Tumhare Husn Ke Naam – purely for the romantic at heart

By Maliha Rehman

Watching Tumhare Husn Ke Naam on Green Entertainment is akin to immersing yourself into an old-world romance novel. There are promises made and broken, tears and regrets, wistful memories of what could have been and heartrending moments slowly inching towards what one hopes will be a happy ending. There is a beautiful background score moving the story along, an ensemble of brilliant performers taking center stage and the romantic structures of old Lahore forming the backdrop.

The story moves at its own pace and it is so expertly told by director Saqib Khan and writers Sarah Qayyum and Umera Ahmed that you don’t get impatient, don’t want it to end. It is also told intelligently and sensitively. There may be a toxic husband wreaking havoc but his violence isn’t highlighted. A mean, supercilious mother-in-law does surface but her scenes are only part of the narrative when required. There is a jealous, double-dealing best friend who ends up being an obstacle in the path of true love and there are scenes where she seethes, paces her room, thinks out evil schemes – but, again, the story doesn’t relish her evil side, only keeping her on board for as long as she is necessary.

By shrugging away the usual mass-centric tropes adopted by most local dramas and putting focus on emotions and the various shades to its motley crew of characters, Tumhare Husn Ke Naam sets itself apart.

The story spans decades, progressing from a youthful college romance to the maturity of adulthood, from hope to despondency. Saba Qamar is Salma and Imran Abbas is Sikandar, she is from a wealthy household and he is the impoverished son of a widow. They are art students in the same university and a poem written by him, titled Tumhare Husn Ke Naam, brings them together. Together, they talk about poetry and art and walk through Lahore’s lush web of gardens with fog descending around them. You end up falling in love with them.

But of course, the story’s just started. Salma’s father, enacted by Salman Shahid, puts a spanner in the works. And then, her best friend Muneeza, played by Sidra Niazi, stabs her in the back and makes things worse. Asad Siddiqui steps into the scene as Salma’s abusive, vindictive husband. The years go by. The two remain separated – only to unite when they are much older. He is now a widower, she, a divorcee, and they contemplate finally living the rest of their years together when their children, now grown-up, end up falling in love with each other.

Yet again, Salma and Sikandar ponder over parting ways – this time, for the sake of their children.

The story is still continuing and there are new twists in every successive episode. But right from the start, the most special scenes in Tumhare Husn Ke Naam have been between Imran Abbas and Saba Qamar. Both actors have performed brilliantly and and more significantly, the chemistry between Sikandar and Salma is – at the risk of sounding repetitive – the stuff of hit romances. The wistful glances, the anguish, the poetic declarations are all so utterly poignant, particularly when Sikandar and Salma reunite. They have graying hair – she is gorgeous, wearing saris, kurtas in monochrome and statement jewelry and he looks sophisticated, bespectacled, dressed in high-collared kurtas and austere suits. Once again, the characters fit so well together – you just really want to see their happy ending.

“Tum bahar ka waada kar rahay ho, bahar kay baad khizan bhi aati hai,” Salma says to Sikandar when he proposes that they spend the rest of their years together. She says it tremulously, her eyes widened, with violins playing in the background.

Later, one scene that stands out for its artistry is of Salma musing over her future while standing on the rooftop of her house. There are odds and ends scattered about the space and spreading out its branches, canopy-like, is a beautiful, age-old tree in the background.

From the dialogues to the storytelling and the performances, Tumhare Husn Ke Naam is very romantic, very poetic. And you remember it all till much later.