotionally unhealed men. No amount of victimisation or passionate music can make obsession, violence, or blaming a woman for a man’s inability to handle rejection ‘romantic’.