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“Do you know what is the tragedy of our Punjab?” Sub-Inspector Balbir Singh drunkenly asks his rookie partner Jarundi in one scene. The two police officers, played by Suvinder Vicky and Barun Sobti, often meet for a series of soul-searching sessions over late-night drinks in Netflix’s new crime drama, Kohrra. These are the best scenes of the show, and they are entirely dedicated to character development and little else. When Singh troubles Punjab, he doesn’t wait for Jarundi to answer. “It is our ‘mitti pao’ attitude,” he says, finally expressing the guilt he feels for having served a corrupt system for so many years.
We often complain about it How is the type of crime dealt with? in mainstream Indian cinema. Too often, audiences are exposed to scenes of empty violence, or Heavy plot stories Populated by cardboard cutouts rather than real people. Singh’s sentiments are directed at the corrupt chiefs who, in his opinion, have left Punjab a drug-fueled, crime-ridden mess. But it may also apply to the corner mentality that dominates our film industries, where storytellers are, more often than not, more interested in getting things out than actually working on the material and making it better. Created by Gunjit Chopra, Diggi Sisodia, and Sudip Sharma, Kohrra is the rare Indian crime drama made with clarity in thought, and one scene, more than any other, exemplifies her willingness to face the truth and not distract from it.
In the sixth episode – the final chapter of the first season – Garundi wanders into the prison informing the suspect that he is free to go. Garundi, along with Singh, crack a murder case that they have been persistently investigating over the course of the season. A NRI man named Paul was found with his throat slit in a field. The son of a wealthy businessman, he was days away from marrying a woman he had apparently met only once. Singh and Garundi were under enormous pressure to solve the mystery, lest the Punjab Police might once again be ridiculed for their incompetence.
Their first order of business was to round up the usual suspects and put them through the contest. Garundi gladly volunteered to do the dirty work. Over the course of the investigation, they arrest a local musician, a small-time drug dealer, and a truck driver. While each of them was involved in the case in one way or another, none of them were actually responsible for Paul’s murder. After the two cop heroes finally get to the bottom of the matter, it is Garondy’s responsibility to release the suspects.
When the musician told Saqr he was free to go, he was met with a roar of disbelief. Saccar was brutalized by the Jarundi not long ago, denied his rights, and imprisoned despite his innocence. The camera slowly pans to the truck driver, then the traveling salesman, realizing how easy it is to pin a crime on any of them. No one will question that. But then Garundi does something you’ve never seen in shows like this. With much regret, he apologizes to Scar.
“Sorry yaar,” he says, as director Randeep Jha lets the scene breathe and let the emotions at its core be felt. Subti’s silent performance speaks volumes. Not only does he feel remorse for his rash actions, but it seems as though he is watching an alternative life flash before his eyes, one in which he was an addict, thrown into the pen through no fault of his, seeking dignity. . Garundi could jump ship like many others in Punjab, and start a new life abroad. But for a variety of reasons, he was forced to stay behind. Much of what he does in the show, which elegantly examines the mass exodus of young people from a drug-ravaged country, stems from that frustration. How often do we see ‘case based’ Hindi films? They sacrifice their personalities on the altar of politics, or allowing the issue itself to become the primary topic? But Cora does not do this. In this age of “copaganda” entertainment, one dares to ask the tough questions; Questions that are not just limited to the reality of Punjab, but rather a symbol of India as a whole. And she does it through her characters. We see the world through their eyes and experiences, not the other way around.
“Don’t go after decent people, blame it on the junkies,” Singh says with disgust in this “Meetee Bao” scene, before advising Garundi not to make the same mistakes he’s made in his life. “In your career, you’ll only get three to four opportunities, so don’t miss them,” he says. It is one of the few moments when a reserved Singh verbally acknowledges his state of mind. Normally, filmmakers rely almost entirely on Vicki’s grizzled face to do the talking. They aren’t afraid to stay in for close-ups and long moments of silence. And the actor, who was so great in Mel Patatar, brings the same haunted despair to Singh here.
He seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders; His eyes seemed to have witnessed unspeakable horrors. Correctly resolving this issue, and through it mending his broken relationship with his daughter, is his only way of repentance and redemption. Unlike Garundi, who is only violent towards innocent prisoners, Lessing has a history of domestic violence. We are told that his behavior drove his wife to suicide. The show doesn’t forgive him for past sins, but he certainly takes the approach to spending time with this story. However, there is a sense that Garundi could still be saved; He can avoid succumbing to the toxic manhood that consumed his boss. Time passes, the wounds heal, and the “electrification” seems to go away.
Post credits scene is a column in which we dissect new releases each week, with a particular focus on context, character, and characters. Because there is always something to focus on once the dust settles.
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