Anubhav Sinha’s memorable Netflix series, IC 814: The Kandahar Hijack, owes as much to Jason Bourne films as it does to the satirical sitcom G Mantriji.
Every great detective story also has a secret history of bureaucracy. Thus observes Zach Dorfman’s Rolling Stone article about a mysterious CIA operative who became so deeply embedded within the Taliban that he may have begun participating in global terrorism himself. A thrilling account of international espionage and the human toll it takes on those who carry it out, the story also sheds light on the blatant red tape through which life-and-death decisions are made by operatives. Often without his knowledge. Director Anubhu Sinha’s Netflix series IC 814: The Kandahar Hijack — a richly constructed, darkly humorous, and ultimately terrifying portrayal of the “Babugiri” that uproots our lives — serves as a perfect companion to this essay.
Divided into two parts of three episodes each — the first focusing on the infamous hijacking and the second on the details of the conversations that followed — the show owes as much to the Jason Bourne movies as it does the satirical set. The work belongs to Ji Mantri Ji. Had Farooq Sheikh been alive, he would have almost certainly found a place in the best ensemble of the show. Vijay Verma plays the ill-fated captain of the cursed Indian Airlines flight that was hijacked from Kathmandu in the winter of 1999, while the others — Kumud Mashranasiruddin Shah, Manoj Pahwa, Pankaj Kapoor, Dubindu Bhattacharya, Arvind Swamy, and more—run versions of the same middle manager torn between a sense of duty and the Indian instinct for self-preservation.
The Kandahar Hijack expertly exposes the workings of “indigenous” organizations, where those not allowed to exercise real authority are often given the illusion of power, almost as a consolation prize. Afraid of reprimand from equally ineffective bosses, these people are in a constant state of avoiding responsibility. This would be largely harmless in a corporate environment, but what if these same ethe were imposed at the highest levels of government, especially during an international crisis like the IC 814 hijacking? It’s a terrifying idea, but one that Sinha is able to create with a single-minded performance in six episodes.
From the beginning, it is clear that the hijacking was made possible by a failure of intelligence, but was only allowed to succeed because the uncles had little understanding of what to do. And demanded more tea and coffee than taking action. When the captain, played by a perfectly composed Vijay Verma, sends a timid distress signal to Varanasi ATC, the man in charge quietly decides that the authorities in Delhi will handle the mess since that’s where the flight originates.
It’s this mindset that haunts our characters in the series finale when a hijacked plane is stranded on dry land in Kandahar. The hijackers were caught in a stalemate with Indian negotiators, led by Mukul Mohan, with IB operative Pahwa playing a brilliant role. “Thirty minutes, kick in,” he says in a moment of desperation after his tactics have presumably failed. “Why didn’t we do this a week ago?” Answers DRS, a cool minded MEA secretary played by Arvind Swamy. “Because none of us wanted to take responsibility.”
Even the decision to appoint Mukul Mohan as chief negotiator — “Democracy is too much in this country,” he ironically declares in one scene — is one marked by bureaucratic snobbery. His counterpart from the R&AW, Ranjan Mishra, is initially selected to lead the operation in Kandahar, but he advises the Crisis Management Committee that Mukal will be tough on the hijackers, and so he is given the job. is more appropriate. Ranjan risks the lives of 200 hostages to protect himself from investigation in case of an accident. For all we know, the only reason Muckle didn’t nominate a third person is probably because he’s a bit of an opportunist who realizes that no matter how it turns out, at least he’s got a pat on the back for trying. You will get a pat.
What follows is perhaps easily the most entertaining part of the show, during which Pahwa chooses to play Mukul Mohan as an entitled BSNL customer care man who gets distracted during lunch hour. Even the hijackers can’t believe they’re being made to make a deal with a man so “official” that if he were born a few decades later, he’d automatically take up Prashant Kishore’s consulting offer. would have attracted It’s almost as if Muckle is performing for an audience. He looks around for reactions, gestures with his hands, and pauses for imaginary applause. If he had the mic in his hand, he would have dropped it. It’s a performance within a performance—the best kind, really—but one that drives home a very serious point: This is the guy who’s going to decide whether we go to war or not. A man who loved everyone around him. Almost blew up the entire operation by making him an adversary?
But unlike Vikramaditya Motwane, who avoided indicting the party in power by drawing parallels with the past. In his yet-to-be-released documentary Indi(r)a’s Emergency, Sinha is eager to forgive these characters. Choose, and by extension, the government from doing anything wrong. By suggesting that they all mean well, he seems to be saying that this was a systemic failure, not a moral one. Sinha carries this idea to the end in a memorable scene, where Pankaj Kapoor’s Minister of External Affairs already delivers an emotional line with jaw-dropping pizazz that could earn him an Emmy nomination: “Come on, come on. , saving the lives of our people…”
Shu says that none of these people really knew what they were doing. And it’s a miracle that more people didn’t die. Had to coordinate with the Pakistanis, had to massage the ego of the Chief Minister. Saving innocent civilians wasn’t all that difficult, but life rarely meets Akshay Kumar’s “So, Hum Jeet Gaye?” a character asks in the climax, and DRS replies, “Did we?”
