Poulomi Das

In the opening moments of Arati Kadav’s Mrs, you’d be forgiven for mistaking the film as a gentle love story borne out of the great Indian arranged marriage. In Delhi, Richa (a standout Sanya Malhotra), a dancer, meets Diwakar (Nishant Dahiya), an educated gynaecologist and her prospective match for the first time. They exchange glances and share smiles and then end up holding hands on a date at a neighbourhood restaurant. She lets him know that she’s crazy about cassata and he tells her that he’s a fan of “simple, home-cooked food.” Two cuts later, they’re married. It’s as happy as happiness can get.

For a country so invested in rewriting history, it is shocking that there exist so few films and shows that tackle the contours of modern Indian history. Narratives set in pre-Independence India abound in Hindi cinema habituated to churning out period films by the dozen even though filmmakers are rarely burdened by facts or historical accuracy. Oftentimes, the genre, which spans historical biopics and narratives tracking several periods of the country’s freedom movement, becomes a means to an end — a way of reiterating religious extremism of the present rather than investigating the social conscience of a nation.

The story of Mumbai, India’s largest city, is linked inextricably with the story of the Kolis, the lower-caste, Indigenous fisherfolk community whose koliwadas (villages) dot the coastline. Until the 1800s, what we know as Mumbai today used to be an archipelago of seven islands, harmoniously inhabited by Koli communities. These islands turned into a city due to human intervention — a product of several land reclamation projects that also enabled the displacement of Mumbai’s original inhabitants.

If there was an award for turning inventive premises into a drag-fest, I’m certain Indian storytellers would be contending for it. In the last decade of Indian streaming, there has been nothing more frustrating than witnessing filmmakers self-sabotage projects that could have otherwise become definitive storytelling. It’s worse than having to sit through shows that resemble a template and underwhelm in their lack of ambition and finesse. Such shows are easy to churn and easier to forget, their existence devoid of any purpose beyond existing for the sake of populating a catalogue.

In this post-Covid world, the timing of Pill – an eight-episode examination of the malpractices of Big Indian Pharma that end up endangering human lives — could not be more timely. Just a few months ago, AstraZeneca, the British-Swedish pharmaceutical company, admitted that Covishield, its Covid vaccine, can cause side-effects such as blood clots, low platelet counts, and neurological deficits. If that’s not worrying enough, AstraZeneca is already facing a class action lawsuit in the UK that accuses its vaccine of causing deaths. So far, 51 cases have been filed against the multinational giant. That is to say, for a country that has survived the pandemic and come out on the other side only to discover the long-term side-effects of the vaccines on our bodies, such a show exists as cinematic retribution.

Raj Acharya’s “Murder in Mahim” – the eight-episode police procedural streaming on JioCinema, suffers from an adaptation problem, the most unfortunate flaw currently ailing Indian long-format storytelling. The story, about the violent murders of lower-class sex workers, is adapted from Jerry Pinto’s eponymous novel and the show is helmed by Vijay Raaz and Ashutosh Rana, two formidable acting powerhouses capable of elevating any script.