Manav Kaul Shines in Netflix’s Haunting Baramulla

Netflix’s latest Hindi original, directed by Manav Kaul, is more unsettling than scary—it explores grief, identity, and the wounds of a displaced homeland.

“Baramulla” isn’t spooky in the traditional sense. There are no jump scares or shadows lurking in the corners. Instead, it deals with a deeper, more lingering horror: the horror of separation, losing one’s identity, and being uprooted from the land that once defined you. What initially appears as a horror thriller gradually transforms into a poignant meditation on grief, exile, and the ghosts of a homeland long-lost.

The story follows DSP Ridwaan Sayyed (Manav Kaul), a no-nonsense officer investigating a series of mysterious disappearances in Baramulla, Kashmir. Children are vanishing without a trace, their scissor-cut hair the only clue. While the narrative starts as a procedural, it soon delves into something far more layered—an exploration of unhealed historical wounds and the buried cries of those displaced.

Memory as the True Horror

Where “Baramulla” excels is in creating dread not from the supernatural but from memory itself. The narrative begins on a political and procedural note but gradually turns inward, exploring anguish, remembrance, and revelation. By the climax, the story transcends crime and punishment to touch on survival, surrender, and the weight of historical trauma.

Performances That Haunt

Kaul is magnetic as Ridwaan—a man torn between duty, guilt, and love, trying to navigate a world that feels increasingly unjust. His chemistry with his teenage daughter is tender, restrained, and heartbreakingly real.

Bhasha Sumbli delivers a luminous performance as Ridwaan’s wife, balancing silence and storm. She captures the weight of unspoken grief and the struggle to hold a fractured family together.

A Climax That Resonates

The film’s true power lies in its climax. The horror isn’t imagined—it’s historical. The exodus of Kashmiri Pandits in the early 1990s is treated not as spectacle but as soul. Baramulla doesn’t dramatize tragedy—it becomes it. The film offers cinematic closure, honoring broken hearts, forgotten stories, and yearning families.

The first half of the film falters in pacing. Early attempts at “scares” feel unnecessary, especially when the movie’s strength lies in stillness and emotional depth. But once it finds its rhythm, Baramulla grips the viewer and never lets go.

Netflix delivers one of its strongest Hindi originals in years. Mature, moving, and mindful, Baramulla reminds us that storytelling can haunt without horror and heal without sentimentality.