Gustaakh Ishq Review | An Itr-Drenched Ode To A Bygone Era

Vibhu Puri’s Gustaakh Ishq (2025) set in Old Delhi, 1998, opens with an unmistakable confidence in its setting as its strongest armour. The production design by Madhumita Sen and Ajay Sharma reconstructs the late-90s with such care that the period settles around you before the plot even begins to move. As the first theatrical outing from Manish Malhotra’s Stage5, the film also carries his unmistakable influence.

Audiences accustomed to mass-masala storytelling may find the deliberate infusion of ornate Urdu somewhat abrupt. It is not positioned as a broad entertainer and makes no effort to masquerade as one, choosing instead a pace that resembles a book unfolding line by line.

Its central argument rests in its tagline, “kuch pehle jaisa,” a yearning for an earlier sensibility through which the film examines authorship, artistic agency, and inherited cultural identity. The story follows Nawabuddin Saifuddin Rahman Rizvi (Vijay Varma), who is desperately trying to rescue his family’s Urdu printing press from collapse. His search for a solution takes him to Malerkotla, where he appears as a supposed mentee of the reclusive poet Aziz Baig (Naseeruddin Shah). Nawab’s admiration is not entirely fraudulent—he is an aspiring writer himself—but his real goal is to publish Aziz’s collected work and earn the money needed to save the press.

The film frames its central inquiry around the tension between artistic integrity and commercial survival, asking whether work should remain protected to retain its meaning or whether broader circulation is the only way to secure its future. It extends this to the bond between creator and creation: once work is published, does it separate from its author, and how far can an artist decide the course of their own output? The screenplay engages with these questions in a restrained lehja. 

At first glance, the film’s setting could invite suspicion of indulgence and pretentiousness, with its Urdu verses, carefully pleated sarees, period décor, and a trace of nawabi zabaan. And surely, the writing frequently allows Aziz’s philosophical digressions to dominate scenes until they overshadow the movement of the story. Yet the sincerity of its core intention complicates that judgement, prompting even a cynic to reassess their assumptions about what a film chooses to value and what it really wants to say. 

Every character here belongs to a Muslim milieu, though the narrative avoids attaching this cultivated world to any overt religious commentary (phew!). The cinematography by Manush Nandan offers a rare sense of deliberation, defined by precise lighting and an eye that truly understands how to shape atmosphere as a character.

Watching Shah steal the show is always a delight. Varma, meanwhile, offers one of his most compelling performances. Often associated with sharper, morally opaque characters, he steps into a gentler register with notable assurance. His interplay with Shaikh is luminous. She anchors their scenes with a delicate maturity, allowing the film’s sentiment to settle without excess.

In the current Bollywood cinema landscape littered with crass action and comedy films, Gustaakh Ishq feels almost corrective. It directs attention back to conversation, temperament, and finely noticeable behavioural shifts. The film also seems amused by the writer’s willingness to tease the very idea of love while being entirely captivated by it. The exchanges between Nawab and Aziz function as the film’s quiet spine, and the shayari written by Ashok Singh Mizaz gives the narrative its most memorable texture. Yet the film’s elegance carries an inherent drawback, as the emotional tension never gathers the momentum it signals. Even with talents like Naseeruddin Shah and Vijay Varma, the rhythm never completely slackens but even a viewer with generous patience will still recognise the deliberately indulgent pace. Puri directs with a steady, attentive hand, guarding the film’s emotional core. Although the screenplay’s pride in its poetic voice is evident, although it sometimes restricts the emotional clarity the film reaches for. 

Where the film gains its strongest footing is in its music. The Gulzar–Vishal Bhardwaj pairing yields an album that is rich, melodic and immediately replayable. Puri’s direction blends this musicality with an evocative sense of place: the winter light in Malerkotla, the bustle of Purani Dilli, roadside chai and tandoors—each element appears chosen with intention. The most spellbinding songs include “Ul Jalool Ishq” and “Sheher Tere” although it would be a disservice to the album to mention favorites. The romance between Minnie and Nawab may lack consistent momentum but it unfolds like a delicate conversation shielded from spectacle.

In the end, Gustaakh Ishq stands as a beautifully mounted, classically performed love story told with poetic restraint. Its aesthetics are consistently absorbing, its performances sincere, and its world richly observed. The film carries a lyrical confidence and an undeniable allure, though its sensibility is selective and will resonate more deeply with viewers inclined toward its romantic temperament. Even when the drama does not reach the emotional sharpness it aims for, the film leaves behind a sense of craftsmanship—and a reminder that gentle storytelling still has its place.