All Fall Down:
For most directors, the first film must mean something special, but not everybody gets a chance to revisit it. Tigmanshu Dhulia’s 2003 film Haasil took a look at campus politics in UP; twenty years later he goes back to it in his web series, Garmi.
When Dhulia made Haasil, the idea was novel, the treatment was hard-hitting; the still raw actors worked well for the subject. Of late, crime, politics, corruption, hate, have been leaking noxiously out of every streaming platform, so by the time Garmi drops (on SonyLiv), fatigue has already set in; so no matter how straight-from-the-headlines the story telling, and how authentically recreated the milieu, the first reaction is dismay—another show about gang violence and machismo in Uttar Pradesh?
Arvind Shukla (Vyom Yadav), from a middle class Lalgunj family, is the hope of his parents and two sisters—that he will study Political Science at Trivenipur University a few kilometers over, pass the UPSC entrance exam, get into the civil services and raise their standard of living.
On his first day in the new town, he offers to pay the food bill of a man, and falls down a rabbit hole of casteist politics and unchecked anarchy. The stranger happens to be a follower of Bindu Singh (Puneet Singh), the charismatic President of the student union, and helps Arvind get a hostel room. This act of random kindness further entraps the earnest boy who only wants to study.
The leader who controls the university, has already written his way into electoral politics in the future, and wields a great deal of power. Bindu has the backing of the town’s corrupt cop Mrityunjay Singh (Jatin Goswami), who dreams of raising an army of Kshatriya boys, to regain the glory of the caste. Snapping at Bindu’s heels is Govind Maurya (Anurag Thakur), the OBC student leader, who has the support of a religious guru and wrestling coach Bairagi Baba (Vineet Kumar).
They are all, without exception venal and unscrupulous. They extort and kill with impunity, because even the chief minister needs the incendiary power of the hundreds of boys, who follow their leaders like sheep. The tinder box of caste loyalty and greed can be ignited with the tiniest spark as Arvind discovers. In the throes of young love, trying out the college production of Hamlet, learning English to improve himself, he watches in helpless horror, his girlfriend Surabhi (Disha Thakur) being hounded to death by a group of wild, jeering boys. His rich friend Ajay Jaiswal (Dhirendra Gautam), whose father (Pankaj Saraswat) funds whichever side is winning, helps him to take revenge, which means Arvind has crossed the Rubicon, to become like those men he abhors.
Arvind might believe his fight is righteous, but to those like Baba Bairagi and Mrityunjay, he is a pawn in the bigger game of power that they are constantly engaged in. If they can use his popularity with the students to reach their goals, they are not averse to pulling strings—whether it is to arrest and torture him, or channel his rage for their purpose. As Bairagi says at one point, a leader who does not have a few criminal charges against him is just a social worker.
The rampant casteism, the breakdown of law and order in the north Indian states is constantly in the news, Dhulia who has also written the show (with Kamal Pandey) is not showing anything the viewer does not already know. It is tragic if young men have nothing to do except become goons or blind minions of those hooligans, but even worse if they are allowed to run amok. There is a lip-smacking indulgence to the way gruesome violence is filmed, and it is done without taking a stance against the amorality.
There seems to be a tacit approval of the boys-will-be-boys viciousness, as if to say, if universities are hotbeds of politics instead of centres of learning, what is someone like Arvind to do? His aggression is justified as a way to deal with his temper. The narrator is a former student leader, Lal Bahadur (Satyakam Anand), who wanders around the university like a disillusioned ghost, and watches the destruction of hope and innocence. In this universe, women have no place—Bairagi always has three female musicians playing live for him at all times, which is actually more discomfiting to watch than the secondary position accorded to women, unless, like an belligerent poet, Sakshi (Apoorva Singh), she dresses and behaves like a man.
There is no punishment and no redemption, because everybody is either weak or evil, only the degree varies.
The actors in Garmi—mostly fresh faces—are all sincere and do their parts well. Vyom Yadav, Puneet Singh and Anurag Thankur stand out in a crowd of generically thuggish guys. Mukesh Tiwari gets top billing for a brief and thankless role; the entry of Pravessh Rana towards the end, indicates a Season 2. Hopefully it will balance out some of the unsavoury excesses of the first season.
