For decades, popular cinema trained audiences to believe that love must be loud, painful, and consuming to be real. Grand gestures were applauded, persistence was romanticised, and emotional excess was framed as proof of devotion. Ek Deewane Ki Deewaniyat, now streaming on ZEE5 Global, revisits these long-standing cinematic myths — not to glorify them, but to dismantle them with unsettling clarity.
Directed by Milap Zaveri, the film presents a narrative that initially feels familiar, even comforting, before gradually revealing its darker truth. At its centre is Vikramaditya Bhonsle (played by Harshvardhan Rane), a powerful politician whose fixation on celebrated actress Adaa Randhawa (played by Sonam Bajwa) masquerades as passionate love. What unfolds is not a romance, but a cautionary tale about how obsession has long been mislabelled as devotion.
“Love does not demand oxygen,” the film seems to whisper. “It allows space to breathe.”
Obsession Disguised as Devotion
Vikramaditya’s pursuit of Adaa begins with familiar tropes: lavish flowers, dramatic declarations, and emotional vulnerability that borders on desperation. In older cinematic frameworks, these gestures would have been celebrated as proof of sincerity. Here, however, they feel intrusive, unwanted, and increasingly alarming.
The line between affection and control blurs quickly. Promises arrive without consent, emotions linger without invitation, and persistence morphs into surveillance. Statements like “I can’t live without you”, once sold as poetic romance, begin to echo as veiled threats.
The film quietly but firmly challenges viewers to ask an uncomfortable question: When does love stop being love and start becoming coercion?
Power, Privilege, and the Illusion of Choice
One of the film’s most unsettling layers is the imbalance of power. Vikramaditya is not just a lover — he is a politician whose influence hums beneath every interaction. Adaa’s refusal is never just emotional; it carries professional and personal consequences.
Cinema has long taught audiences to cheer when powerful men pursue relentlessly. Ek Deewane Ki Deewaniyat flips that narrative, exposing the fear that arises when consent is overshadowed by authority.
“In a world where power decides consequences,” the film suggests, “choice is never truly free.”
Intensity Is Not Intimacy
Vikramaditya’s emotions are overwhelming, relentless, and consuming. There is no gentleness, no quiet reassurance, no mutual care. As his intensity escalates, Adaa’s world begins to shrink — socially, emotionally, and psychologically.
The film confronts another deeply embedded myth: that intensity equals depth. Instead, it shows how constant emotional pressure suffocates rather than strengthens a relationship. True love, the narrative implies, expands one’s world; it does not cage it.
When Control Is Romanticised
Charm becomes camouflage. Concern transforms into entitlement. What Vikramaditya frames as protection gradually reveals itself as possession. Adaa’s agency erodes, her autonomy questioned, her independence viewed as betrayal.
For years, such behaviour was excused under the banner of deewaniyat — mad love. The film strips away that romantic gloss, exposing not destiny, but dread. It forces viewers to confront how easily society excuses control when it is wrapped in charisma.
Performances That Mirror Reality
Harshvardhan Rane delivers a performance that is particularly unsettling because of its restraint. His Vikramaditya transitions seamlessly from sincerity to menace, reflecting how real-world red flags often arrive smiling. Sonam Bajwa’s portrayal of Adaa anchors the film emotionally, her resistance becoming the moral spine of the narrative.
Through her perspective, deewaniyat is reframed not as passion, but as a warning — one that asks audiences to unlearn what romance once taught them to tolerate.
A Film for a More Conscious Audience
Ek Deewane Ki Deewaniyat arrives at a moment when conversations around consent, emotional abuse, and power dynamics are finally entering mainstream discourse. Rather than offering easy resolutions, the film leaves viewers unsettled — and intentionally so.
It does not shout its message. It lets discomfort do the work.
In doing so, the film becomes more than a story; it becomes a mirror, reflecting the dangerous ideas about love that cinema once sold — and society once accepted — without question.
