There are shows that entertain you, and then there are shows that stay with you long after they've ended. Karma Korma, directed by Pratim D. Gupta, falls into the latter category, a series that starts off with a gripping dramatic tension and gradually settles into a raw, grounded realism that almost feels too close to life. It is a story that simmers, much like a slow-cooked delicacy, absorbing every flavour of human emotion, conflict, and consequence. By the time you reach the end, you realise you’ve consumed something much deeper than you expected.
Pratim D. Gupta has always been known for his layered narratives and sharp understanding of human psychology. In Karma Korma, he brings his strengths to the forefront yet again. While the basic premise might not be entirely unfamiliar, it is the treatment that elevates it. The ingenious way he blends food not merely as a prop, but as a metaphor, a mood setter, and an emotional connector with the lives of the characters gives the series a very unique flavour. Each plate, each preparation almost becomes a character, echoing the inner turmoil or desires of the protagonists. This interplay between gastronomy and storytelling is something rarely attempted, and even more rarely achieved with such finesse.
At the heart of the series is Sohini Sarkar, who delivers what I personally found to be one of her strongest and most nuanced performances. Sohini has this beautiful ability to erase the visible line between actor and character. She doesn’t portray the role; she dissolves into it. There is a rawness, an honesty in her performance that makes every emotion, every hesitation, every breakdown feel frighteningly real. It’s almost as if the camera doesn’t capture her, it observes her. This authenticity becomes a grounding force for the entire narrative. Her relationship with her on-screen husband (Pratik Dutta), and the chemistry they share in both silence and conflict, sets the emotional tone early on.
From the chef (Avijit Dutt) to the minor characters, the ensemble cast supports the story with commendable conviction. Everyone plays their part with sincerity, lending truth to the world Pratim has built. But when Ritabhari Chakraborty enters, this is where the series surprises you. Ritabhari showcases an impressive evolution in her craft. Her diction is crisp, her accent sits comfortably on the character, and her emotional transitions from tenderness to steeliness, vulnerability to strength are performed with striking fluidity. Her character is complex but never confusing, layered but never forced. She becomes one of the emotional anchors of the storyline. Her presence changes the temperature of every frame she enters, making her track one of the most engaging parts of the show.
And then, there is Ritwick Chakraborty, our Ritwickda, whose presence instantly elevates the narrative. He strikes that rare balance between intensity and effortlessness, making his character both intriguing and unpredictable. The dynamic between his character and Sohini’s forms the pulse of Karma Korma. Their interactions, sometimes confrontational, sometimes unexpectedly tender, are written with care and performed with remarkable restraint. Even Ritwickda’s on-screen assistant (Kanai played by Durbaar Sharma) deserves a special mention. His light-heartedness, melodic undertones, and easy charm add an important layer of freshness.
Among the seven episodes, Episode 3 admittedly slows down the pace a little. The police intervention, the prolonged investigative stretches, and the almost relentless surveillance on Sohini’s character do feel slightly stretched. But even in these moments, the storytelling maintains its purpose. These sequences reflect a reality many urban residents relate to today, a world where suspicion, scrutiny, and the fear of being watched have almost become a norm. While this track could have benefitted from a tighter edit, it never derails the larger narrative. In fact, it enhances the atmosphere of unease that the show subtly builds.
The final episode is where Karma Korma truly shines. As you progress through the series, several questions begin simmering in your mind — will Sohini’s character cross a moral boundary? What direction will Ritwickda’s arc take? Will the delicate balance between these characters implode or transform? And most importantly: how do the themes of karma, consequence, and emotional inheritance come full circle?
The ending does justice to all these threads. Without resorting to theatrics, it brings the story to a beautifully meaningful resolution. Ritwickda’s final dialogue becomes a striking philosophical moment — “your karma follows you everywhere” — reminding us of the central theme that the title promises. The resolution is tender, reflective, and impactful, leaving the audience with something to think about long after the screen fades to black.
Visually, Karma Korma is appetising. The cinematography (Prosenjit Chowdhury) is clean, intimate, and mindful, lingering on moments long enough for us to absorb them. The colours, textures, and close-ups of food are not merely aesthetic choices; they emotionally parallel the lives on screen. The background score (22 Pally) is subtle and never overpowering, letting the characters breathe.
In the end, Karma Korma is a thoughtfully cooked, flavourful series — much like a perfect bowl of “Awadhi biryani with kosha mangsho and a dash of lime” — rich, layered, satisfying, and leaving behind an aftertaste that makes you reflect. The performances are uniformly brilliant, the writing is bold yet sensitive, and the storytelling is both engaging and meaningful. For viewers who crave something refreshing within the Bengali web series space, this one is a definite must-watch. Do watch Karma Korma on hoichoi; your palate, and perhaps even your conscience, will thank you.