Despite its shortcomings, one thing that is impressive about Vibhu Puri’s Gustaakh Ishq is that it’s not tentative about what it wants to be. No pretence or excessive self-awareness – often a crutch for films afraid to go the distance, hedging against becoming a laughing stock. In an age when Hindi cinema has been pilloried as ‘Urduwood’ by right-wing trolls, it’s heartwarming to see Puri’s film reclaim and revive the Muslim social film.

A subgenre in Hindi films, primarily a vessel to represent the finery of the Nawabi culture, including Chaudhvin Ka Chaand (1960) and Pakeezah (1972), the films were retired for being aesthetically antiquated. It’s hard to not look at most choices in Puri’s film as a deliberate attempt to counter the vitriol that the tehzeeb (etiquette) of mutual acceptance has faced in the last decade. Gustaakh Ishq – written by Puri and Prasshant Jha – is steeped in courteous banter for most of its 128-minute runtime, without feeling self conscious. Never does the sophistication of Urdu feel fetishised like in Heeramandi (2024) or Kalank (2019).

Produced by designer Manish Malhotra, the film’s immaculate taste shows up in its meticulous production design (Madhumita Sen and Ajay Sharma) to recreate Old Delhi of the 1990s as a surrogate, presumably for Abrar Alvi’s Lucknow. Sumptuously lit by cinematographer Manush Nandan – a former assistant of Ravi K. Chandran (a frequent collaborator with Sanjay Leela Bhansali) – the entirety of the film takes place in Delhi of a parallel universe, where it’s misty and chilly through the year. Given the state of Hindi cinema, it was hardly the most challenging leap-of-faith I’ve had to make – especially given how Puri’s film is almost immediately disarming.

Nawabuddin Saifuddin Rehman Rizvi or Babban (Vijay Varma) runs a down-on-its-luck printing press in Old Delhi, with his younger brother Jumman (Rohan Verma). The two brothers disagree on the future of the printing press, among the last of its kind for Urdu flyers, poetry and novels. Babban is the idealist, wanting to publish shayari (couplets) of a certain vintage; while Jumman is pragmatic enough to be open to entertaining pulpy, soft-porn novels. Whatever pays the bills, Babban won’t debase his father’s printing press – which taught ishq (love) to the youngsters, to suddenly pivot towards aashiqui (lust). Such is the flavour of the language in the film.

Learning about an unpublished poet from his father’s generation, Aziz Baig (Naseeruddin Shah) – who has recused himself to an anonymous life in Punjab – Babban sees it as a chance for him to revive the fortunes of his printing press by publishing something worthy. He makes his way to Punjab, where he befriends Aziz and convinces him to take him under his wing to teach him shayari. He also immediately falls for his daughter, Mannat (Fatima Sana Sheikh). What happens when Babban’s true intentions come out in front of Aziz, becomes the rest of the film.

Gustaakh Ishq is deliberately old school in many ways, where it’s naive enough to equate good poetry with saleable poetry.  As Babban schemes his way to Aziz’s heart, by being a dutiful shaagird (protégé), he loses his own heart to Mannat. Varma employs all the rakish charm to play the fool, the morally dubious individual, but he’s also that much more disarming in his scenes where he’s being sincere.

Fatima Sana Sheikh is luminous as a woman who has recently escaped an abusive marriage, keeping her guard up against Babban’s apparent wordless devotion towards her (captured wonderfully in the Vishal Bhardwaj song 'Ul Jalool Ishq', which plays during the montage). Naseeruddin Shah is immediately believable as the thespian, who rejects fame and prosperity as a way to repent for his indiscretions of his youth. It’s the portrait of a haunted man, who has made the distinction between his silver tongue and his dark deeds, therefore choosing to live the rest of his days in anonymity

A special word for the character for Jumman – the pragmatic, supportive brother, played wonderfully by Rohan Verma, who is never made out to be an outright villain. He’s as righteous in his stand in wanting to provide for his family, a younger sibling – who has had to step up after seeing Babban bumbling his way through life, causing the family to go into deeper debt.

After setting up the conflict, Puri’s film isn’t able to deliver the melodramatic highs of the genre. The film peters out with the flashback explaining Aziz’s reluctance to publish his poetry, Jumman is all but sidelined towards the end, and even Bhoore Attaichi (Sharib Hashmi) doesn’t get a mention. The always glorious Shashi Bhushan – playing the one of two Hindu characters in the film, as Babban’s lawyer tenant – is forgotten too.

It’s not the strongest of finishes, but I was surprised to find myself taken by the film’s effort to reclaim decency in a time when vitriol is the easier, more lucrative option. Vishal Bhardwaj’s ballads and Gulzar’s words legitimise this undertaking with a lot more feeling. As it played to the largely empty theatre I was in, I couldn’t help but see the film as a relic from a bygone era. But at least Puri and Malhotra tried to affect change, by putting the money where their mouths are.

*Gustaakh Ishq is playing in theatres

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