Latest news with #Shrirenu
Hindustan Times
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Up, up and a new way: Deepanjana Pal writes on a new kind of hero
No one is watching James Gunn's Superman for its romantic subplot, which is why few viewers likely clocked the 11 seconds snipped from Clark Kent (David Corenswet) and Lois Lane's (Rachel Brosnahan) first kiss. There is a similar cut in the second kiss, before Superman and Lois levitate. While all the bits with dialogue have been left in, there is still damage being done with these deletions, because these scenes are part of Gunn effort to spotlight the 'man' rather than the 'super'. Yes, his Superman can shoot laser beams from his eyes, but he is also someone who fights to save puppies and yearns for time with the woman he loves. Now, in mainstream Indian cinema, the hero with a softer side is a staple. Our blockbuster star may win every fistfight, but he first loses his heart, sings a song and perhaps even sheds a few tears for his beloved. The dividing line between action star and romantic lead is typically blurry too, with one needing love to humanise him and the other indulging in displays of conventional machismo to ensure the patriarchal cage isn't rattled. Recently, though, a new variant of the hero has emerged here too: a man whose strength lies in his capacity to embrace vulnerability. He was most recently spotted in Netflix's new release, Aap Jaisa Koi, directed by Vivek Soni. The 55-year-old star of this film, R Madhavan, said he signed up for it because he figured it may be his last chance to play a romantic lead. This is a romance told largely from the point of view of the hero, Shrirenu Tripathi. The heroine Madhu Bose (Fatima Sana Shaikh), a French teacher in Kolkata, is less a person and more a hologram in floaty saris. If this setup seems to work, it is because Madhavan is an experienced hand at the romance genre and is able to even out the many awkward edges (and lines of dialogue) with the smoothness of his performance. His Shrirenu is a man of tradition; a Sanskrit teacher, no less. Yet he is also a man of hesitations, anxieties and heartbreaks. A 42-year-old virgin from Jamshedpur, he feels real. Most of us know someone like him, and Madhavan's performance emphasises how normal the character is, even though everyone in the film treats him as an oddity. This protagonist continues Dharma Productions' mission of salvaging heroes from toxic masculinity. Like Rocky of Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani (2023), he is a well-meaning man-child forced to question the conservative values he was raised with when he falls in love with a Bengali woman who lives in a grand old house full of song, dance and art. Unlike Rocky, though, this hero has no youthful swagger and doesn't bother with facades. Madhavan plays him as a bumbling fool who is unpretentious and unabashedly tender. Shrirenu chooses to course-correct partly because he realises the error of patriarchy's ways, but also because he is desperately lonely. In popular culture, the loner is invariably portrayed as a deviant of some sort, but not here. This character emerges, instead, as someone valiantly struggling to navigate the world anew. 'I've been a teacher for most of my life, but now I'll be a student,' he promises Madhu. 'I'll make mistakes, but I'll also apologise… Whatever and however I may be, I will love you as my equal.' Shrirenu's admission of his imperfections makes him perfect for the woman he loves, in Aap Jaisa Koi, just as Superman's weaknesses, rather than his extraordinary strength, makes him heroic. There may not be much superficial similarity between the two men, but look past their facades and both are more softie than man-of-steel. Let's hope these new, tenderer ideals of manliness can hold their own against the age-old clichés of masculinity. (To reach Deepanjana Pal with feedback, write to @dpanjana on Instagram)
NDTV
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- NDTV
Hey Bollywood, What Is It With The 'Bong Babe' Fetish?
