As a wise antihero once said: “You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become a villain”. Who knew Harvey Dent was referring to one of TVF’s flagship shows in its fifth and greediest season yet? Gullak has been critic-proof for years, in the sense that it’s built to be liked and ‘felt’ as the cinema of middle-class existence; as storytelling that thrives on nothingness. If it doesn’t work for you, you are accused of not knowing the real India. If it’s too boring for you, you are not wired to handle the mundane colours of everyday life. They will have you believe that the genre is shaped by sweet dullness: the invisible moments between the lofty landmarks of living, the unremarkable and forgotten days between the scenes that stories usually show.
I did find the first few seasons very watchable, charming even, but the familiarity of subsequent seasons have bred contempt. The sameness is now a deal-breaker. I imagined that watching the Mishra household again would be like visiting friends and relatives after a short hiatus, but the family irritates me. The way they speak to each other in dismissive taunts and relentless banter, the way the cacophony around the house sounds so designed, the way they act like people who know they’re relatable, the way their toxicity is reframed as middle-Indian affections. Even the way they use language feels like they’re imitating regional intonations and quirks, not conversing like humans who react to each other on a daily basis.
I suppose this is a part of growing (old) with a family-coded franchise; it simulates the idea of real-world and habitual attachments. Maybe I was always meant to reach this stage, where I yawn my way through episodes, curse the curated whimsy, allow them to get on my nerves, and start picking faults in each of the characters. Maybe I’ve become the fifth Mishra in the culturally generic and nameless town in a show that insists it is insulated from the grassroots anxieties of the nation it belongs to. Maybe I’m the eponymous piggy-bank in the corner, whose smug wisdom-dispensing voiceovers at the end of every episode put the dog from Dil Dhadakne Do to shame. Maybe this is method-watching at its peak.
Jokes aside, Gullak 5 is seven episodes long — not five, like many of the previous seasons — so forgive me if I’m grumpy. That’s not to say I welcome its return. But it’s harmless and cloyingly nice at best. Owing to a change of actors (Anant V Joshi replaces Vaibhav Raj Gupta as older son Annu) and texture, you can tell that some time has passed, and the Mishras are flirting with the uncertainty of a future. The episodes are still standalone incidents and ‘themes’ (so that the piggy bank can spell out the moral-science lessons at the end), but there’s a broader sense of evolution and continuity across them. Everyone is dealing with their own internal conflict. They’re inching forward, but this season is still the transition phase between a wrinkled yesterday and a shapeless tomorrow.
Santosh Mishra (Jameel Khan) is renovating their beloved family home, but nostalgia is no longer his friend; he sets about applying for a loan for a house in a new government scheme (similar to the institutional nods in Panchayat 3). Annu Mishra works as a medical sales representative, but has secretly rented an apartment with a friend as a stress-free bachelor pad; he has essentially moved out without moving out, enjoying the perks of both lifestyles. He also falls for dentist and client Priti, going out of his way to be the wide-eyed Hindi-medium cliche in her English-medium workspace. Anant V Joshi is fine, but the change in performer alters the DNA of Annu, making him seem like a third son rather than a firstborn. Younger son Aman (Harsh Mayar) visits from college, but he’s in hot water in his side hustle as an online astrologer. Aman is essentially the black sheep and slacker, but the show is happy to pookify his flaws.
The most interesting character of the lot, Shanti Devi (Geetanjali Kulkarni), is going through an identity crisis. She is shamed for being a mother, wife and sister without trying to be a woman. Her pesky neighbour (Sunita Rajwar) has resorted to Youtube activism, and she picks on Shanti for settling and having no agency. Her brother’s (Gopal Datt) visit supplies her crisis; men like him look through her to discuss important and ‘manly’ deals. Given that this is written and made by men, where patriarchy is often sold as cutesy elements of small-town familyhood, Shanti’s problem is tricky territory. In trying to suggest that women like Shanti should not be criticised for occupying the system and losing their sense of self in pursuit of being the glue that holds everyone together, it ends up rapping wokeness on the knuckles. The neighbour realises that women empowerment shouldn’t be about putting one down to prop up another, but the show itself does the same with two kinds of homemakers. One doesn’t expect Shanti to change or see the light overnight, but Gullak 5 somehow infuses social moderation with a male gaze; it mansplains the meaning of feminism, for good measure.
The season’s preachings peak in a finale that sacrifices the inherent conservatism of the family at the altar of feel-goodness. The parents and sons say things that the audience needs to hear, not the things they are conditioned to say. The urge to resolve arcs is so strong that the nothingness pretends to be something. I used to like that the traditionalism of the Mishras normalised families who are too busy surviving to have overt ideologies and prejudices. This time a character explicitly mentions that people here would rather bash their neighbours than political parties. While it’s not far from the truth, it’s a blanket statement about an India that most productions tend to make brands out of.
It’s also an attempt to justify the stubbornly apolitical world of shows like Gullak and Panchayat; “we have no time to care” often reflects the stance of the makers rather than the semi-fictional settings and its people. It’s a little patronising to the largest voter bank in the country. The funny part is that we are discouraged from overanalysing a Gullak like this, because it’s staged as rooted and innocuous entertainment. But five seasons in, it’s hard to not call out your noisy relatives. After all, you can’t choose your family (or franchise), and they’re going nowhere, so you may as well judge them.