Bollywood loves its North-meets-South romances. We’ve seen them in Ek Duuje Ke Liye (1981), Hum Hain Rahi Pyar Ke (1993), and 2 States (2014), where cultural clashes act as shorthand for conflict. But let’s set those aside.
For now, let’s consider Chennai Express (2013) and Param Sundari (2025). From train journeys to tech apps, the formula has barely evolved. To understand why Chennai Express became memorable while Param Sundari already feels disposable, we must look not at action sequences or algorithms, but at how their characters were written.
Chennai Express may have been a cartoonish masala film, but its leads are written with psychological specificity.
Rahul (Shah Rukh Khan) isn’t just a coward; his avoidance of responsibility is rooted in a lifetime of comfort and fear of inadequacy. Meenamma (Deepika Padukone) isn’t just “fiery”; her rebellion against her father’s control comes from surviving in a patriarchal environment while maintaining cultural pride. Their quirks, fears, and choices feel consistent with who they are.
Param Sundari, in contrast, builds its characters from labels, not layers. Param (Sidharth Malhotra) is privileged and tech-obsessed because the script says so, but his arrogance has no deeper underpinning. Sundari (Janhvi Kapoor) is positioned as “tradition” personified—hardworking, dutiful, culturally rooted—but she’s written more as a concept than a contradiction-filled human being.
In Chennai Express, Rahul’s immaturity makes sense once you understand his stagnant bachelorhood and avoidance patterns. Meenamma’s survival instincts are shaped by years under her father’s thumb. Backstory isn’t an info-dump; it animates their present decisions.
In Param Sundari, backstory is inert. Param’s privilege is an accessory, not a lived pattern of behavior. Sundari’s cultural grounding serves surface imagery, not interior truth. Neither past really dictates the present.
Meenamma gave us “Kaha se kharidi aisi bakwaas dictionary?”—a line that captures her wit, bilingual playfulness, and refusal to take Rahul’s nonsense. Even Rahul’s “Don’t underestimate the power of a common man” landed as thematic prophecy.
Now try recalling a Sundari line. You can’t. She was never written with a linguistic fingerprint. Graceful, yes—but silent grace is not verbal identity.
What hurts most in weak storytelling is when characters aren’t driven by clearly defined motives colliding with conflicts. Engagement lives in that collision—it’s the E = MC² of narrative physics.
Rahul’s cowardice only becomes gripping when it runs headlong into duels and gangsters. Meenamma’s independence sharpens when her loyalty to family pushes against her desire for freedom. In Param Sundari, growth is outsourced to circumstance. Param’s arc is cultural education through embarrassment; Sundari’s is choosing one suitor over another. These are situations, not psychological collisions, and that absence makes the story lighter than it should be.
For an audience to stay invested, choices must carry weight.
In Chennai Express, Meenamma lying about Rahul being her lover drags him into mortal danger. Rahul’s decision to fight Tangaballi is the culmination of his arc from passive man to active protector. The consequences feel irreversible.
In Param Sundari, the stakes are softer. At worst, Param risks looking foolish at a temple festival. Sundari risks mild family disapproval. Obstacles are misunderstandings, not existential tests.
The soulmate sub-genre demands psychological incompleteness:
- An emptiness only the other can fill
- Recognition beyond logic
- Willingness to risk everything
- Cosmic obstacles that feel fated
Chennai Express wasn’t even marketed as a soulmate film, yet Rahul and Meenamma embody those traits. He’s incomplete until she drags him onto the train. She finds someone she can finally trust. Their destinies feel cosmic.
Param Sundari loudly sells itself on an AI soulmate app, yet neither Param nor Sundari feels incomplete without the other. Their connection develops through proximity, not inevitability. Plausible, but not fated.
Characters should surprise us without contradicting what’s been established.
In Chennai Express, revelations feel earned. Rahul’s humor remains his armor even as he grows braver. Meenamma’s sarcasm continues to mask vulnerability. Their change is additive: bravery doesn’t erase fear; trust doesn’t erase independence.
In Param Sundari, growth looks like lesson plans. Param makes errors, gets corrected, and is reformed by the final act. Sundari’s emotional shifts are framed by family approval rather than inner conflict. The arc feels like a course completed, not a messy transformation lived.
Masala cinema doesn’t claim to be subtle. It gives you set pieces, physical jeopardy, loud stakes. A skilled writer uses those elements to reveal psyche. Chennai Express turns fights and chases into crucibles: Rahul’s clumsiness reveals panic; Meenamma’s athletic confidence shows competence. Songs double as internal monologues.
Param Sundari treats rom-com conventions—meet-cute, cultural missteps, family intervention—as obligations. Festivals, app glitches, and etiquette lessons are plot devices, not opportunities to rupture beliefs. The result is tidy, but it limits the characters’ truth.
Chennai Express uses physical humor to extend psychology. Rahul’s flailing isn’t just slapstick—it shows how he handles threat. Meenamma’s athleticism conveys agency.
In Param Sundari, physical comedy is situational. Param’s mishaps show poor cultural fluency but not inner fear. Sundari’s poise is aesthetic, not psychological.
Complex arcs move on multiple axes. Gains coexist with trade-offs.
Chennai Express delivers multidimensional change. Rahul moves from avoidance to responsibility while retaining humor. Meenamma learns trust without losing independence. Their arcs resolve with tension intact.
Param Sundari offers a single-track arc: ignorance to sensitivity, shallow to sincere. The resolution is tidy, safe, and low-friction. Apologies made, rituals performed, approval secured—satisfying enough for rom-com, but not transformative.
A film that understands theme matches obstacles to inner needs.
Chennai Express externalizes inner stakes. If courage and destiny are the theme, then mortal danger, family honor, and violent masculinity are apt obstacles. Tangaballi is a dark mirror of Rahul’s worst impulses.
Param Sundari posits destiny through algorithms, but its obstacles—etiquette slips, suitors, app glitches—undermine soulmate logic. These are educational problems, not cosmic ones.
Chennai Express thrives on subtext. Rahul’s bravado hides anxiety. Meenamma’s banter hides fear. Scenes run on multiple levels: comedy, flirtation, confession.
Param Sundari leans literal. Conversations explain culture or advance plot. Emotional beats are stated, not implied. Subtext is faint.
Chennai Express achieves something practical with its exaggeration: characters strong enough to survive spectacle. Param Sundari modernizes the rom-com template but designs characters to fit situations rather than be haunted by them.
The difference is simple. Chennai Express gives its characters a private life. Param Sundari keeps them public-facing. One set of characters endures because their contradictions and voices feel specific. The other drifts toward forgettability.
For writers, the takeaway is clear:
- Genre elements must expose psychology, not cover it
- Obstacles must test interior economies, not just external standing
- Dialogue should give a character a voice that could only belong to them
- Transformation must feel organic, not assigned by plot
Plots recycle; characters are the only renewable source of originality.
Spectacle ages fast. Characters endure. Chennai Express hit truth. Param Sundari looked polished, but hollow.