Backed by TVF and built on a familiar template, expectations from Gram Chikitsalay were understandably high. And while it does deliver on certain fronts, it struggles to break free from the tall shadow of Panchayat. Let’s examine this more closely!
It was 2020, the year when the world hit a gigantic pause. We were all packed inside our homes and even television seemed to slow down. As people turned back to classics, something sneakily appeared on OTT - a small, sincere, light-hearted and rooted show called Panchayat! TVF’s timing was coincidental; it didn’t deliberately ask for attention in this manner but it found it anyway. This show brought families back to the idea of watching something together. It felt familiar, comforting, like a warm breeze in the middle of chaos.
TVF struck gold, they built on their strongest model - relatable stories, subtle humour, and a rural setting seen through an urban lens. And it hit a chord like never before; it wasn’t just entertainment, it became part of our cultural language. Characters turned into memes, lines into catchphrases, and the simple life felt worth yearning for again. So, in an era obsessed with franchises and universes, it makes sense that TVF would want to expand this world. Not just with more seasons of Panchayat but also by creating something that could stand beside it like a sibling. And this wouldn’t be the first time, as TVF, in its larger arc, has quietly built a catalogue of education. From Kota Factory to Aspirants, the stories of JEE and IAS aspirants aren’t just about exams but about systems, social hierarchies and the grind of ambition.
That’s where Gram Chikitsalay comes in as it attempts to use a rural hospital as a metaphor for societal ignorance and the privilege of indifference. Packaged in yet another story of a city boy in a village where laughter and life lessons go hand in hand, but more than a spiritual successor, it seeks to explore healthcare in the hinterland with the same template that made Panchayat so beloved. And yet, in aiming to inherit a legacy, Gram Chikitsalay buckles under its weight.
Let’s understand why!
Panchayat’s shadow looms large
Let’s call it like it is - the two shows are eerily similar. In fact, they are more like twins co-joined at the hip than cousins. A young man from the city arrives in a remote village to serve in a government role. In Panchayat, it’s Panchayat Sachiv Ji's office in Phulera, in Gram Chikitsalay, it’s a government clinic in Bhatkandi. The village names echo the journey of its protagonist as Sachiv Ji and Dr Prabhat go on a merry-go-round in these villages. And the pattern of the outsider looking in on rural life continues with the misfit duo of locals and the gentle absurdities of rural life paving the way. Where Sachiv Ji had Prahlad and Vikas, Dr. Prabhat has Phutani and Govind. The similarities aren’t subtle hints, they're structural. Even aerial shots of the village and dusty roads are common.
But where Panchayat carefully laid down its world, Gram Chikitsalay seems to assume we already know it. It skips the groundwork and starts mid-conversation, leaning on what Panchayat has already built and that’s where it starts to stumble. Because Gram Chikitsalay wants to be two things at once - a light-hearted comedy about a doctor in a quirky village and a hard-hitting commentary on the state of rural healthcare. But it doesn’t always balance those tones well. There are moments that genuinely hit you like the struggles of a mother with her ill son, a broken system, and Prabhat’s own emotional breakdowns. Still, the show swings into exaggerated comedy or melodrama, and the connection severs. It’s trying to do in one season what Panchayat took three to do, often sacrificing emotional depth for overburden, subtlety for satire, and the strain is visible!
Dr Prabhat and Sachiv Ji
On paper, Dr. Prabhat and Sachiv Ji look similar - two urban outsiders dealing with the peculiar challenges of daily village life. But dig a little deeper, and you see the difference in their intention. Sachiv Ji took the job reluctantly. He wanted to escape. His goal was an MBA, not community service. His growth was reluctant, slow, and organic. Dr. Prabhat, on the other hand, chooses this life. He’s a gold medalist in medicine. His father owns a hospital. He could be anywhere, but he wants to be in Bhatkandi. He believes in change, in service, in doing the right thing. There’s a certain high horse he’s on; he walks in thinking he knows better. And that’s exactly why, when a fake doctor with no degree calls him out for being disconnected from the people he serves, it hits hard. It’s a potent reversal not just of medical ethics but of social perception. A village doesn’t need a saviour; it needs someone who listens, who learns. Where Sachiv Ji could afford to stay detached, a doctor cannot afford that luxury.
This realisation is where Gram Chikitsalay shines not as a copy of Panchayat but as its philosophical sibling form, where it could carve its own path, its own voice. But the problem is that it doesn’t seem to trust it enough. The show keeps pulling from Panchayat’s playbook - local politics, staged comedic chaos, overtly dramatic emotional bait and somewhere in all that, its unique core starts to blur, where incidental and organic are replaced by curated.
A commentary that almost lands
India’s healthcare system, especially in villages, is messy, underfunded, and often ignored. Gram Chikitsalay tries to highlight this with its state of crumbled clinic with no pathway to reach, rusted tools, paan stain everywhere, and disappearing vaccines. A reality that will make healthy patients in urban settings faint. It shows us how uneducated rural people unknowingly mistreat those with mental illness, turning into gossip and cruelty. It shows us how the urban moralism of privilege of “solutions” fails to see the ground reality of situations. That commentary is needed because 1000 patients per doctor still wait for that one doctor to appear. But sometimes the show says too much, too loudly. The message is there but the delivery wavers. Occasionally, a show that should feel grounded tips into theatrics, where the emotional punch gets lost.
Still, there’s something about the timing. Just like Panchayat landed during the uncertainty of lockdown, Gram Chikitsalay arrived at another tense moment. As someone living in a border state, surrounded by tension and uncertainty, the show resonated with me differently. It highlighted how distant privilege often shields us from everyday struggles that are routine for others, whether it’s medical inaccessibility or social apathy. In that sense, Gram Chikitsalay reminds us of the real India that exists between rural and urban, which most of us look away from. It is perhaps unfair to put that baggage on it, just like it is for every rural dramedy that has to live up to Panchayat. But that’s the weight of being second, of timing. It has its own merits - a sincere protagonist, a compelling premise and a chance to say something big, and sometimes, it almost does with moments that ring emotionally true. However, it also lacks the narrative, patience and restraint that made Panchayat so effective.
A step forward, not a repeat
Just like Jeetendra came a long way from Jeetu Bhaiya to Sachiv Ji, Amol Prashar has come a long way from Chitvan to Dr Prabhat in the TVF universe; you can feel him trying his best and the rest of the cast that seems as rooted in their setting as in their accents. However, it’s the show that has some miles to go because Gram Chikitsalay has the potential to stand on its own feet. It has a heart, a good story, one about healing, not just medically but socially. It reminds us that rural life isn’t just about nostalgia or simplicity, it’s about survival, systems and showing up for people, even when they don’t expect it. What it needs now is trust in its voice, its pacing and a leap of faith to step out of Panchayat’s shadow that it was born under and walk into its own light. If it does, Bhatkandi's village might just become as beloved as Phulera.
Gram Chikitsalay is currently streaming on Amazon Prime Video!
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