The very first thought that entered my head and stayed there for quite a long time, as I was watching Musafir Cafe, was this: don't Mahima Makwana and Vedhika look very much alike? For the first two or three episodes, I actually thought that I was seeing Vedhika in the role of Preeti, the lovely partner of Chander (Vikrant Massey), who runs the titular cafe with him. I carefully checked the end credits as well as IMDb and found myself proven wrong, but that's fine. So what if it's Makwana, not Vedhika, in the role of Preeti? What matters is that Makwana's face also bears a slight resemblance to Vedika Pinto's. Pinto plays Sudha in the series, and she is the woman from Chander's past whom he loved dearly, intensely, wholeheartedly. This is important because when Chander leaves Sudha in the past and, in the present, gets into a relationship with Preeti, it seems as if he has involved himself with "Sudha's lookalike." He is, in a way, still with the woman who left an indelible mark on him—he is not yet over the romance that absorbed him, moved him, destroyed him. The casting directors, Karan Mally and Sandeep Patil, deserve to be recognized.
The actors, too, deserve to be congratulated for taking what could have been eye-rollingly corny lines and rendering them convincing. How tough an actor's job can be becomes incredibly evident in the grand passions of melodrama, which demand performances capable of making dialogue that can sound borderline silly feel persuasive. Dhanush and Kriti Sanon did a fantastic job in Tere Ishk Mein of conveying the madness of two mad people who become entwined with each other and express themselves fiercely. Replace them with less experienced names and you would risk transforming the whole film into something unintentionally funny, which is what bad melodramas tend to be. Musafir Cafe is not exactly melodrama; it exists somewhere between drama and melodrama. Yet, the rule still applies. Without the talents of Makwana, Massey, Pinto—and others like Adil Hussain, Loveleen Mishra, Anubha Fatehpuria, and Sadiya Siddiqui—this eight-episode-long romantic drama would have rung false and flimsy.
What the three main actors bring to the table is tangible chemistry. The way they behold one another, the way they snuggle, the way they converse with an effortless rhythm—it all gives the impression that we're watching people who are comfortable in each other's company. There is real intimacy on the screen. Notice how Sudha gently runs her fingers across Chander's hand, on which her head rests, while they lie on the floor looking at the stars at night. Or how Chander, on their three-year work anniversary, bakes cookies, and before Preeti can pick one up to take a bite, he quickly moves forward, breaks a small piece off a cookie, and feeds it to her. Most of the pleasures of Musafir Cafe stem from observing these "minor" movements that are filmed affectionately. Director Ruchir Arun holds the shots long enough to let the sweetness drip from the actions and interactions performed casually, naturally, sincerely.
This "sweetness," though, can be a drawback sometimes. While it's easy to view the cute, funny moments, such as Sudha and Chander having an awkward conversation with his mother (Fatehpuria), with a wide grin, you also wonder how much more effective and involving Musafir Cafe might have been if writer Sharanya Rajgopal, who adapts the story from a book by Divya Prakash Dubey, had allowed certain events to be somewhat prickly. The ugly confrontation that leads to Sudha and Chander's breakup, for instance, is not at all ugly. You feel as if Rajgopal is merely flirting with uncomfortable feelings, rather than surrendering to them, as that would make the characters gray, unlikable, or unappealing. When a drunk Chander calls Sudha's mother to tell her that Sudha is not marrying him because she is bound by responsibilities, you don't really see Chander as having committed a grave sin. It very much looks like an error covered with a ready-made apology; Musafir Cafe is oppressively committed to being a sugar pill that goes down easy.
Arun, too, takes his cues from Rajgopal's text and sustains a mood both casual and fluffy. Sudha and Chander's "big fight" isn't discomforting. The couple doesn't create a mess, nor are the voices allowed to rise above a certain pitch. Hussain's character tells Chander that running a cafe in the mountains can be hectic, but Musafir Cafe leaves out the troubles one faces while starting a business venture as well as the stress that comes from maintaining and running a business successfully. Then again, this is a show where following your dreams is as easy as handing over your resignation letter and walking down the path of your real calling—a walk that happens without any professional or emotional hurdles, crises, or anguish. Everything is as simple as ABC.
The characters are placed in a hermetically sealed world, so politics doesn't impinge on their day-to-day routine. They all read books and watch movies, all right, but the discussion around the art is as deep as "I like that thing." Without giving them a wide range of topics to talk about, Rajgopal renders them thin. This especially contradicts Chander's dream of opening a cafe where he—and others—could come and talk freely about anything. He mentions that he wants to have long, leisurely conversations with strangers, like women carrying heavy bags on the streets, but Musafir Cafe merely depicts these images swiftly while muting the words exchanged between him and these strangers. The show itself doesn't want to listen to anything that doesn't directly or indirectly deal with Chander's love life. Even Hussain's love life is made to somewhat mirror that of Chander and Sudha's, given how his partner, too, refuses to believe in weddings.
I liked a line in this series about dreams evolving and changing, though I am not sure if Musafir Cafe will end up incorporating this wisdom into its own storytelling. Yes, Preeti, who once wanted to travel the world, has now become Chander's partner and taken up permanent residence in Mussoorie, though it's also worth noting that a part of her still wants to see the world and move from one country to another. This is apparent in the subtle expressions she makes when a writer talks about his own itinerary. What's more, going by the cliffhanger ending, it seems as if dreams in Musafir Cafe don't actually change or evolve; they simply take a temporary detour and return to square one later at an appropriate time. All this means that Chander can still end up with Sudha, and Preeti can still reignite her traveling fantasies. Of course, I could be wrong. The second season could take me by surprise. Or it could devolve into a love triangle or quadruple, peppered with cute feelings. Whatever direction Musafir Cafe takes, at least we will have the beautiful sights of Mussoorie to soak in, won't we? If not, then perhaps Rajgopal and Arun could try giving more bite to their story. I understand the appeal of a "comfort watch." But if that sense of comfort is neutering the sharp edges to the point that the whole project looks safe and slight, then the approach surely begs to be revised carefully. Rajgopal and Arun should ponder this.
Final Score - [6.5/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times