An analysis of the movie Kho Gaye Hum Kahan

Enter a Hindi movie, are you expecting something harsh? Melodrama, huh? Do You Lip Sync? Dancing? Action, dramatic fight scenes, unachievable beauty?

What if we shared daily life tales on Instagram, with you and me in our crammed city apartments, our morning and evening routines?


As three best friends, Imaad, Neil, and Ahana, negotiate life in Mumbai via Kho Gaye, you are a fly on the wall. They’re probably younger millennials than older Gen Z, at around 25 years old. Standing on the brink of two generations, the three are adjusting to new roles that are thrust upon them without their consent and questioning their place in the world on a daily basis.

If you come from a wealthy background, is “following your passion” as a stand-up comedy rebellious or is getting a corporate career after earning an MBA and finding a reliable partner the “right thing”? Is Neil trying to break free from the stigma of being a “middle class” person by bodybuilding and training Bollywood stars?

Their bond is unwavering despite their fears. Till that too, to a little bit, is caused by bottled-up tensions.

Kho Gaye, co-written by Zoya Akhtar, Reema Kagti, and first-time feature director Arjun Varain Singh himself, can be summed up as those incredibly fast zoom-in shots that begin with a satellite high above in the exosphere, descend quickly to Earth, and only stop when they reach a person looking at pictures of satellites in the ecosphere on their phone. An unhurried examination of its effects over a brief period of time, solely as they impact the three individuals on screen, replaces the bigger picture. Speaking by putting it down for a moment.

An analysis of the movie Kho Gaye Hum Kahan
An analysis of the movie Kho Gaye Hum Kahan

The contradiction that exists between our online and real-life selves is nothing new; in fact, I imagine that numerous anthropological studies have addressed it. It’s also common knowledge that Hindi films typically do a terrible job of capturing social media use. If it isn’t completely disregarded, you almost always see someone upload a funny video that becomes viral right away.Every time I see it, I cringe.

“You have gone VIRAL!” The protagonists’ interaction with social media is the most realistic and, consequently, effective I’ve seen in recent years because to the much younger writer and director behind Kho Gaye. The opening credits montage, which is set to the amazing song Hone Do Jo Hota Hai, is actually the closest Bollywood has come to mastering the social media montage. The three characters’ shared real-life experiences reflect the medium’s ephemeral yet eternal quality.

Where Kho Gaye falters is in her apparent desperation to convey her point—almost as if she’s thinking, “Logon ko samajh aayega kya?” After discovering that her ex-boyfriend has blocked her on Instagram, Ahana shouts, “You’ve blocked me,” out loud to no one. It’s a bothersome little crutch that she doesn’t need right now.

Neil “hacks” into an influencer’s Instagram account by speculating on her password and shares a tale that sounds more like Javed Akhtar than he does. Aside from that, and this is just to be picky, an influencer with a million followers would probably be able to tell that anything is wrong with her account in a number of ways; only a real hacker could successfully access and remain inside. The parts with the stand-up comedy are the worst.

Siddhant Chaturvedi isn’t completely credible as a man who delivers jokes for a job, even though he receives instruction from the incredibly charming comic Sapan Verma. Why the actual stand-up comedy is the worst part of fictional shows and movies where stand-up comedy is a significant plot thread is a mystery to me. It almost seems as though screenwriters and performers don’t really comprehend what stand-up comedy is all about—that is, performing on a stage and reciting prepared lines.


Sharing screen time with Adarsh Gourav, who is always a delight to see, contrasts regrettably with Siddhant Chaturvedi’s lack of preparation for the role. Neil’s less wealthy than the others, but not the one with the most stakes in the outcome, is Adarsh. He continues to live with his parents in their supposedly Bandra district of Mumbai, a house that is gloomy and somewhat dilapidated but is still theirs. The movie attempts to examine, through Neil, what makes an internet troll—someone who takes pleasure in robbing others of their happiness—and how they come to be.

Sadly, it appears that the writers are unsure whether or not the audience will understand what they are trying to convey. Not only does Neil, when he gets angry, leave anonymous comments on posts made by people he knows, but Sonakshi Sinha and Karan Johar, too, for no apparent reason? We are fortunate that Adarsh is such a talented actor because, although the incident’s unintentional comedy could have pulled you out of the picture, you remain in it as long as the camera is focused on Adarsh.

Ananya Pandey gives the performance of her career as Ahana; it is obvious that the actor put a lot of effort into the part. The writer is particularly sympathetic to Ahana since, in addition to facing societal constraints that males her age simply do not, she will also face the possibility of losing her work if things go wrong.

Imaad can go on as many dates as he wants, but after Ahana shares a tale on Instagram about one particular occasion, her ex-husband goes to considerable measures to stake a claim on it. The movie most identifies with Ahana, and for good reason—despite the fact that it isn’t quite realistic for a stunning lady like Pandey to play a character who has never considered sharing lovely photographs online.

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