Everything in Tu Meri Main Tera Main Tera Tu Meri is designed to be provocative.
Everything in Tu Meri Main Tera Main Tera Tu Meri is designed to be provocative. When Rehaan “Ray” Mehra (Kartik Aaryan) exasperates Rumi Wardhan Singh (Ananya Panday) with his condescending and arrogant attitude, the film pokes fun at self-proclaimed feminists in the audience.
Director: Sameer Vidwans
Writer: Karan Shrikant Sharma
Stars: Kartik Aaryan, Ananya Panday, Neena Gupta
However, there is something resembling substance beneath the film’s superficiality. Its shallow and carefree tone is a facade that hides more mature perspectives. Even the long and clunky title seems designed to drive audiences away, or rather, to provoke mockery on social media.
Indeed, the pre-interval portions deliver precisely the film promised by the trailers and posters. Cheerful but forgettable songs, visually pleasing imagery, and simplistic humor leave little to expect in the post-interval parts. However, this tone, these casual rhythms, turn out to be a trap. In its second half, TMMTMTTM completely transforms into a different film. That film still resembles what came before the interval, but first, the changes are worth discussing.
To begin with, screenwriter Karan Shrikant Sharma begins to superficially address questions such as: Should children be selfish in pursuing their dreams, or should they sacrifice those dreams for their parents? Rumi’s father, Colonel Amar Wardhan Singh (Jackie Shroff), suffers from sleepwalking, which makes him vulnerable to dangerous accidents when he wanders the streets at night. In such circumstances, he needs the support of one of his daughters or a full-time caregiver. TMMTMTTM may want to be progressive, but it's not progressive enough to imagine a story where a father is cared for by a hired nurse. Traditional Indian values consider hired caregivers an insult, an abomination.
How dare their children hire help? They should just get married and secure a free maid, a free caregiver (as if weddings happen without spending a penny). Since Ray wants to settle in the US and Rumi's sister, Jia (Chandni Bhabhda), has chosen a guy who plans to move to Canada, Rumi decides to sacrifice her romance. After all, she can't ask Jia to stay, as she has spent most of her life taking care of Amar. Now it's Rumi's turn to be the dutiful daughter. However, given her absentmindedness (she loses her passport and even forgets to remind Amar to take his blood pressure medication), it would probably be wiser for her to hire a caregiver.
Here comes the twist: Amar has no problem with nurses and eventually even agrees to move to Los Angeles. What keeps him rooted to Agra is his wife—her memories and her ashes. Still, for his daughter's happiness, he agrees to leave his home. Rumi, however, understands that Amar will never be truly happy living abroad, away from the country he loves. And since he has already made enough sacrifices for his daughters, Rumi doesn't want to burden him further with her own selfish desires. Isn't attachment to a place, to a material object, even in the name of love, absurd? Prioritizing emotions without questioning the logic behind them makes you a fool. The moment you start finding meaning in material possessions, you become regressive and narrow-minded—you tie yourself to a small space and forget about true happiness.
This is what Ray's mother, Pinky (Neena Gupta), finally understands. She tells Ray that it doesn't matter if they live in Agra or Los Angeles; what matters is the presence of true love. It's a great message, but thanks to the Dharma Productions aesthetic, it lands without force or impact. What is this Dharma Productions aesthetic? Good-looking stars in expensive locations, wearing designer clothes, exuding an empty glamour; a glamour that extends to simple, conventional visuals that merely record the action.
Ray runs a wedding planning business, and Rumi owns a restaurant. Yet, there's no talk of finances, no details about daily operations, no meetings, no appointments. At one point, Jia's future mother-in-law mocks Amar for moving the wedding up, assuming he's doing it to save money. But how much money is Amar actually spending? What financial pressure does the ceremony put on him? Is Rumi's restaurant even profitable? And what about Ray?
It doesn't help at all that the lead actors have absolutely no chemistry. Both Panday and Aaryan are capable of greater depth—Satyaprem Ki Katha proved that Aaryan, in particular, has considerable potential—but here they seem to be acting in separate films. I also wasn't convinced by Rumi as a writer. All she does is scribble things like, "And just like that, she fell in love...", and we're supposed to accept her as a published author. Rumi lacks the focus necessary for the profession. It's no wonder her book receives negative reviews; that's the most believable detail in this romantic comedy.
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