Kartik Bhardwaj

In 2013, five years before he died by suicide, Anthony Bourdain did a Reddit AMA session. To a question of “What kind of person were you in your twenties?” he replied, in his trademark, staccato, punch-in-the-gut style: “I was a complete asshole. Selfish, larcenous, druggy, loud, stupid, insensitive and someone you would not want to have known. I would have robbed your medicine cabinet had I been invited to your house.” In a contrast to this, for devotees of Bourdain’s no-bullshit, tough guy, masculine mythmaking, the Anthony of Tony can seem timid. He can’t mumble a retort in front of his demanding mother. The only punch he pulls is through a Bruce Lee poster on a wall. But then this is far before his celebrity chef, lunching-with-the-President days. This is an origin story.

“Baby tu best hain,” Nimisha Sajayan’s junior cop Babita often gets this consolation-prize of a compliment whenever she keeps her own needs aside to fulfill the wishes of others in Babita Singh Reporting. The character, written by Amita Vyas for a film directed by Ambiecka Pandit, is meek and unobtrusive. She was employed in the police force on compassionate grounds after her father died on duty. It’s a job she feels she didn’t earn and she moves around as if she is reminding herself that every day.

The thing about nostalgia is that it only works in retrospect. Before getting on with Awarapan 2, I rewatched the 2007 original. The Mohit Suri moper might seem too emo for today but its gloom came from a genuine place of trauma. Criminal and atheist Shivam Pandit (Emraan Hashmi) once fell in love with Aaliyah (Shriya Saran). He was taken by her devotion towards her Allah. He had found somebody to live for, to believe in. But then she was taken away from him, by a bullet that had his name on it. He then walked, lost and listless, on the sidewalks of an unnamed South Asian town, in trenchcoats as life passed by him. Every young guy who had loved and lost felt Shivam’s angst. Every young guy who wanted to feel Shivam’s angst listened to the songs. Heartbreak was now cooler than falling in love. Sadness was aspirational. The angry young man had gone international and he had Mustafa Zahid as his wailing voice.

If you ever have had the good fortune of having a dog, you know the biggest scare is the house’s main door left ajar. This writer has been a dog parent in the past and is familiar with the turmoil of standing in the street and screaming out, searching for your missing friend. It is thus more heartbreaking to witness Appu (Mahi Rai), one of the young protagonists of Ohh My Dog, suffer through the same fate. His indie, Momo, ran out to fetch a ball but didn’t make it back.

Why should one go to school? If you ask the students of Adarsh Baal Vidyalaya, they might answer: to play cricket with their headmaster, or to enjoy kheer in the midday meal. For girl students, it means a 5k deposit in their parents’ bank accounts, a government incentive for women empowerment (the money is then used by parents to pay for the girl’s dowry). But then one of the female students states she doesn’t want to study anymore. She would rather marry her hip-hop dancer boyfriend. When a teacher tries to convince the girl, she declares: It’s my choice. It’s an amusing conundrum. What is actually the real purpose of education? It’s a question that the Prime Video series Adarsh Baal Vidyalaya, from the house of Posham Pa Pictures (Kaala Paani, Maamla Legal Hai), keeps circling back to. Is it for these kids–most of them who come from marginalised backgrounds–to make money and pull their families out of poverty? Because that they can do by network marketing or working at a local tobacco factory. What can really a school provide them? When the boyfriend doesn’t come to pick her up, the above-mentioned girl takes up a cycle and rides on her own. She doesn’t have to wait for anybody anymore. Education gives independence.

A man slipping off a banana peel might be the most archaic, juvenile way to induce laughs. Dhamaal 4 has it. It also has people getting electrocuted, getting hit in the crotch, getting hit on the head, getting attacked by a tiger, a crocodile, tribals and… an octopus, and also hanging, God so much hanging, from CGI cliffs, CGI buildings and CGI hot air balloons. Remove the zany background music and the film actually seems like a Final Destination installment. Just that death only comes for our brain cells.

Nothing good happens to Akshaye Khanna in an SUV. In Dhurandhar (2025), he narrowly escapes an assassination attempt inside the car and now, in Siddharth P Malhotra’s courtroom-drama Ikka, a girl’s bloodied body falls off his vehicle’s shotgun seat in the dead of the night. Akshaye’s Shauryaman Gaur is the perfect villain. He is a politician’s brat whose smugness alone seems to be substantial evidence for the crime. But did he actually do it? Or was it just a slip that metastasized into a sin?

In a scene from Satluj, the protagonist Jaswant Singh Khalra (Diljit Dosanjh) talks about the first time humans might have observed the sun set. “They must have thought now the sun will never come back,” he says. “But a lamp, sitting in a hut, didn’t agree. It challenged the darkness.” It’s a haphazard anecdote which has clear historical loopholes but the metaphor hits. Sometimes, it’s important to not win but to only put up a fight.