By Shreya Gupta
Illustrated by Jessica Chan
For years, Bollywood has struggled to deliver a true romantic hit – one with dazzling stars, addictive music, and that essential rollercoaster of emotions that leaves you wrecked and glowing all at once. Nothing will ever replace the films I grew up on, such as Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara and Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, but Saiyaara comes close. The name itself, meaning “a solitary wandering star” in Urdu and Arabic, captures the film’s soul perfectly.
I’ll admit, writing this review was partly an excuse to rewatch Saiyaara for the fourth time. But I fully intend to convince you all to watch it – Bollywood lovers and newbies alike.
As the most-watched non-English film on Netflix right now, Saiyaara marks the debut of Ahaan Panday and Aneet Padda. And please, ignore the “nepo baby” accusations about Ahaan – I genuinely believe he has so much potential (and I’m not just saying that because he’s extremely handsome). Their on-screen chemistry makes it hard not to hope we’ve finally found this generation’s Alia Bhatt and Varun Dhawan. The two have since confirmed they’re dating in real life, which only proves how real that chemistry felt.
The film follows Krish Kapoor, an arrogant yet gifted rockstar, and Vaani Batra, a shy but inspired songwriter. Their collaboration turns into both creative and emotional upheaval. Vaani’s songwriting in the film is what I believe made this movie one of the highest-grossing romantic films in Indian cinematic history. The film’s lyrics are pure poetry, easily the most moving since Ae Dil Hai Mushkil. (And yes, before any Saiyaara fans come for me – Dhun is the best song. No competition.)
Without spoiling the huge plot twist, the kind that made the entire cinema gasp, I’ll admit the premise sounds familiar: tortured genius meets quiet muse, sparks fly, chaos follows. But Saiyaara transforms that cliché into something deeper.
Disclaimer: I am a romantic, so the following statement may be incredibly biased: It’s a portrait of unconditional love and the devastating beauty of emotional vulnerability.
Critics have called the film slow, predictable, and even toxic. I disagree. Saiyaara isn’t about glorifying heartbreak – it’s about the process of making art that moves people. The film doubles as a quiet critique of today’s “mass-produced” pop, reminding us that music can still be personal and transcendent.
At its heart, Saiyaara isn’t just a love story – it’s a reminder of Bollywood’s power to blend art, music, and emotion into something timeless.
The dialogue, especially Vaani’s description of Krish as a Saiyaara, captures this perfectly:
“A wandering star among stars, it travels as if it seeks something. The star is alone, but its shine brings light to everyone.”
Despite her own personal challenges (no spoilers, I promise), Vaani helps Krish rediscover purpose and self-belief, demonstrated by both of their sacrifice and devotion. Even if you’re not a crier, I’d bet you’ll give in by the end.
In a time when too many films rely on spectacle, Saiyaara dares to slow down – to let silence, melody, and vulnerability do the talking. It’s not perfect, but maybe that’s why it feels so real. And this is precisely why I fell in love with Bollywood in the first place. Now the only question is… Mohit Suri, when do we get Saiyaara 2?
