I reached Leicester Square a little earlier than planned, mostly because the rain had pushed me off the bus two stops too soon, and I figured walking was easier than arguing with the weather. The square was already buzzing. People were trying to stand in neat rows, but of course, they didn’t. London crowds never do. There was this jittery energy in the air, like everyone had shown up for something they weren’t entirely prepared to feel.
I spotted the statue under its sheet before I noticed Shah Rukh Khan or Kajol. Funny how your eyes land on shapes first. It looked bigger than I expected, almost like it didn’t want to be ignored. Someone behind me was explaining the exact scene it was meant to capture, one of those overexcited fan explanations, but honestly, I couldn’t hear much through the rain.
SRK arrived in that oddly relaxed way he has. Like he knows everyone is staring, but he’s learned to treat it like background noise. The crowd sort of melted toward him without moving. It’s strange how people can lean emotionally without leaning physically. I didn’t even realise I was smiling until someone’s umbrella poked my shoulder and snapped me back.
Kajol came in looking… grounded. There’s no better word. She doesn’t float into a space the way he does. She settles into it. There was something real in her expression when she looked at the statue, even though it was still covered. Not nostalgia exactly. More like she was remembering the weight of a moment without trying to romanticise it.
When they pulled the cloth away, nobody gasped dramatically. The reaction was more scattered than that. A few claps. A little murmur. Someone yelled something that got lost in the rain. The statue itself looked calmer than the crowd. Raj was standing with that almost-cocky softness. Simran is leaning into a feeling you couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t flashy. It felt lived in, which honestly made it work better.
Then the music started playing and everyone pretended not to be emotional. We’re good at that. Pretending. But there’s something about hearing Tujhe Dekha float through wet London air that hits unexpectedly. It didn’t feel cinematic. It felt oddly personal, like someone had turned on a memory you hadn’t requested.
A teenager near me whispered that he’d only watched the movie last year but felt like he “got” why people were losing it. Another person, maybe late forties, nodded at him like this was some generational handshake. Those two would probably never speak again, but for that moment, they were on the same emotional page. India’s most famous train departure scene tends to do that.
SRK eventually said the famous line. It came out casual, almost tossed-off, and yet everyone reacted like he’d recited scripture. Phones shot up. Someone behind me actually jumped a little. It was ridiculous in the sweetest way. You forget how deeply people store these things until you see it firsthand.
Kajol didn’t go for theatrics. She touched part of the statue, this small, gentle gesture that felt more authentic than any speech. For a second she looked like she was seeing her younger self the way fans see her. It was a warm moment. Unforced.
After the formal stuff wrapped, nobody seemed in a rush. People just stayed. Talking. Wandering. Taking photos that were probably too blurry to post but meaningful anyway. A couple tried recreating Raj and Simran’s pose and gave up halfway, laughing at themselves. A man next to me said he watched the movie with his cousins every Diwali growing up and suddenly he looked far younger than he actually was.
I lingered too long, again. London at night has this habit of convincing you there’s more to observe, even when there isn’t. The statue caught the glow from a nearby billboard and for a moment it almost looked warm, which makes no sense because bronze doesn’t do that, but that’s how it felt.
As I finally walked toward the tube, the square fading behind me, I realized something simple. This wasn’t nostalgia for the film. It was nostalgia for the emotions the film once gave people, and still gives them if they let it. Not a grand revelation. Just a quiet truth I carried with me into the wet, cold air.
Some stories don’t age. They just wait for you to catch up to them again.
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Sana has been covering film, fame, and everything in between for over a decade. From red carpets to rehab rumors, she brings nuance, wit, and an insider’s edge to every story. When she’s not reporting, she’s probably watching Koffee With Karan reruns or doom-scrolling celebrity IG feeds.