(This piece first appeared in rediff.com)
Making Science Enjoyable:
Amidst the line-up of crime shows, family dramas and campus capers, Rocket Boys dropped like welcome rain after an arid summer last year– a series about scientists that was both entertaining and educative.
At a time when the country seems to be regressing instead of looking forward, and a scientific temperament is sorely lacking in the influential layer of society, Rocket Boys, told the story of two great scientists, Homi Bhabha and Vikram Sarabhai, who dreamed of making India a superpower. Their plans had the enthusiastic support of then Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru.
The wonderful, handsomely mounted series, produced by Nikkhil Advani and Siddharth Roy Kapur, directed by Abhay Pannu, followed the work of Bhabha and Sarabhai as well as their personal lives, from their days as students at Cambridge, to their initial achievements.
Homi Bhabha (Jim Sarbh) came to be known as the father of India’s nuclear programme, and Vikram Sarabhai (Ishwak Singh) steered the country’s space programme. Flamboyant and witty, Bhabha romanced a vivacious lawyer Parvana ‘Pipsy’ Irani (Saba Azad) and the sombre Sarabhai married the ambitious classical dancer, Mrinalini Swaminathan (Regina Cassandra).
There was, of course, criticism about the over-simplification of the science, and the introduction of a fictional rival, Raza (Dibyendu who was a Muslim; but when the show had everything almost to perfect level, it is a hard act to follow.
Rocket Boys Season 2 (n SonyLiv), sees the two scientists in their labs, but also takes the action out to catch a country facing post-Independence growing pains. There is opposition to allocating funds to their fanciful plans, when they could be better utilized in poverty alleviation.
In the last season, the trouble in the Sarabhais’ marriage was clear, as were the disagreements between the two men over the use of nuclear power. The CIA was already sniffing around to nip any risks to America’s world domination; spies were introduced in the form of a devious journalist (Namit Das) and Mathur (KC Shankar), his mole in Bhabha’s team. A young, long-haired APJ Abdul Kalam (Arjun Radhakrishnan) had made an appearance. Is it possible to take the story ahead without compromising on quality? The second season has less substance to work with, because a lot of the interesting incidents had taken place in the first.
Rocket Boys 2 picks up the issue of nuclear proliferation and India’s need to be a strong power between the US, the USSR, and hostile neighbours China and Pakistan. In quick succession, India loses two strong prime ministers Nehru (Rajit Kapur), and his successor Lal Bahadur Shastri (Vijay Kashyap) and Indira Gandhi (a terrific Charu Shankar) slowly gathers force while in office.
A conspiracy hatched by the CIA (the Americans are portrayed as caricature heavies) results in the death of Homi Bhabha in an air crash. Sarabhai, who has launched a satellite mission to take television to the masses, is hesitant about signing a one-sided treaty with the Americans. The series inevitably moves to the cloak-and-dagger tactics that were adopted by the scientists to carry out a nuclear test in Pokhran in May 1974, under the noses of the CIA.
Even if the ten-part show has a few drab passages, it succeeds in engaging the viewer looking for an intelligently conceptualized (Abhay Koranne) and written (Pannu and Kausar Munir) show, with an attention to period detail that is admirable. The performances are fabulous, particularly Jim Sarbh, who is puckish, charming and determined as Bhabha; Ishwak Singh and Regina Cassandra get to portray fewer shades, but they are magnetic all the same. The team of scientists, bureaucrats, politicians who surround the lead characters all do their parts sincerely, which goes towards making Rocket Boys Season 2 a fascinating watch; its small flaws can be overlooked for the grand larger picture, that does more for nationalistic pride than a dozen jingoistic series.
(This piece first appeared in rediff.com)
The idea of youthful radicalism and armed struggles against an unjust establishment has been with Sudhir Mishra since his first film, Yeh Woh Manzil To Nahin (1987), and he returned to it, with his best-known film, Hazaaron Khwahishen Aisi (2003); he is now showrunner for the SonyLiv series, Jehanabad: Of Love And War, set in the Naxal belt of Bihar.
It is 2005, and Jehanabad is still a backward, caste-ridden town. A Naxal leader, Deepak Kumar (Parambrata Chatterjee) is lodged in Jehanabad Jail and is a headache for the tightly-wound Superintendent of Police, Durgesh Pratap Singh (Satyadeep Mishra) and genial Jailor Tripathi (Ramakant Daayama). Even from behind bars, Deepak keeps in touch with his group, with the help of prison staff, sympathetic to his cause of fighting for the upliftment of their caste.
