Amazon Prime Video's Pataal Lok is both powerful and problematic. Here's Why!!

At the very onset, Delhi’s colonies are astutely demarcated into Swarg Lok (heaven), Dharti Lok (earth) and Pataal Lok (netherworld) that preludes the concatenation of events constituting this riveting neo-noir drama. The utterance comes from Inspector Hathi Ram Chaudhary, who tactically imparts this wisdom to his subordinates, claiming to have sourced it from a messaging platform. “Waise to shashtron mei kaha hai, lekin maine WhatsApp pe padha tha” (Although it is mentioned in religious scriptures, but I read it on WhatsApp), words that instantly thrust us into the idiosyncrasy of this meticulously curated reflection of both paradise and purgatory.  

Hathi Ram Chaudhary is our man of the hour (rather the entire series spanned over 9 episodes), an expedient middle-age cop routinely embroiled in the circadian mundanities of the Delhi Police force, perilously yearning to rise above his mediocrity. He doesn’t exude the machoism of a Chulbul Pandey, frequented via headlong collision with multiple goons rather runs short of breath, chasing a criminal and gets told off by a temple priest to remove his shoes on the way. When tasked with investigating the attempted murder of Sanjeev Mehra, an eminent journalist, he eyes the occasion to procure brownie points via professional mobility into the world of high-brows who’re the designated inhabitants of Swarg Lok- distinctly characterized by stature and eminence. A turn of events however pressures him to abandon the institutional chase, permeating into the irreconcilable world of Pataal Lok, marked by morbidity and darkness.  

Hathi Ram, ironically named after an animal, bears the only point of moral compass, he becomes the lens for the viewer to transcend between the three Loks and the creatures inhabiting each. The stark polarities are embodied through an unapologetic media kingpin Sanjeev Mehra played by veteran Neeraj Kabi on one end of the spectrum while the other end is characterized by a dreaded criminal, Vishal Tyagi who kills people with a hammer earning the nickname- Hathoda.  The narrative is gruesome and compelling, with editing so crisp that it is bound to leave viewers at the edge of their seats after each episode. Close-ups of skulls cracked open, butt naked criminals pissing their pants, mob lynching in railway stations, institute the savagery of the show’s universe. While the graphics corroborate barbarity, dialogues like – jise maine musalmaan na banne diya, aap logon ne use jihadi bana diya  reverberate the unsettling status quo of contemporary world.  

Pataal Lok delves into glaring themes of gender, religion, caste, class and power visiting them through a diverse array of characters thrown into the bargain to establish a “subaltern perspective”. The subjected underclass thrives on the fringes of as the dominant power exerts its hegemonic influence. Hathi Ram is joined in his chase by a fellow Muslim cop Imran Ansari, who does not wear his religion on his sleeve, yet continually combats casual religious remarks by sheer virtue of being born in a community that is a predisposed global threat. As the “voiceless other” he leverages his intellectual prowess to qualify the civil services exam, presumably his recourse to alter the status quo. In the opening shot while discussing his impending results- Ansari's Inshallah pass ho gya toh (Hope, Allah helps me pass) is met with Chaudhary’s Agar Bhagwan ji naa karaye pass, fail ho gya toh (What if Bhagwaan doesn’t let you pass). Despite their religious polarities, Ansari is the Yin to Chaudhary’s Yang, a camaraderie that resembles Sartaj- Katekar (Sacred Games), Soni- Kalpana (Soni) and Srikant- Talpade (The Family Man). Akin to Srikant Tiwari’s character in yet another Amazon Prime Indian original - The Family Man, Chaudhary is tormented with family responsibilities, raising a rebellious teenager for a son. He frequently unleashes violence on the child, a recurrent point of conflict with his wife played by Gul Panag. Chaudhary’s son is shoved into an elite education system where he struggles to find his footing, therefore channelizes his exclusionary voice into a group of like-minded pistol carrying peers much to the agony of his father. Chaudhary also unleashes the spillover terror on his wife, slapping her in a fit of rage only to get slapped back (Kabir Singh 2.0). But women empowerment goes for a toss and the very next day an unapologetic Chaudhary comes to her looking for his kacchas (underwear).  

Lack of agency also marks a pertinent characteristic of Mehra’s wife who is a childless middle-aged housewife. Dolly played by Swastika Mukherjee undergoes medication for anxiety disorder presumably arising on account of her loneliness further thwarted by her husband who forms an illicit alliance with a journalist from his channel. Sarah Matthew, the mistress in question compensates her lack of chastity with a righteous conscience in discharging her professional responsibility as a representative of the media- the fourth pillar of a democracy. In a reductionist approach to her character, one of the scenes has the English-speaking Christian, vocalize her allegiance to the motherland via her to return to India following an Ivy league education. Both the women in Mehra’s life also share a fondness for dogs, an animal that Mehra is allergic to. Dogs, that are characterized in Hindu Mythology as protectors of the gates of heaven and hell are employed as a recurrent metaphor throughout the narrative, despite their lack of political identity.  

Having created an assortment through conflicts of class, mental health, education and religion through these characters, LGBTQ representation is discharged into the concoction via a transgender. Championing the cause of non-binary gender representation, through a non-Indian is both flawed and fragile. Minimal depictional inaccuracies do not salvage the abundance of disparate identities, only facilitate a cursory probe to entangle their respective socio-political impediments. Representation for all, resolution for none. The show paints a rather superficial also sketchy portrait of the operations of the media as make-believe theatrics substitute de facto gambits. Mehra who is a representative of the great Indian media circus in one of the scenes has a rather chilling proclamation, “we used to be heroes, people like us, now we get trolled, killed and murder”.  However, any further declaration of his fundamentals, especially left-liberal ideals are devoid of any tangible attestation.  

Barring the oddities, Pataal Lok makes for an enjoyable viewing experience, as it amicable resolves the convolutions in the story arcs.  The cinematography paints a perfectly dark world thrusting the viewer into the dismal underbelly of Delhi. The performances are par excellence and each actor steps into the shoes of their complexly layered characters with conviction and nails the nuances. As the worlds oscillate between the ordeals of good-bad-ugly, there are no protagonists or antagonists. In a universe where each one is a player and each one gets played, Jaideep Ahlwat as the every-man Hathi Ram gets etched into our memories. However, despite being produced by a woman, Pataal Lok remains a de-facto man’s world where on a scale of chota kaam (small task) to pura kaam (full task) the rape of a woman is a ‘bada kaam’  (big task) not in principle but in practice. Even as the story doesn’t culminate in a cliffhanger and accords its viewers the requisite closure, I for once didn’t get mine.  

As parts of Hathi Ram have my heart, would have liked for him to render an apology for slapping his wife and not the other way round.