- A slow-burn romance shaped by personal insecurities and self-doubt
- Siddhant Chaturvedi and Mrunal Thakur deliver restrained performances
- Mumbai’s chaos becomes poetic through thoughtful cinematography
- A gentle narrative that favours honesty over high drama
Not every love story begins with fireworks. Some begin with hesitation, awkward pauses, and words that refuse to come out right. In a film landscape dominated by grand gestures and dramatic confessions, Do Deewane Seher Mein chooses a softer tone, leaning into vulnerability rather than spectacle.
At the centre are two flawed, quietly wounded individuals.
Shashank, played by Siddhant Chaturvedi, appears to have it all. He is young, successful, and charming. Yet a speech anomaly, pronouncing “Sh” as “Sa,” becomes a deeply internalised obstacle. It shapes how he sees himself. It limits how he shows up in the world. Public speaking terrifies him, even when opportunity knocks. Confidence, here, is fragile.
Roshini, portrayed by Mrunal Thakur, carries a different burden. Constantly compared to her conventionally attractive sister, she hides behind oversized glasses and layers of self-doubt. A past heartbreak still lingers. Marriage proposals arrive, courtesy of her eager mother, but she turns them down with quiet defiance. Love, in her view, rarely drives Indian marriages. Obligation does.
Director Ravi Udyawar, working from a screenplay by Abhiruchi Chand, avoids melodrama and leans into restraint. The story unfolds at a measured pace. Conflicts are understated. Some viewers may find the first half slow. Patience is required. But if you surrender to its rhythm, the film begins to breathe.
What stands out is how ordinary these insecurities feel. They are not cinematic tragedies. They are everyday wounds, shaped by childhood comments, societal standards, and subtle comparisons. The writing understands this. It does not shout.
Chaturvedi and Thakur step into their characters with sincerity, though their polished, urban appearance slightly softens the relatability the script aims for. The chemistry builds gradually. It simmers rather than sparks.
The film occasionally leans on familiar tropes, the beauty-obsessed boss, the marriage-fixated mother, the disappointed father. These threads feel predictable. A sharper layer of humour or deeper emotional beats could have elevated the narrative further.
Visually, however, the film finds poetry in Mumbai’s restlessness. Kaushal Shah’s cinematography captures metro rides, tea stalls, and fleeting silences with a gentle lens. The city feels lived in. The music complements the mood, especially “Aasman,” composed by Hesham Abdul Wahab and sung by Jubin Nautiyal and Neeti Mohan, which lingers long after it fades.
Do Deewane Seher Mein does not reinvent romance. It does something quieter. It reminds you that love is often about confronting the stories we tell ourselves about who we are!