As violence simmers in the background, chirpy college student Kasturi Mishra (Harshita Gaur), fed on a diet of romantic movies, falls in love with new English professor, Abhimanyu Singh (Ritwik Bhowmik). She is so persistent in wooing him, that he also falls in love with her, and this sets off a chain of unfortunate events.
North India, Bihar in particular, is a tinderbox of corrupt, caste-based politics, and in this charged atmosphere, Thakur Shivanand Singh (Rajat Kapoor) is hoping to win back his seat from the sitting lower caste MLA (Nirmal Kant Chaudhary) The ruthless Singh, who is also pleasant and approachable on the surface, is a close friend of Kasturi’s father Rajendra Mishra (Rajesh Jais), who runs the prison canteen.
Kasturi’s mother Kumud (Sonal Jha) has trouble accepting an inter-caste marriage for her daughter, but once she is persuaded, she dotes on Abhimanyu, who has just an uncle (Suneel Sinha) as family—the charming academic who has another secret identity.
As preparations are on for Kasturi and Abhimanyu’s wedding, and she easily slips into wife role, choosing his clothes and bringing him food, plans are afoot to attack the town and rescue Deepak.
Even though political skullduggery and caste violence have been the subject of many serials, writer Rajeev Barnwal, who also co-directs with Satyanshu Singh, has captured the ethos and language of small-town Bihar in an authentic, low-key manner; the main characters are well-developed and some of the supporting characters too have been given an adequate number of scenes—like the fiery Naxal fighter Laxmi Uraon (Paulomi Das), Shivanand’s all-purpose henchman Dubey (Raju Bisht) and a dutiful cop Subodh Singh (Shashi Bhushan).
The pace of the show is unhurried, but there are frequent, and unpredictable turns, that serve as hooks for the next episode.
Rajat Kapoor, who usually plays suave city characters, fits right into the role of the mofussil leader, who has quirks like recording every big moment with a Polaroid photo, and treating visitor with sweets, saying, “Ghar ki gai ke doodh se bana hai.” The lead pair, Kasturi’s parents, the devious Uncle and, of course, Deepak Kumar, as the screen-scorching revolutionary are well cast.
Jehanabad is based on a real-life jail break in 2005, when the series is also set. It was just before the telecom boom, when mobile phones were in use, but not social media and biometric security measures, which made faking identities easier. The real identity of an imposter is the pivot on which the plot turns. If there is something disappointing about the show, it is the unconvincing end, just so that a path could be laid for a Season 2.
(This piece first appeared in redif.com)
The Shark Tank franchise has been successful in about 27 countries, but when it arrived in India, the timing was right. The COVID pandemic had turned so many lives upside down—people lost jobs, and at the same time, there was a rise in start-ups that aimed at the stay-at-home segment (food delivery topping the list), as well as a growth in the gig economy. If OTT audiences were hooked to entertainment reality shows, they are also starting to get wise about money.
The concept of Shark Tank is seemingly simple—small entrepreneurs needing funding to scale up their businesses, pitch their ideas to a panel of investors or ‘sharks,’ who then evaluate their proposal and decide if they want to put in money, and acquire equity in the business in return. There are of course many more legal and financial processes, which are left off screen, and only the simplified and entertaining part of the pitching is seen—the idea, the questions and answers, the hope in the eyes of the pitchers and the joy or disappointment after their proposal is accepted or rejected.
This Dragon’s Den format for the business reality show originated in Japan in 2001, where Money Tigers proved to be a hit. Its American version, Shark Tank, created by Mark Burnett, started in 2009, and ran for 14 seasons, winning a few Emmys on the way.
Shark Tank India Season 1, with seven investors evaluating proposals over 35 episodes turned out to be a surprise success, and the sharks—Ashneer Grover, in particular—became stars in their own right. He does not appear in Season 2, where in the first two episodes, there are just five sharks, repeated from the first season—Vineeta Singh, Namrata Thapar, Anupam Mittal, Peyush Bansal and Aman Gupta—all wealthy entrepreneurs themselves, though not exactly top of the heap.
