Hell hath no fury like a mother wronged. Mai, a six-part series on Netflix, is best summed up by this paraphrased quote. An exploration of the lengths a mother, irrespective of risk and morality, is compelled to go to in order to seek out the people — and the system — that has caused her daughters’ untimely death, Mai has an interesting premise and more than a handful of engaging moments, but fails to come together as a convincing, cohesive thriller.
Bringing forth both the fragility and fearlessness of a mother, an Everywoman who has perhaps never even swatted a fly in her life metamorphosing into an ‘investigator’ who sees bodies quickly piling up around her (many propelled by her own actions), Mai is set in seemingly innocuous Lucknow and traces a mother’s journey towards closure after witnessing her daughter being mowed down by a truck.
In Mai, The City of Nawabs is the hotbed of crime and grime, and Sheel, a gentle, sacrificing soul to the point of being a rather browbeaten mother-wife-caregiver, is the unconventional ‘detective’ getting her hands dirty as she plunges into this murky mess.
Sheel, in what is a rather successful case of inspired casting, is played by Sakshi Tanwar. The epitome of the Hindi soap opera bahu for many years, Sakshi imbues her character — motoring around in a scooter, and always pairing her crisp cotton saris with sneakers — with both grit and vulnerability. When her aurally-challenged daughter Supriya (Wamiqa Gabbi, refreshing screen presence) is killed in what seems to be a hit-and-run accident, an unconvinced Sheel decides to take matters into her own hands. What follows is a slow-burn watch where the contrivances don’t always work, but Sakshi as Sheel — whose eyes seem to speak what her daughter couldn’t in her dying moments — is always around to rescue the series from what can only be notched down to lazy writing by the trio of Atul Mongia, Amita Vyas and Tamal Sen. Mongia co-directs the show with Anshai Lal.
Mai suffers from a case of overstuffing. Not satisfied with keeping it as just a story of an avenging mother, the makers pack in subplots involving the hunt for a crypto key, Sheel’s slowly estranged relationship with her husband (Vivek Mushran being well, Vivek Mushran), a gay couple and a cop’s marital discord. While some of it contribute to the core plot and add layers, a lot of it is flab that could have easily been done away with. Also, for a thriller, there are vast stretches of nothingness leading to convenient plot points. The twist in the tail is one which seasoned viewers would have guessed early on, with Mai taking too long to arrive at it.
What will possibly keep viewers hitting the ‘next episode’ button are the consistently good performances. Tanwar apart, Raima Sen is also cast against type and delivers a solid act, as does Anant Vidhaat as the vastly unreadable Prashant.
The violence lurking in the nooks and alleys of a city which turns into a monster at night has overtones of Paatal Lok. Both shows, after all, are from the stable of Clean Slate Filmz. Mai’s examination of grief, handled differently by its different characters, also strikes a chord. But what eventually holds the show together, and lifts it several notches, is Sakshi Tanwar’s face. Gritty, grief-struck, falling to pieces and yet resolute.
