Tu Yaa Main: Campy Crocodile Drama Has The Right Thrills
Tu Yaa Main may well craft its own legacy for the personality it gives crocodiles — as if a reptilian union finally demanded better roles, and Bejoy Nambiar obliged. It pays off.
Promo poster for Tu Yaa Main.
Last Updated: 10.24 AM, Feb 16, 2026
BEJOY NAMBIAR's Tu Yaa Main, a relationship drama in the garb of a creature film, redeems an animal and a profession. Both, unfortunately, were subjected to great disservice in Hindi films. Given that the animal has lasted longer, its ignominy is greater, and therefore, the absolution was both inevitable and overdue. Nambiar’s film proves to be largely effective in this regard as it takes crocodiles from the mouth of disrepute and posits them in a narrative where they are given space to lay eggs, chill a little, and nap.
This is more important than one would think. Sample the dastardly legacy they have accrued, ranging from Amitabh Bachchan overpowering them in Shaan (1980) and Ganga Jamuna Saraswati (1988) to Khoon Bhari Maang (1988), where the reptile’s potency was undermined as the female protagonist not just survives their attack but goes on live her best life post that. In between lie scattered more instances of them being reduced to the punchline of jokes (think Housefull 2) or being the underpaid extra perpetually chasing female characters, only to be squashed away by the man (Kurbaan, Yaadein, etc.). Tu Yaa Main is a counter to all of this, a rare Hindi film that refuses to treat the reptile as a prop.
Written by Himanshu Sharma, Tu Yaa Main is an adaptation of Ping Lumpraploeng’s The Pool (2018 film). Although the bones are the same — a man and his girlfriend are stuck in a sunken pool for days and the crisis poses a challenge to their relationship — the alterations in the plot make the difference. In the Hindi-language rendering, the two principal characters are influencers. The artifice of their profession heightens the crisis and makes the prospect of revelation more intriguing.
Influencers are a new entity, and Hindi films, mostly, have co-opted them as an aesthetic. They are situated either at the fringes or when placed at the centre (CTRL and Logout), the perils of their profession take centrestage. Nambiar, admirably, uses it as a jumping point and for social commentary where the influencers are the subject and the audience to their slow peeling. It is a strangely empathetic move, and the collaboration at the centre of their profession makes for a timely metaphor for a relationship.
Avani Shah (Shanaya Kapoor) is an affluent influencer. She lives in an upscale house, and her life is both managed and curated. She goes by the handle “Miss Vanity”; she sips on matcha and spends time in the pool. Her reach is so vast that her relatives (brother-in-law) are sheepish and persuasive to be promoted by her. Her path is crossed by Maruti Kadam, aka Flowpara From Nalasopara (Adarsh Gourav), a rapper from Nala Sopara. His living conditions are drastically different (he lives with his mother and sister, all in the same room, cut open to make space for all). And yet, the democracy of the digital space allows him dreams as big as Miss Vanity.
One sweeping gesture later, they start dating. The phones disappear, but the relationship looks like an unending collab, depending on who posted it. Sometimes Miss Vanity travels by local trains with him, sometimes he sits with her in the bathtub with eye patches on. Their feet are on the floor, but their head is in the digital space. Things change when Miss Vanity gets pregnant, and this rude intrusion of real life culminates in them going to a shady hotel on their way to Goa, and being stuck in a strange crisis: a crocodile attack in a pool.
Before this, cracks had already begun to show. Flow, whose father had abandoned him in childhood, witnesses his whole life getting upturned with the information (in one of the film’s better dialogues, a sombre Flow says his life has changed from Gully Boy to Sairat). For Avani, having lost her parents when young, a child holds out a sign to begin a life where she will hold the reins more tightly. Both their reasons are selfish, but Tu Yaa Main insists that so is love.
In such a setting, the presence of a crocodile becomes the much-needed antithesis, a fuller brunt of reality that seeps into their relationship and gently takes off the filter. Nambiar, known for his flamboyant filmmaking, finds a great catch with the material here. The second half of Tu Yaa Main is especially riveting, taking place mostly in the pool with a bickering couple and crocodiles (another emerges halfway) as witnesses. As they keep fighting off the reptile (who, must be noted, behaves quite respectfully), they reveal parts of themselves.
Tu Yaa Main becomes even more interesting here, turning stereotypes on its head. At the face of the turmoil, it is Avani, Miss Vanity no more, who proves to be more effective. Her mind sparkles with ideas, her body surges ahead in the water as she watches a crocodile in the distance. Sure, there are some logical lapses (filed under creative liberty) but this upending of gender roles and letting a woman lead in the face of danger lends ingenuity to the film with all its camp.
The performances work. This is Kapoor’s sophomore film, and she quietly holds her ground. There is a minimalism to her turn that works even better with Gourav standing on the other end. There is something to be said about his versatility, but also his rare ability to be almost anyone and do anything. There are instances in the film when his face transitions from being cruel to affectionate in a matter of seconds. It really is a thing of wonder.
Which brings us to the main entity of wonder: crocodile. Tu Yaa Main will craft its own legacy, but one must note the personality it offers to crocodiles and even the safe space (the female crocodile lays eggs and sleeps with her mouth agape). It is like being tired of being treated poorly, a crocodile union held a covert meeting with filmmakers, and Nambiar took the bet. It paid off.