If you have forgotten ‘teri’ by the time you arrive at ‘jiya’ in Teri Baaton Mein Aisa Uljha Jiya, let me tell you that the film feels even longer. Convoluted, incoherent and unnecessary for a large part of its 143-minute runtime, this is the kind of film that robots could — and should — sue humans for making.

Humans and robots connecting and very often conflicting with each other has been an ever-growing genre in the West. Such films have either been played for laughs or built as a cautionary tale of how we need to use technology with care, often with kid gloves, and sometimes even both. Teri Baaton Mein Aisa Uljha Jiya doesn’t get either, or rather, any memo — inept writing, a scattered screenplay and surface-level treatment ensure that the film’s attempt to bunch together various genres falls flat. Is it ‘robot romance?’ Is it ‘robot comedy?’ It is ‘robot horror!’ Note: ‘horror’ is the operative word here.

Bringing together the pair of Shahid Kapoor and Kriti Sanon for the first time and directed by Amit Joshi and Aradhana Sah, Teri Baaton Mein Aisa Uljha Jiya kicks off with Shahid doing the most Kabir Singh thing possible — firing his domestic help. Thankfully, he doesn’t chase her out of the building, the rage in that film now settling for frustration of sorts at the maid’s inability to cook tofu correctly.

Shahid’s Aryan Agnihotri is the kind of 30-going-on-25 cool customer that Bollywood likes to paint its leading men in a romantic comedy. He is smart (robotics engineer hain, bhai!), he is keenly sought after by women he effortlessly rejects and he is a commitment-phobe. A trip to the US to meet his maasi (played by Dimple Kapadia) who also heads the company he works for, brings Aryan face-to-face with another ‘domestic help’ aka manager — except that it happens to be Kriti Sanon. Her name is Sifra.

The two hit it off. For Aryan, Sifra is the perfect partner — after all, she never questions anything he says and he can get her to do anything he wants. The two bond over puffing cigarettes and sharing slang words. By that time, you in the audience will have the Kabir Singh title music playing out very, very loudly in your head. Very soon, Aryan’s dream world — he develops “feelings” for a seemingly unemotional Sifra after one song and a single romp — crashes. He discovers that Sifra is a robot, short for ‘Super Intelligent Female Robert Automation.’

Films with robots mingling with humans have been attempted in Indian cinema before, with varying degrees of success. Shah Rukh Khan’s Ra.One and Rajinikanth’s Robot/ Enthiran are a case in point. In tone and treatment, Teri Baaton Mein Aisa Uljha Jiya is closer to Hamari Bahu Rajinikanth — a TV show in which a robot doubles as a bahu. Post interval, the film largely takes the Hindi soap route, with Aryan, by now hopelessly in love with Sifra, bringing her home to his big fat Indian family. He calls it a social experiment but before long, the two are seen getting ready to walk down the aisle. Trouble, of course, follows. By the time the film ends, you will find yourself quite done with both robots and humans.

This is a shame because this film, which is penned by its directors, had the potential to say a lot even in the garb of a comedy. Most of the jokes are deplorable — you are expected to laugh when a character nonchalantly spouts ‘harami bahu’ instead of ‘hamari bahu’ — and the chemistry between Shahid and Kriti is colder than the Arctic. It is only some sequences — the one in the police station and a small part of the climax where the robot goes rogue and turns into Bhool Bhulaiyaa’s Monjulika — which bring on a giggle or two. And, of course, something has to be said about the (purely unintentional, we think) meta-reference of Dharmendra — playing a patriarch with a ubiquitous glass in hand — lying in a hospital bed and asking for a drink. The rest of the film — except for Shahid’s much-missed smooth moves on the dance floor and Kriti’s not-a-hair-out-of-place picture-perfectness — is a drunken blur.

Priyanka Roy
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