Panchayat is one of the most popular shows in the Indian streaming space. The ongoing story of an engineering graduate who reluctantly takes up the job of a gram panchayat secretary in a village is sweet, well-performed and tragicomic. But it’s also refreshingly self-reflexive. TVF (The Viral Fever), the production house behind it, is known for its low-stakes and idealistic approach to middle-Indian storytelling. Whether it’s familyhood, studenthood or coming-of-age aspirant tales, most of its shows seem to sacrifice a social gaze at the altar of everyday levity and cultural nostalgia. They exist in an apolitical, isolated bubble of professional ambition and personal relationships.
But Panchayat is a rare TVF series that puts itself in an uncomfortable position. Its protagonist Abhishek (Jitendra Kumar) – a young, rat-race fresher encountering the casual complexities of grassroots India – is a narrative surrogate for TVF itself: Suddenly, there is no escaping his own language of escapism. His ‘new’ setting has the most mundane problems, patriarchy, politics and everything in between. It creates the illusion of Kota Factory’s all-knowing Jeetu Bhaiya on a practicals-over-theory sabbatical.
Abhishek’s outsider status in the TVF-verse also subverts his identity as an out-of-town hero. The ‘out-of-town hero’ is a versatile protagonist in cinema. Multiple genres stem from this motif. The gangster Western: In Sholay (1975), two rakish crooks arrive in a one-horse town that’s terrorized by a dacoit. The revenge thriller: In Kahaani (2012), a pregnant woman arrives in Kolkata to look for her missing husband and weaponizes this precise image of her as a hapless outsider. The love story: In Kal Ho Naa Ho (2003), a terminally ill man arrives to change the fortunes of a struggling non-resident Indian (NRI) community in New York. The socially motivated police procedural: In Article 15 (2019), an Indian Police Service (IPS) officer arrives in a village to investigate the caste-based disappearance of three girls. Even the homecoming drama: In Swades (2005), the most direct inspiration for Panchayat, an NRI scientist arrives in a remote village only to realize the hypocrisy of his own privilege.
There are several more examples, many of which are centered on the cross pollination between person and place. Each of them follows the exchange-program trope: Both the central character and the new environment inch from cynical to compassionate, exchanging timely virtues and influences. The character usually experiences an inner transformation, while the setting is rescued from itself. Altruism is part of this package – there is no story without the Urban Saviour syndrome. The gaze is often a one-sided one: The individual always has more to give. The individual is the medium for all-round enlightenment.
What Panchayat does well is remove the ‘hero’ from the out-of-town hero. Abhishek and the residents of Phulera feed off each other in terms of worldviews and routines. He calls out their blind spots and discriminations, but even they call out his carelessness and self-absorption. There’s seldom a sense that he is better or more evolved than them. If anything, it looks like they’re the ones indulging him.
Over its three seasons so far, the show has teased our perception of the more archetypal hero. For instance, a modern Abhishek taunts the ‘real’ pradhan, Manju Devi (Neena Gupta), about her lack of agency as the wife of the unofficial leader. This inspires Manju Devi to clock a rare win towards the end of the first season. But she is back to being a homemaker – only slightly more confident – next time around. She remains a frank advisor to her husband; there’s no ruthless House-of-Cards-style transformation. That’s not to say her burst of initiative was a false beginning; it’s just a confession that progression is not an overnight affair.
Similarly, the series hints at a romance between Abhishek and the pradhan’s daughter, Rinki. But it isn’t until Season 3 that silent sparks actually fly; until then it’s platonic, often receding into the background of more pressing village conflicts. Even when pradhan-pati Dubey (Raghubir Yadav) finds a match for Rinki and meets a prospective groom’s family, he is repelled by their arrogance; there is no moral interference by Abhishek. At best, Abhishek’s presence in Dubey’s life nudges him to re-evaluate his role as a father. He still remains a patriarch and less-than-competent leader; there’s no grand message against the ills of arranged marriage. In Season 3, the show quietly establishes the parents’ acceptance of Rinki’s aversion to marriage and her quest for a career. Abhishek supports her aspirations, but his advice is far from sound. One of his first reactions is “Why a career suddenly?” – implying that he sees her as someone who settles – before he backtracks.
The incredibly moving climax of Season 2, too, features the village taking a stand and doing the right thing. But it's not Abhishek’s disapproval of the villainous MLA that makes the villagers block his convoy. It’s their collective decision, driven by a desire to protect a grieving Prahlad’s honour. Even petty rival Bhushan and his wife put aside their grievances with the leadership and bat for Prahlad. No cityslicker lectures them to do so. Abhishek can only sit passively and share in their sadness. He can't help but observe Prahlad – a father who has lost his soldier son in Kashmir – break down in an invisibilized corner of the country. He later backs Prahlad when they criticize Dubey’s mishandling of a government housing scheme. Yet, Season 3 hints at Pradhan-pati Dubey trying to shed off the conscience that Abhishek represents. Regardless of the drama, his desperation to be re-elected offsets his feel-good relationship with Abhishek.
All of this gently reclaims the averageness of the outsider. It allows a larger perspective to prevail. By revolutionizing a new place, the hero often tends to reduce its identity to a timely pitstop in their race. But the series keeps reminding us that the protagonist isn't Abhishek; it's the ramshackle panchayat of Phulera in India’s Uttar Pradesh. It’s a dot on a map. No matter what Abhishek does, the setting retains its permanence and goes its own way; it resists easy solutions, or any solutions at all. Abhishek is simply the lens. The perspective is reversed, just like it was in Schitt’s Creek, the charming sitcom about a small American town that welcomes – and indulges – a riches-to-rags family. Neither of the places exist to merely validate the main character energy of the visitors.
It's why Panchayat is reflective of not Swades as much as a low-key homecoming series called Ghar Waapsi (2022). The story of a corporate stooge who gets laid off and returns to his hometown is defined by the reality of his surroundings. His bickering family and old friends have their own identity, their own lives and narratives, and it eventually forces the man to respect the authenticity of his ‘new’ setting. His rediscovery mirrors an out-of-town hero’s discovery. Abhishek’s willingness to concede the stage, and be a spectator at a station rather than a passenger on the train, can be attributed to TVF’s own uncertainty in this space. It's almost like they're so overwhelmed by the real world the character occupies that this world – this India that TVF shows so steadfastly sugarcoat – becomes its own out-of-town hero. Beyond the bittersweet episodic resolutions, Abhishek feels like a speck in a sandbox that keeps churning.
Panchayat legitimizes the ‘backdrop’ – even in its caste-blind and centrist adventures – by dismantling the concept of a narrative nucleus. It lets Abhishek be. The mutual attachment is on their terms, free of the template that requires an intellectual, economic and social distinction between the two entities. Season 3 is another brick in this wall; Abhishek is rarely at the forefront of Phulera’s escalating war with the MLA. He may start conversations or meetings, but he never ends them. The show’s overall reading of patriotism echoes this virtue. While working in the heartland, Abhishek strives to crack the MBA entrance exam – pursuing a self-serving career that makes him the hero of his life. But by existing in (as opposed to ‘curing’) Phulera, he is unwittingly preparing for the Civil Services exam – pursuing a selfless career that makes the nation the protagonist of his life. He will technically never be an out-of-towner again. The village is his syllabus. The panchayat is his coaching class. Every beer-and-bonding session is his mock test. He just doesn’t know it yet.