Director - Avinash Das 
Cast - Jaaved Jaaferi, Vivaan Shah, Avantika Dassani, Sushant Singh, Istiyak Khan and Veenay Bhasskar
Duration – 100 Minutes 
 
Imagine walking down the narrow, bustling lanes of Lucknow, where the air smells of freshly brewed chai, sizzling kebabs, and, well… the faint whiff of political drama that’s been brewing for far too long. Welcome to Inn Galiyon Mein, a film that tries to capture the sweet, spicy essence of communal harmony—like a perfect cup of chai—until someone spills the sugar, and suddenly it’s just hot, bitter tea with existential questions.
 
Directed by Avinash Das, this film sets up a story that’s as old as time: Hindu-Muslim unity, disrupted by the grand arrival of politics, aka Mr. Ajay Tiwari (played by Sushant Singh), the kind of guy who’d sell you an umbrella on a sunny day just to later convince you it’s because of “climate change.” You know the type—always lurking around with a smile that’s one bad tweet away from becoming a scandal.
 
Now, let’s talk about Mirza (Jaaved Jaaferi), the local tea-stall owner who’s basically the Gandalf of this film—wise, witty, and knows everything about everyone, except how to avoid political storms. Mirza serves chai with a side of poetry, wisdom, and just the right sprinkle of “I told you so.” If wisdom had a face, it’d probably look like Jaaved Jaaferi’s—with a beard that’s seen more history than your college textbooks. His one-liners are sharper than the edge of a samosa, and his character is the film’s true MVP, holding together the plot like a tattered old dupatta—fragile but functional.
 
Enter Hariya (Vivaan Shah), the veggie vendor who’s more obsessed with Instagram reels than actual vegetables. Yes, because nothing says “serious drama” like a guy trying to get the perfect angle for his carrot selfies. His love story with Shabbo (Avantika Dassani) is like adding pineapple to a pizza—unexpected, slightly confusing, and makes you question your life choices. Shabbo, the orphan with a heart of gold and a ‘no-nonsense’ attitude, repeatedly dismisses Hariya’s advances with the grace of someone who’s heard this pickup line more times than she’s had chai. Their romance feels like an extra subplot thrown in just because someone thought, “Hey, what if we added some unnecessary teenage angst?”
 
Now, here comes the twist—the local politician, Ajay Tiwari, whose main job is to stir the pot (and not the chai pot, sadly). His scenes are a masterclass in “How to Look Menacing While Holding a Tea Cup.” His henchmen are like those sidekicks in Bollywood films who don’t really do much but stand around, flexing their muscles as if they’re auditioning for a fitness ad. The film tries to show how politics infiltrates the simplest of communities, but instead, it feels like a stray mosquito buzzing around—annoying but not exactly groundbreaking.
 
While Inn Galiyon Mein attempts to be the cinematic equivalent of a heartfelt ‘Yaari’ song, it occasionally stumbles into cliché territory. The film’s core message—brotherhood, unity, and the loss of simple joys due to political interference—is solid. But the execution? Let’s just say it’s like trying to dance to a song with two left feet. The film drags its feet through the romantic subplot, as if it’s wondering, “Do we really need this?” Spoiler: We don’t.
 
That said, Mirza’s poetic wisdom and the casual charm of Lucknow’s streets make up for some of the film’s missteps. The dialogue feels authentic, the setting is picturesque, and Jaaved Jaaferi’s performance is like that perfect cup of chai—you might not need it, but you’ll be glad you had it.
 
Inn Galiyon Mein is like that street chai you get from the corner vendor: it has its moments, it’s warm, comforting, and occasionally, it makes you wonder if you’re missing out on something better.