Hello Bachhon is about Alakh Pandey, in essence a middle-class hero whose dedicated efforts to teach fuelled many underdog journeys. By looking at the narrative arc of the series, though, it would be difficult to gauge that because when we step into this universe, Alakh is going through an arduous journey of his own — and we jump right in the middle of it. There’s this conflicted experience for the viewer as we are expected to celebrate his virtues and partake in his self-discovery at once. It’s confusing, and Hello Bachhon struggles to wriggle out of this dichotomy. 

Cast: Vineet Kumar Singh, Vikram Kochhar, Girija Oak

Directed by: Pratish Mehta

Created by: Abhishek Yadav

Streaming on: Netflix

Headlined by Viineet Kumar Singh, the series tells many stories at once, while primarily focusing on Alakh, a small-time physics teacher who has, in collaboration with his partner Prateek (Vikram Kochhar), gradually built a massive education empire, and more importantly, acquired the love of millions of students across the nation. There are some good writing decisions here that combine the two worlds and draw a parallel between the two struggles. Hello Bachhon also creates a picture of the extreme adversities an average young mind is faced at every step in this nation. It’s not a pretty picture, and the series doesn’t hold back. A slum kid is mercilessly beaten by his employee, which leads to his big eureka moment. The two underprivileged boys do not have money to buy medicines for their father, let alone study it for five years. However, with each new show, TVF is also evidently going closer to its idea of middle class utopia, where money is all that divides the rich and the poor, where no other dynamics exist. In a multi-cultural society like ours, we don’t see a single character who is not a Hindu. Despite dealing with stories set in rural heartlands, the show invisibilises the idea of caste. The mention of Hindu mythological references arrive casually, and it’s probably by design. This is real India, but also incomplete.

Hello Bachhon glorifies middle-class righteousness instead, where every struggle or failure is worth the moral victory. Even though Alakh and Prateek are clearly diving in a pool that’s riddled with ethical dubiousness. it also slyly celebrates certain capitalists who must not be named. Alakh himself is someone with an infamously bad business acumen, but the series takes a lot of pride in his placement as a middle-class hero who doesn’t bend easily. The dichotomy continues. There are moments of raw, gritty emotions too, (courtesy Viineet Kumar Singh’s grounded performance) — like in a scene with Alakh and his father, where the former pleads not to glamourise poverty anymore. However, often times, we can’t tell whether TVF is merely attempting to capture the middle-class plight, or milking it for sympathy.

More importantly, Hello Bachhon doesn’t have enough clarity on what it wants to be — at least for a neutral viewer. It leaves more questions unanswered than solved. Is this show about Alakh or his brilliant students who broke every barrier? We don’t know. Why are so many teachers resigning?  What makes Alakh such an unparalleled teacher? How long did it take for Alakh and Prateik to build their little beacon of education, and the timeline of their journey and milestones, is startling vague. The stakes are never clear either — is Alakh’s organisation already big, or finding their way towards that status. Emotionally too, the show tells us nothing we don’t know already. At some point in episode 3, we are given a hope that Alakh’s childhood story is part of the collection too — a promise that is unfortunately broken. That’s a pity for a show that rides on its sentimental value.  

Also, someday, I hope to understand what’s the deal with TVF and its disinterest in female characters. The one story, out of five, that focuses on a teenage girl battling academic and family bullies at once, the writers feel the need to incorporate a male classmate without whose help she cannot rise up. Girija Oak is embarrassingly underutilised as well.

I realise, eventually, that a show like Hello Bachhon expects homework from its viewers. It expects us to know many things about Alakh Pandey already, and walk in with half a sense of reverence. It gives itself a head-start, and expects its audience to be on the same wavelength — both informatively and emotionally. Half the time, we are trying to put the pieces together.  I mean if I still have to google something after watching a five-episode series, the show clearly doesn’t have much to offer. TVF has become like a Salman Khan movie in that sense. It doesn’t matter how the reviews read — the show knows what its target audience is.