Season 2, could have, perhaps, had a different set of sharks, or at least a mix-and-match, but maybe the channel (Sony) wanted to utilize the popularity of the Season 1 investors. Shark Tank India, thankfully does away with the studio audience, but the set is garish, more suited for a music or dance reality show than a business programme. Hosted this time by Rahul Dua (who has very little to do), the show, with Payal Seth as creative director, actually attracts viewers with its emotional quotient –for instance, shock and tears when a participant mentions loss of family in a fire– though enough business jargon is thrown around to engage the viewers who are watching for that purpose.
The sharks rarely bare their teeth (their ‘overacting’ reactions often look like they were shot separately and clumsily inserted when required), and are mostly encouraging and sympathetic, even though the pitchers are made to stand in front of them, like naughty students in the principal’s office. In Season 2, they are unreasonably nasty to a duo pitching their home-grown make-up brand, because they do not look sophisticated (class bias on display), and then reject their proposal because they would be competitors of Vineeta Singh, who runs a cosmetics empire.
What is pleasantly surprising is that over 35 episodes of Season 1 and a promised 50 of Season 2, there are serious entrepreneurs with some innovative ideas—like the young women from Bangalore, who run a business selling packaged flowers for poojas, or the enthusiastic duo who want to popularize Darjeeling tea, the couple who hope to revive traditional sari weaves, or the earnest young man who has created a smart watch for children, that allows parents to track their kids and communicate with them. They are just a fraction of the thousands who apply to participate in the show. There is, of course, as much risk of an idea beating stolen, as of a promising business failing. The show is too new to actually track the progress or failure of the pitchers, who walk away with cheques. Season 2 starts with Vineeta and Namrata tracking two pickle-making female entrepreneurs in Darbhanga, Bihar, with offers of investment, when they had rejected their pitch in the earlier season. So, despite its vicious title, what Shark Tank India offers viewers is hope—if those ordinary, hard-working and optimistic people can make it this far, so can anybody with a workable business plan and the smarts to see it through.
(This piece first appeared in rediff.com)
That slang word in the title Faadu A Love Story is usually combined with another to form an obscenity. Does a series (on SonyLiv) directed by Ashwiny Iyer Tiwari and written by Saumya Joshi need to resort to vulgarity? Particularly since the title does not match the content.The disappointment starts right there, and the eleven episodes that follow, do nothing to assuage it.
Abhay Dubey (Pavail Gulati) is the son of an auto-driver (Daya Shankar Pandey), living in a slum (which is lovingly presented in the opening credits) with his ailing mother (Dipti Avlani) and alcoholic brother Roxy (Abhilash Thapliyal). He keeps declaring that he wants to be rich, but even after getting 94.7 per cent marks (and a big deal is made of it), he joins a literature course in college instead of commerce! Just the first of the many facepalm bits in the series. When he explains to the professor (who mispronounces Yeats) why he is late for class—cleaning sewage backing up into his hut and his mother’s stinking bed sores—his classmate Manjari (Saiyami Kher), in all seriousness, tells him that what he spoke was poetry, like Namdeo Dhasal and Narayan Surve (Dalit poets).
Manjiri is the daughter of Konkan post master (Girish Oak) and a down-to-earth mother (Ashwini Bhave), who instilled in her a love of poetry and sent her to a Mumbai college to study literature. She gets starry-eyed in love instantly and pursues Abhay rather aggressively. He is so impressed by her acceptance of his impoverished existence, that he falls for her too, but with his dreams of wealth and privilege intact.
Using a quick con, he gets the money to book a luxury apartment, and hopes to make the remaining crores in a matka gamble, for which he mortgages everything his father acquired. During his forays into the criminal underworld, he runs into RK (Gunjan Joshi), producer of soft porn films. RK has his own code of ethics, and seems to have come out of some old script discarded by Mahesh Bhatt. RK befriends Abhay, teaches him a thing or two about survival and vanishes, never to be seen again, which is a pity, since this was the most colourful track in the series. Manjari is totally unfazed by these strange encounters and by Abhay’s moronic antics.
