Gustaakh Ishq Review: Vijay Varma-Fatima lead a tender, softly stirring tale wrapped in poetry

Gustaakh Ishq

In theaters

Cast: Vijay Varma, Fatima Sana Shaikh, Naseeruddin Shah & more

Produced by: Manish Malhotra & Dinesh Malhotra

Rating - 3 stars

There are some films that don’t rush to win you over. They take their time, sit beside you like an old friend, and speak in a tone meant to be absorbed rather than applauded. Gustaakh Ishq: Kuch Pehle Jaisa is exactly that kind of film. It unfolds like a handwritten letter in the age before smartphones and frantic distractions. Slow. Gentle. Sometimes frustrating. Often lovely.

Set in the narrow lanes and fading charm of 90s Purani Dilli, the film carries a fragrance of something familiar yet distant, like the memory of first love or a song you haven’t heard in years but somehow still remember. Directed by Vibhu Puri and produced by Manish Malhotra in his film debut as producer, this romantic drama tries to resurrect the era when love wasn’t declared over texts but discovered through conversation, pauses, poetry, and longing.

It promises a story filled with sher-o-shayari, nostalgia, and aching romance. And while it doesn’t always reach the emotional depth it desires, there’s an undeniable sincerity running through its core.

The Story: Simple, Predictable, but Soft at the Edges

The heart of the story belongs to Nawabuddin Saifuddin Rahman (Vijay Varma), a young man burdened with the legacy of Mustaqbil Press, an old printing business his late father built with love, care, and belief in words. But time hasn’t been kind. Sales are falling, debts are rising, and Nawabuddin finds himself quietly panicking while keeping up the façade of confidence.

A solution arrives in the form of hope: the forgotten poet Aziz, once celebrated, now living quietly with his daughter Minni in a dilapidated haveli. Nawabuddin travels to meet him in pursuit of publishing a book that could save the press, unaware that his life will unravel in ways he never planned.

The plot is straightforward, almost predictable. Nawabuddin becomes Aziz’s student. Minni slowly becomes more than a stranger. And the house becomes a cocoon where tea, poetry, and unspoken feelings gather and simmer.

But for a story built on romance and emotional unfolding, the pacing feels uneven. The film moves slowly, yet relationships shift too quickly, lacking sufficient emotional build-up. Minni and Nawabuddin share glances, small conversations, and tender silences, but the transition into love doesn’t fully settle. You admire them, but you don’t feel them as deeply as the film wants you to.

Visuals, Aesthetic, and the Love for Detail

If the story struggles in places, the visuals never do. Every frame looks carefully crafted, warm amber mornings, dusty library shelves, shawls, pens tucked behind ears, pink-toned outfits for romance, earthy shades for heartbreak. There’s a language in the colours alone.

The camera work by the cinematography team feels poetic. Sunsets glow with meaning. A shot of Minni reading near a window says more than a full paragraph of dialogue. The narrow alleys of Delhi are filmed lovingly, not polished, but lived in, textured, breathing.

There’s an artistic attention to space: houses with peeling paint, cups of chai half-filled, typewriter keys carrying memories. Even when the plot falters or the pace drags, these visuals hold you, telling you to stay a little longer. They make the film feel like a memory.

Romance: Old-School, Gentle, and Sometimes Too Quiet

This is not the dramatic heartbreak-heavy kind of romance Bollywood usually offers. There are no sweeping background violins or public declarations. Love here is gradual and shy. It happens in conversations over poetry, in silent admiration, in small acts of softness, and in lingering eye contact.

Yet, despite its charm, the emotional payoff isn’t entirely satisfying. The chemistry exists, Vijay Varma and Fatima Sana Shaikh look beautifully matched, and their moments sparkle in places, but the writing doesn’t let the relationship stretch its emotional wings. You want more friction, more backstory, more vulnerability. The film hints at depth but quickly moves along. Still, there are lines and moments that stay with you: “Aaina aur dil tootne ke liye hi bante hain.” It’s a gentle romance with bruised edges, imperfect, but tender.

Poetry and Urdu: The Real Soul of the Film

If there is one element that truly elevates the experience, it is the poetry. The Urdu sprinkled throughout doesn’t feel forced or ornamental. It feels natural, warm, and lived in, as it belongs to the streets, the characters, and the era. Aziz’s dialogues carry weight, humour, and grace. His teachings to Nawabuddin are sharp yet affectionate: “Jeb mein kalam rakhne se shayar nahi banoge. Kalam par zakham hona zaroori hai.” These moments build the film’s emotional backbone.

A Cast That Holds the Film Together

Vijay Varma is a delight. There’s softness in his eyes, mischief in his smile, and an earnest charm that makes Nawabuddin instantly likeable. Watching him step away from darker roles is refreshing; he fits effortlessly into the skin of a romantic lead.

Fatima Sana Shaikh plays Minni with quiet restraint. She carries heartbreak, dignity, and unresolved hurt beneath her calm exterior. Though her role could have been more layered, she brings honesty to it.

And then there’s Naseeruddin Shah. He isn’t performing. He’s breathing the character. Aziz is broken yet wise, sarcastic yet vulnerable, proud yet tender. His scenes with Vijay are some of the strongest moments in the film, creating a mentor-disciple bond that feels rich and believable. Sharib Hashmi adds warmth, humour, and balance to moments that could otherwise feel too heavy. Together, the ensemble lifts the film even when the script wavers.

The songs have a slow, charming quality and blend well with the film’s tone. A couple of tracks linger after the credits, especially the more melancholic ones, but the soundtrack isn’t consistently impactful. It complements the film but doesn’t define it.

The Shayris That Made It Out Of The Film

At one point, Nawabuddin says, “Nikal laya hu pinjre se parinda… ab parinde ke dil se pinjra nikalna baaki hai.” It becomes a metaphor not just for love, but for healing, because freedom isn’t the same as peace.

Some of the most memorable lines are tossed casually, almost like observations of life in motion, “Kaale libaas walon ke dil bade saaf hote hai,” or the faintly regretful confession, “Yuhi apno se dur gairo ke hogaye hum.” There’s even a playful nod to nostalgia tucked quietly in the script, a moment that hints at Karan Johar’s Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, as if the film is aware that old love stories carry echoes. Toward the end, Aziz reflects with weary honesty, “Zameer kaapta zaroor hai, kabhi gunah se pehle, kabhi gunah ke baad.” It’s one of the most piercing lines in the film, simple, yet aching with truth. And when someone finally says,

“Chodiye ye purana kissa… ek naya fasana shuru karte hai,”

it feels like the film speaking to itself, imperfect, hopeful, ready to try again. So while Gustaakh Ishq may not be flawless, it carries moments, words, glances, and silence that hold meaning.

Gustaakh Ishq: Kuch Pehle Jaisa feels like a fragile, hand-woven tapestry, beautiful in intention, imperfect in execution. It leaves you with scattered moments of tenderness, striking visuals, and poetry that gently clings to memory. Yet it never fully rises into the emotional crescendo it promises.

It is not a crowd-pleaser and not meant to be. It is slow, meditative, nostalgic, and sometimes indulgent. For some, that rhythm will feel calming. For others, it may feel like a test of patience. Still, there’s heart here. There’s craft. And there’s sincerity. Not everything works, but what works works beautifully.

And in that sense, maybe… just maybe…it truly is kuch pehle jaisa.