In the new Netflix film, Aap Jaisa Koi, love is a lesson. Shrirenu Tripathi (R. Madhavan), a middle-aged professor in Jamshedpur, is arranged to be married to Madhu Bose (Fatima Sana Shaikh), a French tutor in Kolkata. The attraction is immediate. Shrirenu, the 42-year-old virgin, had abandoned the idea of being with anyone, let alone someone like the radiant Madhu; he is naturally thrown off when she likes him back. Everything goes well till a roadblock surfaces. The man turns out to be conservative and the woman is not pleased. In Hindi cinema, difference has been the cornerstone of love. Contrast - behavioural (introvert-extrovert) and social (class and caste) - attracts. It brings people together and emboldens them to fight against others. Love is the bridge where they meet, and the journey to be together supplies the story. The higher the stakes, the greater the love story. The Veers And Salims Of Bollywood Classic love stories share similar friction, if not the arc. They also have something else in common: men, mostly, did the heavy lifting. If in Mughal-e-Azam (1960), Salim mobilised an army to protect Anarkali, the woman he loved, then in the post-liberalised India of Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995), Raj crossed oceans to woo the unrelenting parents of Simran, the woman he loved. Prem in Maine Pyar Kiya (1989) surrendered a life of plenty to prove his love for Suman, and in Veer-Zaara (2004), a cross-border love story stacked against impossible odds, Veer, an Air Force officer from India, arrived in Pakistan to meet Zara. Salim and Anarkali in Mughal-E-Azam (1960) With time, female passivity changed faces without much change in fate. Audacious women were written, but the pluck felt superficial. Geet in Jab We Met (2007) ran away from home, but she still needed Aditya to bring her back; a decade later, Bitti Mishra in Bareilly Ki Barfi smoked with her father, and yet, her fate swung between two men. These are sweeping instances, punctuated, yes, by a few exceptions, but the reading holds water. The Bengali Woman As An Antithesis In comparison, someone like Madhu is portrayed as an antithesis. Her autonomy feels as attentive as complete. She has a well-defined job, her family rallies around her, she is vocal about her sexual needs and, more crucially, none of this changes when she falls in love. She takes efforts to meet Shrirenu as much as he does - a detail that speaks volumes about the shared duties they assume. Later, when he shames her, she calls him out. Rani Chatterjee in Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani (2023) had the same attributes. She fell in love with Rocky, an indulgent man-child in Delhi with a closed world-view. Passion ran high, yet she refused to budge to tradition. In both cases, modernity is not a personality trait but a subtext of their persona. More similarities follow: they pair chiffon saris with sleeveless blouses. Madhu reads Sartre, and, if probed, Rani's favourite author might well be Simone de Beauvoir. Both are culturally inclined and philosophically profound. In private, they possibly worship Tagore and wept the day the Left government lost power in West Bengal. And, in case you did not notice, they are Bengali. The 'Prototype' The 'strong-willed Bengali woman' prototype has existed in Hindi films. Madhu and Rani stand on the shoulders of other self-reliant women like Piku (Shoojit Sircar's 2015 Piku) and Vidya Basu (Sujoy Ghosh's 2012 Kahaani). Sure, there are the many renditions of the uncompromising Parvati from Devdas, and Vikramaditya Motwane reimagined O. Henry's The Last Leaf as Lootera (2013) with an unyielding Bengali woman at the centre. But even other films have used this prototype. In Vijay Lalwani's Karthik Calling Karthik (2010), a twisted thriller on an introvert, the free-spirited female character is a Bengali;. Aziz Mirza's Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani (2000) features a ruthless journalist who, of course, is also a Bengali. Rani's stereotypical Bengali family in Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani (2023) As real women started staking more claims in public spaces, women in love stories awaited a facelift. Naturally, it made sense for makers (Karan Johar and co) to harness this trope for a wider appeal, to reinvent the Hindi film heroine in romantic films as a Bengali woman in love. Culture comes with the territory, and so does defiance. But Rani and Madhu's representation has been a misrepresentation. If they are to be believed, then a Bengali woman reads Tagore for breakfast, recites Sukumar Ray for lunch, and finishes her day with a Satyajit Ray film. She lives in a giant house, her liberal outlook is without a blindspot, and even though she might have toured across the globe, College Street is her favourite street. The Allure Of The 'Bhodromahila' Granted that accusing Hindi filmmakers of exaggeration is akin to complaining about the monsoon in Mumbai. Some things go hand in hand. But the depictions have prompted a wider discourse, because by reiterating a certain kind, propped up by specific caste and class, these films seem to dictate that only the affluent, outspoken, plucky and Liberal Bengali woman (the Bhodromohila to the Bhadralok) is deserving of love. Or, that her story is worth telling. A couple of days back, an account on Instagram thoughtfully questioned the stereotype and asked: "Is every modern Bengali woman really a Rani Chatterjee or a Madhu Bose?" The answer, of course, is no. