I wasn't even born when Mohabbatein released, and today, it turns 25. It's funny how some movies travel to us long after their time.
Mohabbatein, released in 2000, belonged to that era of butterfly clips, Y2K sarees, and an almost obsessive belief that love should hurt, that it must hurt, in order to be meaningful.
I grew up hearing about the film like a cultural relic: the forbidden love movie, the violins of Yash Raj romance, the era of dupattas flying for no reason.
So when I watched it now in 2025, in a world where we talk about boundaries, agency, emotional labour, and healing instead of pining endlessly, I couldn't help but see the film differently. Some parts feel beautifully nostalgic, almost comforting. Others feel like... well, that boyfriend you look back at and think: I was really defending THAT?
The Aesthetic That Raised Us
Let's start with the good. Because there is good. The film's atmosphere is coated in golden nostalgia: dreamy campus lawns drenched in morning mist, violins that instantly tug at the heart, that iconic mandolin, and the slow-motion glances.
And the music? Still sensational. Humko Hum Hi Se Chura Lo, Pairon Mein Bandhan Hai, Aankhein Khuli, they've aged beautifully, even if the pacing hasn't. The songs are the emotional backbone of the film, and honestly, the reason it's still remembered.
The performances hold their place, too. Shah Rukh Khan is in peak philosopher-lover mode - the soft rebellion, the pain behind the smile.
Amitabh Bachchan is all icy command and internal conflict. And Aishwarya Rai Bachchan, even in flashback form, is luminous enough to justify a memory living forever.
But The Core Is... Complicated
The film romanticises some deeply unhealthy emotional patterns. Not small issues, fundamental ones. Let's address the part that doesn't age well: the ideology. The film glorifies sacrifice as love, suffering as loyalty and dying for love as the ultimate romantic gesture.
Aishwarya's character Megha takes her life because her father disapproves of her relationship. And the film treats this as noble, poetic, almost aspirational and as a proof of the depth of her love - when, actually, it's trauma.
Gen-Z Today? We Go To Therapy
We call this trauma, not romance. There are other problems too. Female agency is nearly absent. Women don't choose, they react. They exist to inspire love, not to define it.
Love is equated with persistence, even when boundaries are clearly stated. This can easily slide into obsession masked as devotion.
Men are philosophical revolutionaries; women are emotional symbols. It's the old hierarchy of narrative importance (just dressed beautifully).
Watching it today, it's impossible not to think: Love shouldn't require you to destroy your life to prove its sincerity.
The Cultural Double-Exposure
And here's the thing: the film is still beloved. Not because of its messaging, but because of its mood.
We rewatch it the way we re-read old love letters: with tenderness, awareness, and the ability to see what we didn't see back then.
This is a movie that taught earlier generations to hurt beautifully and taught ours to question why we thought hurting was beautiful in the first place. Both truths can coexist.
So, Where Do We Stand Today?
Mohabbatein at 25 is a weirdly beautiful contradiction. It's emotionally lush, visually dreamy, musically unforgettable. Yet deeply steeped in ideas of love that do not age well.
Watching it today feels like flipping through an old diary - you recognise the naivety, the intensity, the hunger to be chosen, to be fought for. But you also recognise the pain of romanticising loss, silence, and sacrifice.
We've learned to articulate love better now. We talk. We set boundaries. We choose ourselves.
So yes, I wasn't born when Mohabbatein was released. But maybe that's why watching it now feels important. It reminds us where we came from, and how far we've come.
We still want the violins. We just don't want the heartbreak to be the price.