Next, he traps the good-for-nothing son (Hiren Rathod) of a jeweller and real estate magnate (Prashant Barot), and there is a very convoluted section of him trying to set up a land deal, being cheated by them and getting his own back. He walks away with five crores, which amazingly gets him that apartment in a complex so luxurious that five crores would not be sufficient to buy a bathroom there. It is never explained what he actually does to afford that lifestyle, all he does is talk about his big ideas!
Manjari sits around looking disgruntled; there was mention of a PhD, which is quickly forgotten. She has no life of her own, all she wants is to discuss poetry with Abhay, prattling on about Sylvia Plath, as if she is the first to discover her. Meanwhile Abhay uses a neighbour, who is the brother of elusive industrialist Anand Udeshi (Shishir Sharma) to reach him, because he has a world-changing scheme that only Udeshi can execute. After chasing various members of the family, who are oddly immune to his unabashed social climbing, he gets an audience with Udeshi. The great idea turns out to be micro-loans, which is neither original nor unique (Muhammad Yunus and his Grameen Bank won the Nobel Prize for it in 2006).
Udeshi and his chief henchman Adesh Mishra (Rakesh Chaturvedi) try to take over Abhay’s life, and get him to corrupt his honest cop buddy Tukaram (Deepak Sampat), who has some evidence against a minister cohort of the industrialist. A politician with cops and media in his pocket cannot deal with a constable? Manjari leaves Abhay in a huff, and is seen wandering aimlessly on the beach in her parents’ village. Udeshi is so impressed by Abhay’s mind, that you wonder how he managed the intelligence to make and maintain his fortune! For no discernable reason, Abhay is sent to Serbia to address an important global summit, where he talks about the shampoo sachet revolution, which was initiated by Chinni Krishnan in the 1980s, and would hardly zap a summit of economists.
Abhay starts to feel that his desire for money has taken away everything from him, and put Udeshi’s dog chain around his neck (literally!); but all one can see on screen is a laughably delusional man. If Abhay was actually portrayed as a kind of Walter Mitty –all fantasy, no skill– the series would still make some sense. But he is supposed to be a hero in search of his hidden greatness. It looks like a second season has been planned for the show, and one can only hope it is better thought out and presented. Faadu looks like one of those old movies with a socialist bent, that glorified honest poverty and looked down upon ambition and enterprise. But, Shree 420, to name one, had a credible conflict and resolution. This show is just a collection of half-baked scenes that may or may connect with what has gone before or is about to come. The mostly competent actors are trapped in a no-exit maze—at least some of them deserve better.
(This piece first appeared in rediff.com)
Israel has steadily been making web shows that have appealed to international audiences, with remakes produced in the US (Homeland) and India (Hostages, Your Honour); Fauda has been the most successful over its four seasons for its gritty action, but has also been accused of being propagandist. The show was created by Lior Raz (who also plays the lead) and Avi Issacharoff, with their personal experience of having served with the Israel Defence Forces.
Pitting Israeli intelligence agents against Palestinian militants in the historical conflict zone of the West Bank, makers of the show claim that they have humanized both sides, but it is clear which one is getting better representation. Palestinian writers have accused the series of anti-Arab racism, and justifying human rights violations. The lay audience, however, couldn’t care less about the political undercurrents.
The Indian remake, Tanaav (meaning tension), directed and co-written by Sudhir Mishra (with Ishan Trivedi) and DOP Sachin Mamta Krishn is set in Kashmir, an obvious location, because of the continuing challenges of dealing with Pakistan-supported terrorism. It is just as tone-deaf to actual ground realities as the original, flattening any political or moral ambiguity in the process of making an undoubtedly gripping thriller. The major problem here is that informed Indian viewers cannot watch a series about Kashmir without images flashing in their minds of the tragedy of the Pandit exodus, a community trying to survive with constant army presence on the streets, young men taking out their anger by pelting stones at soldiers, kids with pellet injuries. Mercifully, the flower girls in shikaras kind of touristy Kashmir is not shown either, in a series made with the support of the J&K administration. Frequent aerial shots of the pretty border village (as opposed to the largely colourless vistas of Fauda) are rendered even more tragic by the fact that there is so much violence and villainy simmering under the placid scenery.
The other problem is that before and since Fauda, so many films and serials have been made on good defence men fighting bad terrorists (The Family Man, Special Ops) that Tanaav might cause some amount of déjà vu. (The wedding shootout sequence from Fauda was lifted in the recent film Code Name: Tiranga).
