I have not even the slightest clue why I enjoy Nandamuri Balakrishna films.

Perhaps the question itself is unnecessary. Asking why one enjoys a Balakrishna film is like asking why people stand close to the sea during a storm. You know something unreasonable is about to happen. You know the laws of nature may be temporarily suspended. Yet you remain exactly where you are—waiting for the wave to hit.

And Bhagavanth Kesari is no exception.

Balakrishna plays Nelakonda Bhagavanth Kesari, a man who takes responsibility for Vijji, the daughter of his deceased friend. His dream is to make her strong enough to face the world without him. Vijji, naturally, has other plans. She wants an ordinary life. Kesari wants her to join the army.

His method of parenting occasionally looks less like encouragement and more like military training conducted by an emotionally unavailable bulldozer. But beneath all the shouting, intimidation and impossible action sequences, there is genuine affection.

That is what surprised me about the film.

Director Anil Ravipudi understands that a Balakrishna film needs its expected ingredients. There must be powerful entrances. There must be punch dialogues. Villains must make the unfortunate mistake of standing within Balakrishna’s physical reach. And once the fighting begins, human anatomy becomes more of a suggestion than a medical fact.

The villains do not simply fall. They travel.

Yet Bhagavanth Kesari tries to do something more meaningful within that familiar formula. At its heart, this is not merely the story of a man protecting a young woman. It is about a man teaching her to protect herself.

That difference matters.

Kesari could easily have been written as another invincible hero who spends the entire film rescuing a helpless girl. Instead, he wants Vijji to overcome her fears and become stronger than the circumstances surrounding her. He knows he may not always be there. His responsibility, therefore, is not to stand between her and the world forever. It is to prepare her to face that world alone.

The film’s message about empowering girls is hardly subtle. In fact, subtlety enters the room, sees Balakrishna and quietly leaves. But the message works because the emotional relationship between Kesari and Vijji gives it weight.

Sreeleela is effective as Vijji, particularly when the character’s fear begins to transform into courage. Kajal Aggarwal brings warmth and some welcome lightness, although her character is not given as much importance as the central relationship deserves. Arjun Rampal makes a suitably arrogant villain. He does what villains in such films are required to do: accumulate power, underestimate the hero and patiently wait for his bones to be rearranged.

But this is Balakrishna’s film.

He carries the larger-than-life moments with his usual authority, yet he is equally convincing in the quieter scenes. There is a surprising tenderness in his performance. His bond with Vijji never needs to become conventionally sentimental for us to understand how deeply he cares for her.

Of course, the film has its weaknesses. It is loud. Some scenes are stretched. The villain belongs to a much more predictable film. The action is excessive, and logic occasionally takes a tea break without informing anyone.

Still, I enjoyed it.

Perhaps I enjoyed it because Balakrishna never performs with embarrassment. He commits completely. When he delivers a line, he believes it. When he walks into a confrontation, he behaves as though the background score was composed before he was born. That sincerity makes even the most outrageous moments strangely entertaining.

And somewhere inside all that noise is a sincere film about fear, responsibility and raising a girl to believe she is not weak.

Bhagavanth Kesari was later honoured as the Best Telugu Feature Film at the 71st National Film Awards—a recognition that makes sense when one considers the social message wrapped inside its commercial cinema machinery. The award went to producer Shine Screens and director Anil Ravipudi.

Is it a perfect film?

No.

Is it always believable?

Certainly not.

Did I enjoy watching Balakrishna walk through men as though they were badly arranged furniture?

Absolutely.

I still have no clue why I enjoy Nandamuri Balakrishna films.

And, borrowing Bhagavanth Kesari’s own philosophy, perhaps I don’t care.