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Basundhara (@gangsofcinepur) But here's the thing: even a forthcoming Rani Chatterjee or a radical Madhu Bose, in the off chance that they exist, were not born as one. Unlike what might be suggested, liberalism is not stuffed in our potatoes, nor is it a virus Bengali women are born with (in a bizarre segue in Aap Jaisa Koi, a hitherto timid woman starts calling out patriarchy after falling in love with a Bengali man, like she has been "infected"). Even the most rebellious of Bengali women have had to earn their rebellion; even the most well-turned-out, sari-clad Bengali woman has had to fight for her sleeveless blouses. One is not born but becomes Rani Chatterjee or Madhu Bose. Still Raising Boys In a country like India, where women shrinking themselves to make space for others is the default, such characters are far-fetched on some days and aspirational on others. Perhaps that is the allure. Cinema, after all, is a site of wish fulfilment. But it is also the medium of representation, a space to see and be seen. By assuming that Bengali households are untouched by patriarchy - a belief that collapses when one considers the mounting cases of rape and abuse in West Bengal in this year alone - these films undercut and erase the struggle of Bengali women who stand up for themselves despite, and not because of, their surname. By not showcasing the labour built into it, they squander the chance of celebrating feminism. One can argue that such portrayals, however excessive, are designed to subvert the androcentric gaze of love. But women are somehow still getting shortchanged. If, in the past, they were offered ornamental parts in romantic films, then now, they are burdened with the task of teaching men. If, earlier, they waited for grown-up men to show up, then now, they are tasked with rehabilitating boys. Love is no longer the bridge where two people meet but an ideological minefield where one community is pitted against the other. And somehow, despite the cultural agency of female characters, the one gaining from it is - still - not them. (Ishita Sengupta is an independent film critic and culture writer from India. Her writing is informed by gender and pop culture and has appeared in The Indian Express, Hyperallergic, New Lines Magazine, etc.) Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author
Indian Express
15-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
‘Aap Jaisa Koi' doesn't wage war on patriarchy. It asks it to listen
In Indian cinema, patriarchy rarely announces itself with a clenched fist. It arrives as habit. As inheritance, and politeness. It lingers in the pauses of male entitlement — in who gets to interrupt, who is expected to adjust, who walks ahead on the street, and who apologises first in love. Netflix's new film, Aap Jaisa Koi, directed by Vivek Soni, doesn't wage war on patriarchy. It does something rarer — asking it to sit down quietly and listen. The film explores what equal love might look like — not as ideology, but as everyday practice. In doing so, it touches one of Indian cinema's enduring blind spots: The inability to portray intimacy without hierarchy. Patriarchy in Indian cinema has often been dramatised as violence — a father opposing a marriage, a man slapping his wife, or an overt villain controlling the heroine's choices. But its most persistent form is subtle, woven into affection, justified by culture, and disguised as care. Aap Jaisa Koi understands this deeply. Its male protagonist, Shrirenu Tripathi (played with affecting restraint by R Madhavan), is not a patriarch in the classical sense. He is soft-spoken, educated, even kind. But his kindness comes with conditions. His affection arrives with hesitation. His silence, as the film shows, is not always humility — sometimes it's avoidance, sometimes entitlement. In one of the most telling scenes, Shrirenu delays expressing his feelings for Madhu Bose (Fatima Sana Shaikh), even as she meets him halfway emotionally. When she finally says, 'Don't make your hesitation my burden,' it's not a line crafted for applause. It's a quiet resistance — the kind women are forced to offer in relationships built on unequal emotional labour. What distinguishes Aap Jaisa Koi is its commitment to subtlety — not as aesthetic, but as politics. The film resists loud feminism or confrontational drama. Instead, it offers something more intimate: A portrait of negotiation. Between two people. Between tradition and selfhood. Between care and control. Shaikh's Madhu is not a cinematic 'strong woman'. She is not angry, argumentative, or radical in the traditional sense. Her strength lies in her refusal to bend quietly. She asks questions. She sets boundaries. She is warm, but unyielding when needed. And crucially, she does not 'fix' the man — she waits for him to meet her on equal ground, or not at all. That itself is a disruption of cinematic convention. Indian heroines have long been expected to absorb — the anger, the indifference, the delay, the distance. Madhavan's portrayal of Shrirenu is particularly moving because it shows a man struggling not with love, but with unlearning. He is not cruel; he is conditioned. Raised in a family where men withdraw