Narendra Pachkhédé 
Love is kind of like when you see a fog in the morning, when you wake up before the sun comes out.
It’s just a little while, and then it burns away…
Love is a fog that burns with the first daylight of reality.
—Charles Bukowski, Love is a Dog from Hell
That lurid title – Love is a Dog from Hell – is the cinematic hook of the series Kohrra (fog). In the lush fields, a young couple is making love. Yet, the haunting backdrop echoes with the ceaseless barking of a dog, an unwelcome intrusion that steals their momentary bliss. He abandons his partner and in a rage is walking towards the dog as if to snuff out the voice. But in a chilling twist of fate, the dog’s persistent calls beckon the attention of those who can bear witness to a gruesome discovery – the lifeless body of a mutilated soul, casting a shadow of darkness over the once serene landscape.
Charles Bukowski, the German-American poet, “the Laureate of American Lowlife,” as Time once called him, has a following which cannot be ignored. Intricate long-form storytelling, the six-episode series is more than a police procedural and at its core, an enthralling drama pulses with life. Directed by Randeep Jha, Kohrra is a slow-burn investigation thriller. Within its confines, dwell a cast of vivid characters, each resonating with the essence of a culture’s fleeting desires and harmonies. This six-episode odyssey delves fearlessly into the dismal abyss of human frailty, wherein even its repugnant ugliness claims a haunting, almost ethereal, allure. Kohrra bears resemblances to Abhishek Chaubey’s Udta Punjab (2016), a film co-written by Sudip Sharma.
However, Kohrra is very influenced by Bukowski’s writings and one can see the resonance of the French writer Michel Houellebecq. And yet, there is nothing portentous about this showrunner, Sudip Sharma. Like the Mexican writer, director, and producer Guillermo Arriaga, his passion for the human condition runs through the show. With the precision of a tightly wound clock, the direction of this masterpiece unfolds, orchestrating a sprawling yet coherent script that leaves no loose ends. The characters breathe with life, each intricately detailed, lending substance to a sombre visual narrative that captivates the soul. The storyline deftly delves into the very essence of the culture it embraces, drawing upon a symphony of visuals and music that resonate with a profound understanding. Accompanied by an ensemble cast that approaches perfection, the narrative ascends to new heights, ensnaring the hearts of its audience with an irresistible allure.
Crafted by the ingenious minds of Gunjit Chopra, Sudip Sharma, and Diggi Sisodia, Kohrra weaves a tapestry of contradictions that plague a land engulfed in cultural strife. Within its boundaries, privilege and poverty intermingle, where one seeks solace in the form of either a jab to numb oneself or a ticket to escape. Like the British shows – Happy Valley and Broadchurch – it displays a fascination not with violence and human fragility but with the lengthy shadow it leaves behind.
The show also boasts a tour-de-force central performance by Suvinder Vicky, brilliant as ageing policeman Balbir, facing the everyday bizarrerie of policing in a tired, depressed, grimly beautiful pocket of Punjab. Suvinder embodying Balbir with a nuanced restraint and blank gaze is brilliant. His sombre countenance speaks volumes, and his brooding eyes carry an intense weight, encapsulating the all-consuming burden of guilt and grievance he carries due to his daughter’s Nimrat Kaur (Harleen Sethi) infidelity and unresolved father-daughter issues. Conversely, Barun Sobti as Amarpal Jasjit Garundi, assistant sub-inspector, brings volatility to the table, infusing the younger cop’s character with a distinctly flamboyant flair.
Set in the quaint Punjabi town of Jagrana, Kohrra is remarkably distinct in its depiction of gritty industrial zones and away from the bucolic fields and the loudness of the NRI homes. The plot unfolds with simplicity: The lifeless body of Paul (Vishal Handa), an NRI groom from London, is discovered in the fields. We learn that his best man, portrayed by Ivantiy Novak as Liam Murphy, a British national, mysteriously disappears. Aanand Priya takes on the role of Veera Soni, Paul’s fiancée who becomes entangled with her ex-boyfriend Saakar Khurana (Saurav Khurana), an Instagram rapper, creating a complex triangle. Adding another layer to the narrative, it’s revealed that Liam is, in fact, Paul’s boyfriend, and Paul, a closeted gay man, agrees to an arranged marriage with a woman due to the pressure of his stern father.
In their investigation, Balbir and Garundi embark on a quest to unravel the enigmatic societal clichés that shroud contemporary Punjab, laying bare a complex tapestry of masculine pride, longstanding intergenerational resentment, oppressive patriarchy, lingering unaddressed emotional wounds, homophobia, unrequited passion and shame. While Garundi admires Balbir, he sees the older man powerless against the system. Amidst their personal struggles, grappling with grief, guilt, and deep-seated grudges, they ponder how Punjab can improve when accountability shields the elite.
“Love is a bitch”, we hear from Balbir cussing, steering clear of exploitative and melodramatic theatrics in his portrayal of the character. Within these Bukowskian words lies a labyrinth of profound depth and intense thought, where the enigma of a fateful night serves only as a mere decal, hinting at a far more unsettling revelation. Love, that passionate force, unleashes its fiery grip, weaving a tapestry of questionable and tempestuous forms that send shivers down the spine. Brace yourself, for this journey into the heart’s darkest recesses, will leave you breathless and haunted by its revelations. It puts the whimsy opening of the show in context.
In the midst of its haunting ugliness, a derelict beauty emerges, leaving us spellbound by the enigmatic narrative that dares to explore the intricacies of love. Love, that elusive and intangible force, teases us with its presence yet eludes our grasp, defying definition and manifesting differently to the very same hearts. It made me feel like I was listening to Nina Simone’s ‘Don’t let me be misunderstood’!
With masterful finesse, the film-making dauntlessly navigates the delicate realm that exists between the lines and underlying meanings, Kohrra emerges as a beacon of truth that shines through the murky fog of uncertainty. It beckons us to witness the unfulfilled prophecies people weave, dreams that they birth into existence but never truly embrace in reality. The tale is an invitation to contemplate our own understanding of love, to confront the shadows that lurk within our souls.
Only a handful of television series manage to leave an indelible mark on the cultural consciousness. This raw and sometimes difficult-to-witness portrayal of the modern human experience delves into themes of suffering, remorse, affection, and inherent humanity. In a world where we often cocoon ourselves, Kohrra punctures that protective barrier with every episode. It boldly challenges your preconceptions, hitting you directly with its unapologetic approach. Its unembellished narrative straightforwardly informs us that we may be unprepared to embrace alternate realities and the imperative to venture beyond our easeful boundaries.
Narendra Pachkhédé is a critic and writer.