Dubai: One of my biggest gripes with relationship comedies is when directors play it safe, wrapping things up with a neat, sugary ending. To me, that feels like cinematic laziness. Thankfully, Aarti S. Bagdi avoids that trap in Abir Gulaal. Without giving away spoilers, she embraces the natural messiness of love, letting it unfold authentically. The result is a rom-com that may feel predictable, almost like a bedtime tale, yet remains entertaining enough to keep you laughing and invested in its leads.
Not Your Simple Daddy’s Girl
Enter Vaani Kapoor as a modern-day Simran, but this one isn’t running through mustard fields. She’s armed with privilege, platinum cards, and a rebellious streak that drives her conservative father crazy. He’s already drafting her marriage like a business deal, convinced he knows what’s best.
But she’s not the silent, simmering type we usually see. Instead, she’s clumsy, impulsive, and often a full-blown mess who mistakes tantrums for charm. Spoiled? Definitely. Fun to watch? Surprisingly, yes.
FAKE NEWS ALERT!
— Kanchan Gupta 🇮🇳 (@KanchanGupta) September 13, 2025
No clearance / Certificate has been granted for the release of 'Aabeer Gulaal' starring Pakistani actor Fawad Khan. As of now there shall be no clearance/certificate for the release of any film starring Pakistani actors. pic.twitter.com/j1nYhue6Rg
Lehenga in London
This is where Abir Gulaal leans into its unintentional comedy gold. When Daddy’s financial tap runs dry, our heroine sets out to “make it” in London by reinventing herself as—wait for it—a Bollywood dance teacher. That’s her grand survival plan. Cue Vaani Kapoor gliding through the city in ornate lehengas, schooling bewildered Londoners on the art of the thumka. It’s so absurd, it’s brilliant—the kind of career move that could only exist in rom-com logic. Independence? Sure, but only while dressed like she’s en route to a wedding reception at Heathrow Terminal 3. And yet, this very ridiculousness keeps the film buoyant even when the script starts wobbling.
Adding to the charm, she picks up an internship at a trendy restaurant run by Abir—played by a smoldering Fawad Khan. Their early interactions are all sharp banter laced with irritation, equal parts prickly and flirty. Sparks don’t just fly; they stutter, stall, and reignite, giving their chemistry the slow-burn quality of a sauce that’s been left to reduce just right.
Fired, Humbled, and Hungry
Naturally, she manages to push him too far and ends up fired. With Daddy cutting her off and credit cards hitting their limit, our pampered princess suddenly discovers that independence requires more than snappy one-liners and a designer wardrobe. This part of the film clicks because it lets Vaani stumble in ways that feel authentic—even if her hardships are still draped in couture. Think of it as Simran 2.0, only with a father who bankrolls her… until he doesn’t.
Chemistry Check
Let’s get the obvious out of the way: Fawad Khan’s dazzling smile could have its own IMDb page, and Vaani Kapoor’s sculpted frame nearly steals the spotlight. But the real surprise? Their chemistry works. They spar, tease, and smolder with an ease that feels genuine. Instead of syrupy, cookie-cutter romance, what we get is messy, a little bratty, and all the more refreshing for it.
The bloat problem
Here’s where the film falters: editing, or rather, the lack of it. Abir Gulaal is bloated, padded with unnecessary segues that drag the runtime. Lisa Haydon’s cameo is the biggest offender-it adds nothing, apart from reminding us that Bollywood can’t resist shoehorning in familiar faces. A tighter cut would have sharpened the storytelling and saved us from mid-movie fidgeting.
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Last 15 Minutes: Chef’s kiss
But oh, those final 15 minutes. Bagdi saves her boldest moves for the end, and it pays off. Without spilling spoilers, the climax doesn’t fold into an easy, rom-com cliché.
It takes a risk, embraces imperfection, and delivers a finale that lingers. Add to that an extended cameo from an actor who nearly steals the entire show-you’ll know who I mean when you see it. It’s the kind of scene that makes you forget the film’s indulgent middle act. Visually, Abir Gulaalis glossy, almost Instagram-filtered.
London is shot like a lifestyle ad-gleaming streets, designer coffee shops, and food porn that looks too perfect to eat. The soundtrack is peppy, though a couple of numbers feel shoehorned in just to let Vaani dance around in sequins. Not that anyone’s complaining, but it does dilute the narrative pace.
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