I was still thinking about the popcorn salt when the credits started rolling. Strange what sticks. The movie, Kis Kisko Pyaar Karoon 2, had just finished, but my mind kept drifting to the couple two rows ahead who were arguing about whether Kapil looked tired or just older. Hard to tell. The lighting inside didn’t help. Or maybe he really has settled into a slower rhythm.
Anyway, the film begins without warming you up. Suddenly, there are wives, and almost-wives, and women who look like they wandered in from another set. I lost track twice, maybe three times, but people around me seemed fine with it. Someone laughed at a joke I didn’t even catch. The auntie next to me kept reacting a split second before the punchline. She probably knew the style better than I did.
Kapil carries the whole thing the way you carry too many grocery bags from the car. One slip and it all goes down, but somehow he keeps a grip. Hindustan Times said it felt stretched. I get it. Some scenes linger like guests you thought had left. But Koimoi had called the chaos exactly what the film promised, and honestly, that fits too. Depends on the mood you walk in with.
At one point, I remember wondering why every bride looked slightly confused, but maybe that was the intention. India Today used the phrase multiverse of brides. Yes. That’s about right. Everyone is floating in their own little orbit, occasionally bumping into Kapil as planets misalign.
People walking out were funny to watch. One guy said it was “timepass yaar” with this satisfied shrug. Another said it was a disaster. No middle ground. Though ETimes did give it 2.5, which is basically the critic version of a middle ground sigh. Bollywood Hungama went the opposite direction, calling it a laugh riot. I didn’t see a riot. Maybe a scattered chuckle parade.
There was a moment, though, somewhere past the middle, when Kapil was trying to patch three emotional explosions at once. His face shifted for a second, almost like he forgot the camera. That tiny crack felt more real than the louder comedy bits. Not sure why it stood out; it just did.
The whole film reminds me of visiting relatives when too many people talk at once, and someone keeps offering you food even though you’re full. Warm, noisy, disorganised, strangely comforting. Then tiring. Then comforting again. Depends on the minute.
If you want sharp writing, no. If you want a neat storyline, also no. But if you want something to sink into on a Friday when your brain is already half asleep, maybe it works. Some people in the hall looked genuinely happy. Others looked ready to run.
I walked out thinking about the lighting again. And the popcorn salt. And Kapil’s expression during that one crack in the chaos. Hard to explain why that stuck more than the plot, but that’s how some films land. They leave odd pieces behind.
Not good, not bad. Just there. Familiar in a way I didn’t expect.
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Zayn blends critical thinking with genuine fandom. Whether it’s decoding OTT series arcs or rating the latest Bollywood blockbuster, he writes with clarity, pop fluency, and a dash of irreverence.
Aarav writes about modern Indian life with warmth, curiosity, and cultural flair. Whether it’s evolving relationships, homegrown movements, or the psychology of trends, his work feels like a long conversation with a thoughtful friend.
