Kankhajura Is A Toothless Series About Vindication
The eight-episode series by Chandan Arora takes some interesting strands and instead of crafting a compelling psychological drama, dunks them in the excess of a thriller.
Promo poster for Kankhajura.
Last Updated: 02.25 PM, May 30, 2025
IN CHANDAN ARORA'S Kankhajura, an actor is pitted against the show. This isn’t the story, but the effect. Roshan Mathew plays the protagonist and delivers a performance that is at once suited to the presumed complexity of the series and at odds with the inert ambition of it. The bravura turn uplifts Arora’s work, prompting a reading of what it could have been had it strived harder, and underlines its failure to match up to the merit of its protagonist.
Arora is Ashu, a timid young man who stutters when anxious. And, he is anxious all the time. His eyes are perpetually lowered, and his back is slouched like he is pinned against the wall. His defeatist body language suggests decades of bullying, and yet, he was imprisoned for killing someone. The only person who gets him going is his brother, Max (Mohit Raina), a flamboyant builder dissimilar to his sibling in every way. Max is ambitious and reassured, forceful and scheming.
When Ashu comes out of prison 14 years later, Max shelters him, only to gradually start distancing himself. He has his group of brash friends (Pedro played by Ninad Kamat and Shardul by Mahesh Shetty), and his younger brother is not just a misfit in it, he doesn’t even fit. Ashu, however, only wants to please his brother. Max, a married man with a daughter, has a big development project in the wings. His politician uncle has made it possible and Max has focused all his energy on keeping things together. Ashu, who only has eyes for him, tries doing the same.
Kankhajura, an adaptation of the critically-lauded Israeli show Magpie, is as much a story about obsession as it is vindication. Ashu weaponises the ridicule and pity that others reserve for him to get closer to Max and make himself indispensable to him. It is a fascinating premise that tears open a need for love in men and outlines a situation that supports the rise of an underdog. Equally intriguing is the character of Max (Raina is as dependable as ever), who is not the worst person around but resists offering any affection to Ashu. His refusal is as steeped in inexplicable sibling dynamics as it is in masculinity. For Max and his friends, Ashu represents a sort of fragile masculinity that they acknowledge only by making fun of it.
The eight-episode series by Arora, situated in Goa, takes these interesting strands and instead of crafting a compelling psychological drama, dunks them in the excess of a thriller. The gaze is always directed outward, and the lack of curiosity renders the people as flat characters with no interiority. Take, for instance, the careless way Kankhajura brings up convenient detours like Shardul wanting the custody of his daughter or Pedro being a lawyer, neither of which contributes to anything in the larger picture.
As the series unfolds, such contrivances only multiply. Ashu, being a police informer, is sidelined till it surfaces by fluke, even the character of Max’s wife (essayed by Sarah Jane Dias) is designed to be more perceptive than others but is treated with disdain despite what the show must feel. It gives her one throwaway scene where she voices her mind and wants an office, only for that to be used in the service of Max’s corrupt plans. Much of Kankhajura is orchestrated in reverse.
The writing falters, and logic becomes sparse with each episode. The only one who stands above the inadequacy is Mathew. He brings in the archival Shah Rukh Khan charm to Ashu, where he effortlessly switches from being tender to unhinged. It is a joy to see the actor depart from the harmless repute of his roles and inhabit a fragile ruthlessness. A performer like him is capable of single-handedly elevating a series with little support, but Kankhajura refuses to offer him even that.