A Nice Indian Boy : The Easiest Thing to Believe in is Love

A Nice Indian Boy – A film that made me laugh, cry, and rewatch DDLJ

I watched A Nice Indian Boy at the Toronto International Film Festival, expecting a breezy romantic comedy. What I got instead was a soulful, funny, and emotionally layered story that felt deeply personal like someone had quietly unpacked years of cultural nuance, identity struggles, and unspoken family truths and wrapped them up in this sweet, warm-hearted film.

The movie opens with the crackle of excitement that only an Indian wedding can bring: Arundhati’s wedding, to be exact. And not just any wedding, but one that kicks off with Badtameez Dil- a song that’s practically an anthem for big, messy Indian celebrations. It’s a crisp, energetic start that sets the stage perfectly: this is going to be a story rooted in tradition, but not afraid to challenge it.

From the very beginning, what stands out is how beautifully the characters are sketched. Naveen (played by Karan Soni) is a doctor, a dutiful son, and a soft-spoken man trying to reconcile the life he’s built with the love he’s found. Soni’s performance is quietly powerful - he doesn’t need big gestures to make you feel his conflict. His eyes do the heavy lifting, and in scene after scene, they speak volumes. You can see the nervousness, the hesitation, the hope- all flickering just beneath the surface.

And that nervous energy turns into pure comedy gold in one of my favorite scenes- when Naveen explains his romance to his friend Paul, complete with a DDLJ-esque breakdown of Indian family expectations, dramatic dialogues, and even the “train moment.” It’s hilarious, but also a smart way to show how much Bollywood has shaped our ideas of love- whether we admit it or not. I found myself chuckling and then opening YouTube to watch DDLJ clips again. The nostalgia was real.

Naveen’s relationship with Jay (Jonathan Groff) unfolds slowly, delicately. One standout scene is at a party with Jay’s friends. Naveen, the doctor in a sea of creative, confident personalities, clearly feels out of place. The camera captures this beautifully- framing Naveen just slightly apart, his polite smile trying to mask discomfort. It’s such a simple technique, but it drives home how isolating it can feel to step into someone else’s world. Yet even in those moments, there’s a quiet tenderness between the two leads. Groff brings charm and calmness to Jay, anchoring the story with a subtle strength that plays perfectly off Soni’s vulnerability.

One of the most emotionally charged moments comes in a bar scene, where Naveen talks about his “dream wedding.” He’s nervous, his voice cracking slightly, unsure how it will be received. It’s a beautiful, heartfelt monologue- and Soni plays it with such restraint that you can’t help but lean in. You feel his yearning.

And then comes the proposal- subtle, heartfelt, and framed with perfect background music. There’s no over-the-top drama. It’s intimate, thoughtful, and real. It’s the kind of moment you wish more rom-coms would allow: a quiet declaration of love, surrounded by the people who matter.

But not everyone is ready to celebrate.

The family meetup is where things take a turn. There’s comedy- of course. The confusion, the trying-too-hard pleasantries, the awkward silences. But bubbling beneath the surface is something far more complex. Arundhati, Naveen’s elder sister, is not just witnessing her brother break traditions- she’s watching him live with a freedom she herself never had. Her own marriage is on the verge of falling apart, and sitting across from a same-sex couple planning a wedding only highlights everything missing in her life.

When the emotions boil over, it’s not just a dramatic outburst- it’s years of suppression cracking open. Her anger, sadness, and confusion turn the family dinner into a whirlwind of emotions. Lies come undone, frustrations spill out, and Naveen storms off- not to rebel, but to breathe. To grieve. To recover. It’s a deeply moving scene, where everyone is both right and wrong at the same time.

But just when you think the film might end on a bitter note, it finds its heart again- this time, at Naveen’s wedding.

In one of the most poignant moments of the film, Naveen’s mother gives a speech. It’s simple, yet powerful:

“In a marriage, love only grows with time.”

It lands like a quiet truth. A moment of pure grace. And it’s more than just a blessing for the couple- it’s a message to everyone in the room, including Arundhati. That even when things fall apart, love has a way of enduring. Of growing. Of healing.

And then, the final scene: a dance to Jalebi Baby. Unfiltered joy. Watching Naveen dance- fully himself, surrounded by family and friends- is the kind of ending that stays with you. It’s not about perfection. It’s about acceptance. About being seen. About dancing anyway, even if you once felt out of place.

 A Nice Indian Boy is not just a romantic comedy. It’s a story about the intersections of love, culture, and identity. It’s about family- the ones we’re born into and the ones we choose. It’s about pain and joy, tradition and rebellion, and everything in between.

Because in the end, the easiest thing to believe in: is love.