Streaming in Session: Why Indian Sports Docuseries Are Falling Behind

It’s a peculiar time for Indian non-fiction. On one hand, feature documentaries — like All That Breathes (2022), Against the Tide (2023), The World is Family (2023), and Nocturnes (2024) — are breaking new ground, telling fearless stories and earning acclaim all over the world. On the other hand, “commercial” non-fiction titles are breaking new ground in terms of unoriginality and nostalgia-baiting. The celebrity docu-series (The Roshans) ecosystem aside, there’s reality television in the digital age (The Fabulous Lives of Bollywood Wives, Indian Matchmaking), but at least they don’t pretend to scratch more than a cringe-watching itch.

The real problem is the Indian sports docu-series landscape. Despite having so much fodder — be it match-fixing (Caught Out: Crime. Corruption. Cricket., 2023) or the actual game (The Greatest Rivalry: India vs Pakistan) — it’s strange how superficial and templated these shows are. They take the most complex subjects and flatten them under an avalanche of algorithmic recreations, limited archival footage and basic context. The recent India vs Pakistan Netflix series, much like the over-politicised rivalry it represents, is another nail in this non-fiction coffin. It reduces a decades-long cricket lexicon into a quote-slinging contest between former Pakistan speedster Shoaib Akhtar and Indian opener Virender Sehwag. The only takeaway from these titles is the common pool of journalists used as talking heads. The irony is not lost: Watching writer extraordinaire Sharda Ugra speak sense on camera is like watching Sachin Tendulkar playing a lone heroic hand in a collapsing 1990s line-up.

In stark contrast, long-form Hindi fiction is thriving. Black Warrant and season 2 (S2) of Paatal Lok have not only ensured a strong start to the streaming year, they’ve continued India’s vintage love affair with police characters. Some of the strongest shows in the space have featured cops and law enforcement procedurals — Sacred Games, Delhi Crime, The Family Man, Farzi, Kohrra, Tabbar. The success of this “formula” stems from mainstream cinema’s simplification of honest policemen; entire Bollywood legacies have been built around the infallibility of these protectors. But the shows have often revolved around complicated and vulnerable civilians in uniform. Most of them are morality thrillers, where these people must somehow survive the system they’re working in — and retain the luxury to sleep at night. They’re always surrounded by cautionary tales: like Rahul Bhat’s DSP Tomar in the Tihar jail of Black Warrant, and Anuraag Arora as SHO Virk in the netherworld of Paatal Lok S2.

Read More | ‘Paatal Lok’ Season 2 Series Review: A World-Class Sequel Well Worth the Wait

But the truth lies in the versatile masculinity of its protagonists. It’s convenient how almost nobody is accusing Zahan Kapoor of being a product of nepotism; he has the blue-blooded genes of his grandfather, Shashi Kapoor. But that’s also because he doesn’t fit the perception of a conventional Bollywood hero. He weaponises this impression as baby-faced jailer Sunil Kumar Gupta in Black Warrant. Kapoor subverts the idea of a noble policeman with a performance that mines his diminutive presence in a setting that demands a strapping Shashi Kapoor–coded cop. Everyone tries to make him more of a “man”, but his reluctant moustache, soft voice and ill-fitting uniform end up influencing the prison instead. A lesser show would’ve hinted at queerness, but Black Warrant remains committed as an antidote to cishet machismo.

Paatal Lok S2 is even more interesting in this aspect. Jaideep Ahlawat’s iconic Hathi Ram Chaudhary is cursed with the righteousness of a Sunil Kumar Gupta but the gruff masculinity of a Haryanvi striver. His heart is at odds with his physicality. It’s what makes him such a memorable character; he keeps trying to defy his own conditioning. Every time he cusses or thrashes offenders, it feels like he’s performing to offset his idealism. This dissonance — where he’s frustrated with himself for being more progressive than he looks — is why Imran Ansari’s coming-out scene in the car might go down as the on-screen moment of the year. Chaudhary remains authentic to himself without breaking the new-age woke barrier. His reaction is one for the ages because it reveals an alternative alpha-ness: one where a man’s identity is defeated by his empathy.

In Dabba Cartel, Sai Tamhankar’s Preeti Jadhav — a Thane (Mumbai) subinspector with a point to prove in a male-dominated field — is an extension of the Hathirams and DCP Vartika Chaturvedis (Delhi Crime) of the world. At first, she interprets authority as manliness, putting up a tough front to be taken more seriously. But the moment she falls for the only Muslim cartel member (Anjali Anand), she drops the act and embraces the fact that being a sensitive and perceptive woman — and staying true to who she is — is her only superpower. It’s the kind of characterisation that’s the hallmark of good long-form fiction. After all, the big screen may have the heroes, but it’s the small screen that spotlights the humans.

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