‘Baramulla’: A haunting that doesn’t hit

When a white tulip shows up in Baramulla, it doesn’t bloom with innocence, it arrives like an omen. Director Aditya Suhas Jambhale (‘Article 370’ fame) has turned that delicate flower into one of the film’s eeriest signatures, a quiet warning that slips in and out like a whisper from an unfinished past.

The story kicks off with the disappearance of 13-year-old Shoaib Ansari right in front of a crowd watching a magic show. That he is the son of the local MLA adds pressure, but even without the political weight, the mystery itself is peculiar. Despite the magician being the prime suspect, there are no leads, just a lock of the boy’s hair.

A month later, Ridwaan Sayyed, played by Manav Kaul, arrives in Baramulla as the new DSP assigned to crack the case. He comes with his family. The moment they step inside their bungalow, a creaky, atmospheric old house with more shadows than furniture, you can almost hear the film exhale, “Now we begin.”

Ridwaan throws himself into the investigation, but back home, his wife Gulnaar (Bhasha Sumbli) and their children Noorie (Arista Mehta) and Ayaan (Rohaan Singh) start sensing something odd inside the house. A door that refuses to stay shut, a whisper without a source, a figure that seems to move just outside the periphery of light. Jambhale uses these moments not as gimmicks but as clues. It makes you wonder if the missing children and the house are connected.

Then, another child vanishes, again leaving behind just a strand of hair. The panic escalates and so does the dread, because Ridwaan realises that his own children may not just be living in a haunted environment, they might be next.

Set against the breathtaking calm of snow-clad Baramulla, some scenes look postcard-perfect. Ridwaan is an unusual protagonist, not because he is a cop on a tough case, but because he is a man who carries a heavy shame. During a tense encounter with militants, he mistakenly kills a child being held hostage along with his own daughter. The incident follows him like a shadow. His community labels him a kafir and his children grow up isolated. It is a brilliant character setup and Kaul captures his vulnerability well enough.

But after the thrilling start, ‘Baramulla’ slips into the slow lane. Instead of dropping you into the investigation at high speed, the first half takes its time. Maybe too much time.

The novelty of ‘Baramulla’ is the way it hints at supernatural forces without immediately revealing their rules or intentions. The presence in the house isn’t random. It is tied to the region’s past, particularly to a tragedy involving a Kashmiri Pandit family caught in the violence of militancy. But the film, to its credit, doesn’t dump the backstory in one go.

And just when you begin suspecting the supernatural storyline is disconnected from the missing children, the film nudges you toward a deeper connection. What makes it compelling is how the film uses the supernatural thread to reflect the real wounds of Kashmir. The idea feels bold and surprisingly original, even when not every question gets neatly answered.

The second half is where the film lifts itself. The tension tightens, the stakes sharpen and suddenly the slow build makes sense. Kaul becomes the emotional core, but Arista Mehta, as his daughter, steals several moments with her fragile strength. Bhasha Sumbli brings quiet resilience, adding warmth in a world growing colder.

There are a few loose ends. The timing of the eerie incidents feels sudden and it is hard to believe no one earlier sensed anything off about the house. The Noorie-Khalid Dar bond comes across too quickly.

What ends up dragging ‘Baramulla’ down is its uneven mix of supernatural elements and socio-political themes. The film reaches for depth, but lands on confusion.