rather than speak, where decisions are made on their behalf by well-meaning elders, his emotional language is half-formed. His journey is not about transformation, but about recognising that passivity can be a form of control, too. In one key moment, when Madhu offers him affection and clarity, he withdraws, calling himself 'not ready'. But the film does not applaud this honesty. Instead, it holds him accountable. Readiness, it suggests, is not a virtue when it leaves someone else waiting in uncertainty. The film's point here is profound: Emotional withholding, when unacknowledged, becomes its own form of power. Director Vivek Soni and cinematographer Debojeet Ray craft this story with warmth and quietness. There is no spectacle. A raised eyebrow, a pause, a half-finished sentence become tools of power and protest. One such moment comes when Madhu, returning from a frustrating family visit, confronts Shrirenu not with anger but with clarity. She says what women are often expected to leave unsaid: That love without equality is not romantic — it is exhausting. And the film listens. We are living in a time when mainstream Indian cinema is haltingly turning its gaze inward. Aap Jaisa Koi is part of that shift. It doesn't deliver a lecture on gender. It models a conversation — one where silence is interrogated, not celebrated; where love is offered, but not at the cost of self. In doing so, it asks: What does a truly equal relationship look like in a culture still learning to name its biases? And what happens when we stop applauding the bare minimum from men, and start expecting more? The film doesn't offer easy resolutions. But it offers something better: The possibility that if we can acknowledge our conditioning, we can change it. Gently. Daily. Together. The writer is an actor, educator, filmmaker, and public policy advocate
New Indian Express
12-07-2025
- Entertainment
- New Indian Express
Aap Jaisa Koi Movie Review: R Madhavan and Fatima Sana Shaikh's May-December romance doesn't go beyond its springtime aesthetics
After boy meets girl, it's time for the second stage of love: family meets family. The Tripathis are a patriarchal lot. Shrirenu's elder brother Bhanu (Manish Chaudhari) is in the real estate business and treats women too like property. His wife Kusum (Ayesha Raza) feels neglected while daughter Nisha (Shriyam Bhagnani), although qualified, has to be at the receiving end of sexist instructions. The Boses, on the other hand, are Dharma's version of a Bengali family, full with sitar-teaching grandmother, office-going women and closeted-writer uncle. Bhanu is judgmental of the Boses' modernity, but it isn't much of a hindrance and the couple gets engaged. On the day, however, Shrirenu gets a surprise which could have been seen from miles before. Madhu is the same girl who was moaning his name on the app. Although liberal in mind and pookie in mannerisms, Shrirenu might have some red flags in his spirit.
Pink Villa
12-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Pink Villa
Aap Jaisa Koi Ending Explained: Do Shrirenu and Madhu marry after breaking their engagement?
Disclaimer: This article contains spoilers. Fans were treated to yet another romantic movie this Friday but with a fresh and unique pairing of Fatima Sana Shaikh and R Madhavan. The story is about a middle-aged man, Shrirenu, who has not found love or a girl to get married to. He is 42. In his quest to find a perfect match, he comes across Madhu Bose, a 32-year-old teacher. How their love story unfurls is what Aap Jaisa Koi is all about. Shrirenu joins Aap Jaisa Koi app Shrirenu (R Madhavan), a Sanskrit teacher, leads a very boring life. With no partner and a dull social life, he lives in Jamshedpur alone. His brother and sister-in-law often keep sharing several profiles of girls with him, but to no avail. It was then that his friend introduced him to a s*x chatting app Aap Jaisa Koi. His life changes after this, taking a drastic turn. Shrirenu meets Madhu Shrirenu's sister-in-law informs him about a marriage proposal he received from a girl named Madhu from Kolkata. He visits Kolkata with zero expectations, but when he sees her, he is blown away by her beauty. The two connect instantly, and their cute chemistry wins your heart. Shrirenu and Madhu finally fall head over heels for each other. Their families meet and fix their engagement and wedding. But, on the engagement day, Shrirenu realises that Madhu is the same girl he was talking to on the app. Shrirenu and Madhu break their engagement Upon confronting, Madhu reveals that she developed a soft corner for Shrirenu when they were talking on the app, and that's when she started searching for him. When she finally found him, she sent a marriage proposal. But Shrirenu couldn't fathom the fact that she was on a s*x chatting app. He then breaks their engagement. Madhu's ex Namit returns Later, Shrirenu realises his mistake and wants to go back to Madhu. But when he visits Kolkata, he sees Madhu with his ex-boyfriend, Namit. From there begins his struggle to impress Madhu and win her heart again. So, do Madhu and Shrirenu get back together? In the end, Shrirenu finally proposes to Madhu and apologizes for his narrow thinking. He promises to treat her equally in love while blaming his upbringing and society for his mindset. Madhu happily accepts his apology and they live happily ever after.
