Dr Arora Gupt Rog Visheshagya Series Review: Lazy sex comedy in the garb of slice of life

Don’t be lured by the opening credits of Dr Arora Gupt Rog Visheshagya. The grainy, monochrome images of passing stations and a ruminative Kumud Mishra, reading a pulp novel while glancing outside a train window, might remind you of the intimate storytelling from Doordarshan days. What follows, though, is a messy entanglement of plot points and a story that needs a sensitivity checkup.

The series is about Dr Vishesh Arora (Kumud Mishra), a sexologist who travels between three of his clinics in different cities of Madhya Pradesh. He was married once and was abandoned by his wife because of a sexual ailment. In an attempt to ‘cure’ himself, he read up on sexology and found a calling. Now, 17 years later, he looks out of the train as it passes her city.

The writers should have halted the logline here. Sadly, they didn’t. Thus, we get a tired, stretchy look into the lives of Dr Arora’s patients, who have been teleported from an adult comedy. The characters consist of a newspaper proprietor who harps about the indelibility and credibility of print journalism and then prints a fake story.

There is a seer who sees Dr Arora to get back his mojo for ‘private meetings’ with female followers, who come to him willingly (Seriously? Gurmeet Ram Rahim, anyone?). There is a puny IPS officer who demands servitude outside the bedroom and suffers from premature ejaculation inside. There are others, too: a pimply teenager discovering the pleasures of self-pleasure and an Ajay Devgn fan with erectile dysfunction. All the caricaturist’s men and no women, except a prostitute and a possible sex addict.

The preciseness and serenity with which Kumud Mishra’s character pacified his patients doesn't seep into the show’s narrative. Even where jokes are not needed, we are assaulted with corny ones. The show delves into everything except Dr Arora’s personal life. We see how the nexus between politicians, businessmen and media works but there is no explanation as to where a sex doctor falls in it.

The plot jumps from one city to another in rapid succession and it’s dizzying. There is a feeble attempt at threading Arora’s love story. He gazes at his estranged wife’s balcony late at night, waiting for her to come, and enjoy the breeze. A song of longing plays, but what should look like Romeo and Juliet only reminds you of You. Kumud,
however, tries to hold on in a crumbling story. He brings back memories of stern, small-town doctors whose rebukes are bitter than their pills. He walks calmly in the bazaar of jesters selling gags. Dr Arora deserves a better life and a better story.