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Starcast :- Joy Mukerji, Asha Parekh, Pran, Dhumal, Lalita Pawar, Master Shahid, Shubha Khote and Mehmood Music : Shankar Jaikishen Director...
Starcast :- Joy Mukerji, Asha Parekh, Pran, Dhumal, Lalita Pawar, Master Shahid, Shubha Khote and Mehmood
Music : Shankar Jaikishen
Director :- Pramod Chakravartÿ
Love in Tokyo released on August 5, isn’t just another 1966 romance—it’s the kind of film that sneaks up on you like a warm breeze through cherry blossoms. Directed and produced by Pramod Chakravorty, this Hindi-language romantic comedy clocks in at a generous 170 minutes and somehow never feels like it’s overstaying its welcome. I first caught it on an old Doordarshan rerun years ago, half-asleep on the couch, and ended up humming “Sayonara Sayonara” for days. Revisiting it now, the magic still holds, even if the plot creaks in places.
The story kicks off in Bombay, where wealthy but reluctant Ashok (Joy Mukherjee) is being strong-armed by his formidable mother (Lalita Pawar) into marrying the spoiled Sarita. Instead, he’s packed off to Tokyo to fetch his orphaned nephew Chikoo, a pint-sized bundle of mischief who’d rather stay in Japan than return to India. Enter Asha (Asha Parekh), a feisty heiress on the run from her greedy uncle (Madan Puri) and his scheming pal Pran, who’s eyeing her fortune through a forced marriage. Ashok spots Asha dancing on television during a shopping spree with Chikoo and—boom—love at first sight, Bollywood style. What follows is a whirlwind of disguises (Asha as a turbaned Sardarji, no less), mistaken identities, comic chases involving Ashok’s pal Mahesh (Mehmood) and his own Tokyo love interest Sheela (Shubha Khote), and enough romantic misunderstandings to fill a dozen diaries.
Joy Mukherjee plays Ashok with that effortless, boyish charm that made him a heartthrob in the sixties. He’s not the most nuanced actor—he’s no Dilip Kumar—but damn if he doesn’t light up the screen when he smiles. His chemistry with Asha Parekh is the film’s beating heart. She’s an absolute delight here: playful one minute, vulnerable the next, and always radiating that wide-eyed innocence mixed with quiet fire. Whether she’s belting out a tune in a kimono or pulling off that Sikh disguise with a straight face, Parekh carries the emotional weight without ever feeling like she’s trying too hard. Pran, as usual, makes a perfectly slimy villain—greasy mustache, oily grin, the works—while Mehmood’s multiple disguises (geisha! Arab doctor! random nawab!) are hit-or-miss. The comic subplot with him and Shubha Khote drags on like that uncle who won’t stop telling the same joke at family weddings.
What really elevates Love in Tokyo above the average masala fare is its location shooting in Japan. Cinematographer V.K. Murthy (yes, the same genius behind Guide) turns Tokyo into a character all its own—Ginza streets glittering at night, Ueno Park’s cherry blossoms, Tokyo Tower looming like a metallic guardian, even a quick detour to Hiroshima for one poignant moment. The colors pop in that glorious Eastmancolor palette; you can almost smell the street food and feel the spring drizzle. Chakravorty doesn’t pretend to be making high art—he’s giving us escapism with a passport stamp. There’s a rain-soaked dance sequence that’s pure cinematic poetry: couples scatter, leaving Ashok and Asha staring across an empty floor, her sari clinging, his arms open. The camera pulls back just as they almost kiss. No dialogue needed. You feel it.
Then there’s the music. Shankar-Jaikishan were at the peak of their powers, and every track here is a gem. Hasrat Jaipuri and Shailendra’s lyrics wrap around Lata Mangeshkar’s silken voice like silk scarves. “Sayonara Sayonara” floats like a gentle goodbye that turns into hello; “O Mere Shah-e-Khuba” (sung by both Lata and Rafi) is aching longing set to waltz tempo; “Aa Ja Re Aa Zara” is Rafi at his seductive best, all husky invitation. “Mujhe Tum Mil Gaye” and “Koi Matwala Aaya” are pure earworms, while Manna Dey’s “Main Tere Pyar Ka Bimar” adds a quirky comic touch. Even decades later, these songs play on every classic radio station and YouTube playlist. They don’t just accompany the romance—they are the romance. However, my personal pick would be the title song. Rafi saab just went full throttle here with his vocals.
Of course, it’s not flawless. The plot piles on coincidences —fake blindness drama, eye-donation offers, last-minute rescues, revelations about parentage that come out of nowhere. The Mehmood track feels tacked on and overstays its welcome by about twenty minutes. And yes, the “too many Indians in Tokyo” trope is glaring; locals speak Hindi when convenient, and the Japanese extras sometimes look like they wandered off a Mumbai set. But honestly? That’s part of the charm. This is 1966 Bollywood doing what it did best: ignoring logic in favor of feeling. You don’t watch it for airtight plotting; you watch it to sigh at the romance, laugh at the slapstick, and tap your foot to the beats.
Watching Love in Tokyo today feels like its full of warmth and nostalgia. It’s part of Joy Mukherjee’s informal “Love in” trilogy (after Love in Simla, before Love in Bombay), and it captures that carefree, post-independence optimism when the world still felt big and exciting. Asha Parekh reportedly inspired the famous “Love in Tokyo” hair clip that every schoolgirl wanted back then; that’s how deeply this film seeped into pop culture.
If you’re new to sixties cinema or just need doses of entertainment on a lazy weekend, put this one on. Dim the lights, crank up the volume for “Sayonara,” and let Tokyo sweep you away. It won’t change your life, but it’ll leave you smiling—and maybe a little in love with the idea of love itself. Pure, unpretentious escapism at its finest.
By Ayushmaan Mitra
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