‘13th’ Series Review: Another Brick in the ‘Kota Factory’ Wall

Inspired by the real-life journey of educator Mohit Tyagi and his platform Competishun, 13th is a five-episode drama about a venture capitalist who quits his job to help his former mentor build an ed-tech startup. It is composed of two timelines around a decade apart: the struggle of cocky IIT-JEE aspirant Ritesh (Paresh Pahuja) under the tutelage of crowd-favourite MT Sir (Gagandev Riar) is intercut with the struggle of corporate star Ritesh teaming up with a vintage MT Sir to turn this vision into a unicorn. The protege and teacher trade roles across phases; Ritesh chooses to ‘invest’ in Mohit the way he once invested in him. The ominous-sounding title refers to the term used for students who take a drop year after their 12th to prepare for the JEE entrance exam — like Ritesh does in Kota in 2005, but also like he figuratively does after getting disillusioned with startup culture years later.

It’s hard not to see past the irony of a show like 13th. A tagline such as “Some Lessons Aren’t Taught In Classrooms” stages the storytelling as a brand — the precise sort of brand that Ritesh and MT Sir get busy pitching to potential investors. The painful sincerity is designed, packaged and sold as a snapshot of middle-Indian dreams and life truths. Each of these brands think they’re different; that they offer an alternate path to the capitalist mainstream. But unfortunately for the consumers — in this case, its viewers — only the pitching packs look distinct; the products are similar.

13th, too, is a genetic descendant of TVF lineage. The male protagonists talk in cricket metaphors, smug war parables and social monologues at the drop of a hat; the gaze is musically wise and preachy; the few female characters exist so that the heroes can mansplain their fundas to someone; the housewife speaks in cooking analogies, and the young love interest always requires tuitions from the resident genius (and outsider). There’s a bit of Kota Factory, Aspirants, Hostel Daze, Tripling, Pitchers, Panchayat even. The two timelines work overtime to stay connected, find corresponding beats, and sync the crests and troughs. But they also operate as two shows — two formulas — for the price of one. The result is generic in both cases: yet another coaching-class and exam-prep tale meets yet another entrepreneurial and algorithm-versus-humans tale. 

At a narrative level, 13th makes some interesting choices. It’s very much Ritesh’s story, so the legacy of Mohit Tyagi feels like a medium to propel his coming-of-age arc (think Tara reappearing to ‘cure’ Ved of his identity crisis in Tamasha). This reduces the senior educator to a one-note personality; the reverential approach to the older man makes the show go into PSA mode whenever he’s on screen. Given that Gagandev Riar broke out with a charismatic rendition of Abdul Karim Telgi in Scam 2003, his turn as an anti-Telgi here feels too calibrated; he oozes niceness like a mythological figure with a halo over his head. Even if the idea is to shift the focus onto Tyagi as the ‘student’ in the latter portions, it’s hard to escape the main-character energy of Ritesh. He’s the one who’s changed career paths to be a better and more responsible capitalist (whatever that means).

What this does is put the burden of drama and texture on the shoulders of Ritesh. Paresh Pahuja is an affable actor (he brings to mind Vishal Vashishtha in Ghar Waapsi), but Ritesh just seems to do things and behave strangely because it’s a trope and not because the character is a consequence of experiences. For instance, the show begins with Ritesh having an existential moment during a board meeting — a rant about how greedy startup bros create no real value for society. It’s how The Newsroom started (with a talented professional who is sick of the system), but Ritesh’s meltdown is too performative to merit a backstory; if the next season explores how he reaches this point, it’ll be too late to trace a link to the beginning. Even when his younger version joins MT Sir’s classes in Kota, the chip on his shoulder is more derived than earned; in fact he’s so unlikable here that it becomes difficult to root for the protagonist at all. It doesn’t help that the supporting characters — like Ritesh’s friends and fellow tenants — feel like wooden fillers.

It’s also never clear why MT Sir is so beloved; the screenplay merely assumes that we know of disruptors like him, and doesn’t delve into the details of what makes such teachers tick. He’s more of a concept. They only speak in broad terms (“quality not quantity; the results speak so we don’t have to”), so MT Sir ends up sounding like any other professor who uses generosity as a front for a thriving business. The contest between humility and hubris across eras fails to offset the vagueness of their ed-tech company. The only purpose is to show the older man trying to adapt to the art of selling himself without losing his integrity (with preachy gems like “don’t judge the event, let the event judge us”). But the structure is so visible that the circularity of life — a neat LHS=RHS speech is marked by a neater split-screen edit — unfolds like a clinical equation.

I like that the conflict of the men is shaped by things like ego, pride and persecution complex. Ritesh’s Kota crisis is triggered by a change of exam format — from objective questions to multiple-choice patterns — that places speed over accuracy; he instantly goes from top dog to striver, and becomes bitter about a level-playing field in which luck plays a role. His intelligence is of no use if he isn’t fast enough under pressure. It’s a lived-in and specific issue, but the show slips in an unnecessary track of a rival in class to amplify Ritesh’s battle. Even MT Sir later on hesitates like a director having to go beyond his creative mindset and double up as a producer; Ritesh doesn’t agree with his humble start-from-scratch attitude, yet the series amps the clash up to make the stakes look sexier. These stakes are supposed to be philanthropic — of leveling the exam-prep field in a country where access is too expensive — but there are times when 13th devolves into a story about two upper-class men getting wealthier. A throwaway scene of MT Sir hinting that they use his ‘smaller’ car and not Ritesh’s Mercedes to reach work doesn’t hit because the gap between ambition and success is not addressed.

A lot of these flaws stem from a fundamental problem with the streaming landscape today. The directing in these shows lacks a sense of identity and voice. There are separate credits for showrunners and writers, so the directors in the medium seem to execute rather than create, where it’s only about stringing together sequences from paper and not about the individualism of the storytelling. It depends on the subject and theme of course, especially if the film-making is in danger of hijacking the story. But direction here appears to be limited to instructing the actors; the blocking of scenes, spatial awareness, translation and shot-taking are indistinguishable between shows of a certain scale and (slice-of-life) genre. 13th is another brick in this art-agnostic wall. Gone are the days of subjective answers; it’s just another option in a multiple-choice and time-sensitive question. Everyone is ‘content,’ in more ways than one.