Kabir Farooqui (Manav Vij) has retired from the special forces and runs a jam-making enterprise, living a peaceful life with his wife Nusrat (Sukhmani Sadana) and two kids. Then his commander, Vikrant Rathore (Arbaaz Khan) visits to drop the bombshell that the dreaded terrorist Umar Riaz (Sumit Kaul), believed dead by Kabir’s bullet, is alive. For this intel, the reptilian bureaucrat Malik (Rajat Kapoor) kidnaps a professor and offers to pay for his daughter’s treatment. Malik is later seen to fraternize with his counterpart across the border, also called Malik (Danish Hussain), which just hints at the hidden whirlpool that only the gang of spies and spooks are aware of, and manage to control. These grey men don’t carry guns and bombs, but are more lethal.
Once Kabir is drawn back to his unit of hotheads, there is no returning till Umer Riaz is found. It is not quite clear why Riaz has such power, but he commands the unquestioning loyalty of his men, most of all, an impressionable Junaid (Shashank Arora). Like so many indoctrinated young people, they are dazzled by the idea of shahadat for the cause.
In Tanaav, the complexities of Kashmiri life are simplified even further, when they are seen as referring to Indians as “Woh log” or “Hindustani,” speak of fighting for “Azad Kashmir” and call anyone friendly with Indians as “Gaddaar.” A shot of spray painted graffiti on a random wall about the duty of fighting “oppression” is hardly enough to explain anything. Then, when a scene has kids throwing stones at government jeeps or using signals to warn a terrorist of a raid, the audience has already been convinced that it is acceptable for innocents being killed as collateral damage. To balance this, even a terrorist leader talks of innocents killed by his attacks as paying their dues to the cause. Harkat-ul-Mujahideen, Gulf money, moderate separatists all pop up, but the overwhelming tenor is that of testosterone fuelled machismo, on both sides.
There is not much space for women in this landscape, but the few that are seen are ferocious—whether it is the mother (Zarina Wahab) or wife (Waluscha De Sousa) of Umer Riaz, the sole field operative with the Indian task force (Sahiba Bali) or a Dr Farah (Ekta Kaul) caught in the crossfire.
The casting is remarkable in a way–Kashmiri Pandits like Sumit Kaul and M.K. Raina play separatists. There are several Kashmiri actors in the show to lend the dialogue the right lilt and authenticity. Manav Vij has the stoic look and hooded eyes that are right for the unreadble character of Kabir. The other actor who stands out amidst the line-up of competent actors, is Shashank Arora (with Shah Rukh Khan’s twitchy body language and Naseeruddin Shah’s intensity), who lacks the fresh-faced innocence of the boy who played this part in the original, but his style works too– Junaid will play an important part if there is a Season 2. In the end, the relentless pace and striking visuals carry Tanaav over its pitfalls.
(This is a slightly modified version of the piece that first appeared in scroll.in)
In the British TV series, Fleabag, the protagonist says this of herself, “I have a horrible feeling that I’m a greedy, perverted, selfish, apathetic, cynical, depraved, morally bankrupt woman who can’t even call herself a feminist.”
These words could be describing Maya Ahuja, the titular Good Bad Girl of Abhishek Sengupta’s series, conceptualized and co-produced by Vikas Bahl (on SonyLiv). They even cast an actress who resembles Phoebe Waller-Bridge, with that wide, too-many-teeth kind of smile and slightly unhinged expression. The resemblance ends there, however, as the sly humour and occasionally profound observations of the original cannot be replicated. And the lead character has just no redeeming qualities, nor any plausible reasons for her behavior. It needs smart writing to make such an unappealing woman watchable on screen, not the scattershot approach of this series.
Maya (Samridhi Dewan) works for a law firm headed by Zaina Mistry (Gul Panag) and has a running rivalry with the boss’s brother Sahil (Vaibhav Raj Gupta). There is no indication of Maya being a particularly bright lawyer, and the firm seems to have bottom-of-the-barrel cases, but strut around as if they stepped out of a John Grisham novel! On the verge of being fired, Maya claims to have cancer, just because she went for a routine test and the doctor (Soham Majumdar) suggested a biopsy.
