In the age of streaming, where thrillers like Bird Box, The Midnight Club, or Stranger Things frequently vie for attention with escalating shock value, visceral spectacle, and special effects, Amazon Prime Video’s Andhera by Raaghav Dar offers something genuinely different: a creeping, psychological horror that lingers long after the screen goes dark. Andhera is a complex meditation on how darkness, literal and metaphorical, invades our lives through psychological conflict, social anxiety, and urban alienation. While watching it on many occasions, I was reminded of the 2017 American film It by Andy Muschietti that also explored psychological manifestations of evil, and treated darkness and fear as tangible forces rather than just emotions.
Darkness as a metaphor: More than a supernatural threat
Andhera wastes no time establishing darkness as a central metaphor. The disappearance of a young woman in the pilot episode triggers an exploration of the “living, breathing darkness” that haunts both the cityscape and the psyche of its characters. Mumbai, depicted as a city of shimmering high-rises and shadowy alleys, becomes a character itself, its glamour and vibrancy precariously perched above a churning undercurrent of dread and ambiguity.
Inspector Kalpana Kadam (Priya Bapat) and medical student Jay (Karanvir Malhotra) serve as guides into this shadow realm alongside a podcaster, Rumi (Prajakta Koli) and the villainous Ayesha (Surveen Chawla), perfectly blending to deliver an astonishingly dark thriller.
Haunting takes many forms: for Kalpana, it is the inescapable shadow of her past, while for Jay, it is the disorienting nightmares that dissolve the line between dream and reality. As they probe the case, the darkness they pursue becomes a stand-in for their unresolved fears and guilt. The show’s creators skillfully use the absence of light to signal the visual language for mental health struggles and existential unease. Each episode doubles down on this motif, literally bathing characters in pitch-black corridors, flickering streetlights, and murky hospital wards. But the most unsettling passages are those where darkness seeps into the mind: Kalpana revisits traumatic childhood memories, while Jay’s search for explanations devolves into a confrontation with his inner demons. The visuals used at times to represent this darkness, or Andhera, often resemble those from Stranger Things or Venom. Does this reflect a lack of creativity, or were we being deliberately teased on certain occasions?
Urban alienation: The city as a labyrinth of anxiety
Mumbai, as rendered in Andhera (or was it speaking of Andheri, I wonder), is less Bollywood glamour and more Kafkaesque maze. The cutthroat pace of the city creates the perfect backdrop for a supernatural horror here; anonymity breeds anxiety. The show’s Mumbai is teeming yet lonely, filled with isolated individuals driven by secrets and shame. The city lights highlight, rather than dispel, the feeling of being watched and judged, tying back closely to the show’s treatment of social anxiety.
Characters move through crowded railway stations, buzzing roads, silent apartment complexes, and labyrinthine alleyways, all places where people vanish without a trace, both literally and metaphorically. A key subplot unfolds in a children’s shelter, where the abduction of a boy named Omar exposes a web of indifference and corruption that allows darkness, supernatural or otherwise, to thrive.
Pharma CEO Madhu Uberai, whose corporation profits by exploiting fear and human suffering, represents the insidious face of urban capitalism. The series extends its metaphor: darkness as the byproduct of unchecked ambition and dehumanisation. Surveillance, social media paranoia, and institutional scepticism are deftly woven into the investigative plot, deepening the viewer’s sense of unease.
Social and psychological relevance: Andhera as more than entertainment
Andhera’s impact transcends genre thrills, delivering a sharp commentary on India’s struggles with mental health, social distrust, and communal divides. Creator Raaghav Dar skips easy answers and uses supernatural elements like Freud’s “uncanny” (familiar yet terrifying) to force characters and viewers to face horrors beneath daily life. But unlike H.P. Lovecraft’s fear of the unknown, here you know, yet you don’t know. The suspense is sustained despite revelations happening progressively. Social anxiety runs throughout the narrative. Kalpana’s isolation in a male-dominated police force, Jay’s alienation from peers, and Mumbaikars’ fear of confronting evil all show that true horror comes from urban silences and rifts, not monsters. The series is sure to connect with millennials facing dislocation, gig economy pressures, and unresolved trauma, turning entertainment into societal reflection. Now, whether the implications are just for Mumbai or the rest of the country, we ought to make a deliberate choice to reflect.
Why Andhera matters
What makes Andhera compelling is its willingness to linger in uncertainty and darkness. It understands that horror is about fear of the unknown, but also about the fear of what we know all too well, i.e. our psychological fractures and social anxieties. The show’s supernatural premise consistently returns us to questions of complicity, trauma, and the necessity of confronting what society wants to keep hidden. In doing so, Andhera entertains and challenges India’s urban viewers to reckon with the darkness in their midst and within themselves. It exemplifies how streaming platforms are shaping India’s emerging global narrative: one that is nuanced, diverse, and unafraid of the shadows. Featuring Dolby Atmos sound, sharp cinematography, and bold writing that embraces ambiguity and emotion, Andhera leads a new era of Indian exports. For those looking for more than just a quick scare, Andhera provides a journey into and beyond the darkness.
(The author is a Pallottine priest who explores the interaction of faith, morality, and society. He holds a Licentiate in Moral Theology and a Master’s in English Literature and Language. Passionate about ethical discourse, he actively engages with contemporary social and moral challenges, offering perspectives that draw on both religion and the humanities. He currently serves as the Principal of St Vincent Pallotti School (CBSE), Rasayani.)
