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In just six episodes Pehredaar Piya Ki has been called everything from a regressive cringe-fest to a creepy concoction of stalking and child marriage. The show’s makers have us playing right into their promotional trickery. What is being sold in the name of a unique love story is one of Indian television’s most bizarre plots till date, with characters so unconvincing that guessing the show’s trajectory is a no brainer.
To begin with, Diya (Tejaswi Prakash), an 18-year-old princess, is given the sole responsibility of Ratan Banna (Afaan Khan), the 9-year-old heir to a supposedly enviable Rajput empire, one that he stands the risk of losing his life over. Of course the only way for her to be able to protect him is to be his wife.
I’ll give you a moment alone with that logic.
Why his parents, the fading monarchs, didn’t appoint a valiant senapati, or Diya minus the ‘wife’ tag, is something the show tries to justify, but does an annoyingly lazy job of.
It’s almost impossible to get this ewwww moment out of my head. But, let’s move on. The show’s makers insist that Pehredaar Piya Ki is about a rare bonding between Diya and Ratan.
While the dreaded fifth episode plays it safe by resting the decision to marry Ratan conveniently in her hands alone, it reveals the thoughtlessness of her characterisation. If Diya is wise and brave enough to be entrusted with Ratan’s life, how can she throw away her own, in the name of duty and valour? Could she not have been clever enough to suggest another solution? And what about her blooming romance with Suyyash Rai? (who is by far the worst actor on the show yet)
As for little Ratan (Afaan Khan), where do I even begin?
This pampered brat is being fed lame fairytales even in 2017. He believes that he is a vardaan for his parents (and hence the world) which gives him the worst sense of entitlement a boy in our times could possibly have. The light eyed prince steps out of a game of hide and seek and into Diya’s world. He’s prancing around after her curiously, smitten and infatuated. Pehredaar Piya Ki could have easily steered clear of ‘icky’, but they confused it with ‘unique’.
Too add to the mess, there’s ample navel revealing, hair blowing in the wind and unbearably tiresome stretching of scenes to pump up the drama.
I might not be the target audience that Pehredaar Piya Ki is even trying to impress, and frankly, neither are the rest of its critics. But as a viewer I have every right to be offended. Pehredaar Piya Ki not only sells stupidity in the name of content, but also sets itself as proof that we’ve come to terms with bad acting and horrible storytelling, weaved into the most meaningless situations.
(We all love to express ourselves, but how often do we do it in our mother tongue?
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