She forges prescriptions, gets facilities and more money out of the sympathy she can get from the fake cancer diagnosis. The boyfriend, Prithvi (Zain Khan), who would have broken up, turns extra solicitous. A video in which she is berating a snooty woman for being nasty to her– a woman battling cancer– goes viral, and Maya suddenly has a lucrative career as an influencer, flogging her cancer survivor status for all its worth.
The series keeps going back to her childhood, where the child nicknamed Bulbul (Aradhya Ajana), always simmering with anger and envy, learns to put on an innocent act and get what she wants from adults with something to hide—like the pervy neighbour (Rajesh Sharma) with a fetish for lingerie. In college, she is mocked by a rich girl Jhilmil (Namrata Sheth) for pretending to be cool, so Maya starts a side hustle of phone sex to make money. Later Jhilmil is inexplicably shown as Maya’s best buddy!
If Maya were to be overcoming odds placed in her way by society—particularly in upper class Delhi –skewed to favour the privileged, and she found imaginative ways of bucking the system, this series would have some interesting aspects. As it is, with a pathological liar and poseur at the centre of the show and in practically every frame, one can’t help but wonder what the makers were thinking. It’s not that there are no people like Maya who lie, cheat and manipulate because they can, but there is no good reason to watch a nine-episode series about her. Writers these days seem to believe that smutty jokes and profanity give the show some kind of contemporary edge; when Maya goes for a mammogram she screams out a MC cussword, people are constantly swearing and flipping the bird, and it is more distasteful than funny.
There is no argument against more independent, sexually liberated, even wicked women in OTT shows, littered by violent and entitled men, but one as despicable as Maya is tough to defend.
(This piece first appeared in rediff.com)
The new TVF web series, College Romance Season 3 (on SonyLiv), is aimed at teens, but maybe parents should watch to see what their college-going kids are up to, because it is definitely not studying. Parents or any adults are conspicuous by their absence, but they evidently meet their kids’ financial demands.
The five-part series, directed by Parijat Joshi (written by Ashutosh Chaturvedi and Pankaj Mavchi), follows the amorous adventures of a group of Delhi friends, who hang out, party and down copious amounts of booze. But there is a degree of innocence too—no drugs; pairing up, but not much sex. And lots of colourful profanity.
Bagga (Gagan Arora) and Karan (Keshav Sadhna) get a new flatmate, Harry (Eklavey Kashyap). Bagga (who is called Bugs and Bagge, but no first name?) is trying out a long distance relationship with Naira (Apoorva Arora) with little success. Karan’s ex, Deepika (Shreya Mehta), who is tall and, for some reason, English-speaking–hence, sexually active seems to follow. She hooks up with Harry, while Karan reels in Dhatrpriya or DP (Nupur Nagpal), who is bespectacled, hence nerdy and naïve (her coping strategy is bingeing on golgappas). The curly-haired Raavie (Jahnvi Rawat) is the one who inadvertently causes trouble in the tightly-knit group. Talk of stereotypes!
They drive fancy wheels, wear trendy clothes and party seemingly round the clock. They speak Punjabi accented Hindi though, with slang like chill maar, woh cheat maar raha tha, and compro ho gaya. Some phrases seem to be timeless, though this does not sound like current teen slang, which is influenced by social media these days.
Unlike the swotters in other web shows like Kota Factory and Crash Course, these youngsters have no exam fears or career tensions. Their crises, for most part, are insignificant in the larger scene of things. Like Karan getting all riled up when he thinks Bagga is cheating on Naira; or when the juniors stand up to seniors who won’t let them join a party. Or when a hooligan type spikes a girl’s drink.
The paired up teens are strangely old-fashioned, behaving as if college romance are for life and lead to marriage and kids! When Naira goes abroad to study, she cannot bear to be away from her friends, while almost every youngster today wants to settle in the US, and are actively encouraged by their parents to do so.
The show is light, fluffy, no real problems, teen angst or tragedy, till much later when a leaked video causes some grief, tests the group’s progressive thinking or lack thereof, and makes way for a Season 4. The show is popular enough to continue, but may be it needs to get out of its disinfected bubble and face the real world.
Undoubtedly the best thing about College Romance is the cast– the actors are tremendously talented and deserve to be cast in more challenging roles.
(This piece first appeared in seniorstoday.in)
