They are rich, decadent, and shiny. But boy, are they messed!
Everything that shines ain’t class in Made in Heaven and the tinkling champagne glasses – in Delhi’s manicured settings – are as brittle as the commitments made. But hey, you are hooked. The expositions are giant f**kups and they stem from picture-postcard scenarios.
While here, you’re hooked to the carnal. You’re hooked to the greed. You’re hooked to the new normal.
Halle-frickin-lujah.
What is it about Zoya Akhtar and Reema Kagti’s Made in Heaven that’s roping almost EVERYONE in?
Is it perfect? No. Have we never sketched the faltering steps of the rich and the glitzy? We have. But this one is a binge-fest of desires, uncensored and – probably – rooted in Marx’s worst nightmare - class privilege.
Delhi’s fancy-shmancy life is a maze you lose yourself in it. Willingly. There are wedding planners, film stars, politicians, and business tycoons, along with glimpses of the middle-class and its cultural/moral capital.
But mostly, the weddings are grand, the outfits are wealthy, and the surfaces reflect enough light to double up as daylight, but... the problems sound familiar.
But mind you, in case there is any subliminal envy, the sting is taken out of it quite easily because there are enough chinks in this armour. It really doesn’t matter if you’ve worked your a** off to get something – that scruple is strictly the god-fearing middle class citizen’s score to keep – because everything’s dependant on the survival of the fittest - by hook or by crook.
You get laid, steal, deceive, and lie because you really want to. Morality is the proverbial jellyfish without the spine - fluid and free-flowing.
Of course, there are hiccups. Faiza is consumed by guilt when she betrays her best friend, Karan feels like a sh*tbag for treating his school friend, Nawab, the way he did , and Tara is stricken with guilt, borne out of the outsider’s lens.
But guess what? They’re doing what they want, anyway.
There are zero deterrents but a lot of I-need-therapy bombs.
Adil and Jazz are the only characters, among the main ones, whom you don’t get to see braving inner battles. The former, quite democratic with his erm.. nether parts, and the latter, quite convinced of who she is and what she wants.
Made in Heaven reminds you of the last gleam of daylight everyday - the final beam before the sun sinks in.
Polish. Blemish. Repeat. Pretty much everything transitions into a dystopic urban landscape where money is the leash, fidelity is a scam, and 'class' is a skeleton full of closets.
In Made in Heaven, the un-ideal is the normal. And it keeps its word.
Since I shall steer clear of spoilers - here’s all you need to know about the show to start giving it some thought. What’s better than bingeing on Made in Heaven? Talking about it. Because the dissections are endless:
-Was the ending – the big reveal – a bummer?
-Is it telling us that class mobility is too harrowing a reality to serve as the middle-class citizen’s dream?
-Kabir’s voiceover, as the one with the ‘lens’, could also have been Jazz’s? Given the fact that she is an outsider with enough perspective and nuance, sans Kabir’s privilege?
-Tara’s feminism is the true-blue Third Wave - are we ready for it?
The show has, of course, brilliant writing and it is quite an engager. It also has issues here and there, if I were to play the devil’s advocate - but largely, it works. And it is good with nuances. The mountainous scale of f**kups prod the desired adult in you, grappling for affirmation that we are all messing up.
Not only do you see characters messing up, you get to see the rich and the powerful messing up.
You want to see them, but you don't want to be them - you've binged, but… would you re-watch it? Probably not?
It is flesh, blood, and tears, and – let's face it – you want laughter and therapy at the end of the day. So, why am I still talking about it? It is says it as it is, it gives you an insider's view into modern dystopia, and – most importantly – it bases reality on privilege- the cornerstone of desires.
“Let’s get real,” it whispers with manic charm.
(At The Quint, we question everything. Play an active role in shaping our journalism by becoming a member today.)