New Delhi:
There’s something oddly fascinating about rewatching old Bollywood films – especially the ones we once adored – only to realise they haven’t just aged poorly, they’ve practically fossilised in outdated ideas. Vipul Shah’s directorial Namastey London (2007) is one such film.
When viewed through today’s Gen-Z lens, its glossy exterior reveals a disturbing undercurrent of regressive ideas that have no place in modern storytelling.
Back in the day, it charmed audiences with its picturesque visuals, feel-good romance, and that iconic patriotic monologue. But when you strip away the nostalgia and Himesh Reshammiya’s stellar soundtrack, what’s left is a film that reeks of regressive ideas, casual misogyny, and troubling stereotypes masquerading as romance.
It’s the cinematic equivalent of finding an old, once-trendy jacket in your closet – only to realise it’s got some seriously problematic patches you hadn’t noticed before.
Namastey London follows Jasmeet “Jazz” Singh (Katrina Kaif), a British-Indian woman who embodies what Bollywood once considered a “bad girl.” She drinks, wears short dresses, and, heaven forbid, makes her own choices.
Her traditional father (Rishi Kapoor) disapproves of her lifestyle and in classic overbearing dad fashion, manipulates her into visiting Punjab. Once there, he tricks her into marrying Arjun (Akshay Kumar), a simple Punjabi farmer who embodies the stereotypical “true Indian.”
The twist? Jazz declares the marriage invalid once they return to London, continuing to date her wealthy British boyfriend, Charlie (Clive Standen). Meanwhile, Arjun patiently hovers in the background, determined to win her over.
On the surface, this sounds like a harmless rom-com about cultural clashes. But look closer, and it’s clear the film’s moral compass is skewed heavily in favour of patriarchy.
Jazz, despite being an adult woman, is treated like a rebellious child throughout. Her father not only disregards her autonomy but also arranges a forced marriage – an illegal and deeply problematic act that the film romanticises.
The narrative paints Jazz as arrogant and misguided for daring to have a personality outside of what’s deemed ‘acceptable’ by Indian cultural norms. Meanwhile, Arjun – the supposed hero – spends most of the film ignoring her boundaries, mistaking persistence for romance.
One particularly disturbing scene sees Arjun drunkenly corner Jazz in the middle of the night, pinning her to a wall and covering her mouth. In any real-life context, this would be considered harassment. Yet the film glosses over this, framing Arjun as a well-intentioned romantic who’s just too ‘passionate’ about his feelings.
Jazz’s resistance is treated not as a valid response to being stalked and manipulated, but as a phase she must grow out of. The message is loud and clear: men know best, and women – no matter how independent – just need to be ‘guided’ by a persistent enough suitor.
The film’s deep-rooted misogyny isn’t limited to Jazz. Her mother is written off as a passive figure, constantly belittled by her husband. She’s mocked for not knowing English, reinforcing the idea that her role is to be silent and submissive.
The father’s behavior is emotionally abusive, yet the film justifies it as ‘good parenting.’ The narrative expects viewers to sympathise with a man who slut-shames his daughter, bullies his wife and forces his adult child into an unwanted marriage, all in the name of tradition.
Even the film’s portrayal of Western culture feels offensively simplistic. British characters are reduced to caricatures – arrogant, classist snobs designed to make Indian values seem morally superior.
The iconic “Mr. Pringle” monologue, where Arjun passionately defends India’s achievements, feels less like a celebration of Indian heritage and more like a nationalist jab disguised as feel-good patriotism. The underlying message seems to be that the West corrupts, while India preserves purity – a narrative that erases the complexities of diaspora identities and instead paints cultural differences in black and white.
Perhaps most frustrating is how Namastey London romanticises control. Jazz’s eventual decision to abandon her life in London and move to Arjun’s village isn’t treated as a compromise but as her ‘realising’ her father and Arjun were right all along.
Her dreams, her independence and her own understanding of love are dismissed in favour of an idealised version of womanhood – one that fits neatly within traditional, patriarchal norms.
The film’s problematic undertones are wrapped in glossy cinematography, catchy music and charming performances, which makes its outdated messaging even more insidious.
Akshay Kumar’s charismatic performance almost tricks you into rooting for Arjun’s toxic persistence, while Katrina Kaif’s portrayal of Jazz is so natural that her eventual ‘taming’ feels like a betrayal of the character’s earlier strength.
18 years later, Namastey London stands as a reminder of how Bollywood once viewed women, relationships and identity. What was once marketed as a heartwarming love story now feels like an unsettling relic of regressive ideals.
For a generation that values consent, autonomy and mutual respect in relationships, Namastey London is less of a romantic classic and more of a cautionary tale – a reminder that not all nostalgia deserves a comeback.
