Baramulla OTT Review: Manav Kaul and Bhasha Sumbli-Starrer is a Haunting Reflection on Kashmir’s Shadows

Aditya Suhas Jambhale’s Baramulla, now streaming on Netflix, is less a conventional horror film and more a chilling psychological drama set against the troubled backdrop of Kashmir. Produced by Uri director Aditya Dhar, the film stars Manav Kaul and Bhasha Sumbli in an unsettling story where personal ghosts and political horrors intertwine.

Set in 2016, just before the abrogation of Article 370, the film follows DSP Ridwaan (Manav Kaul), a police officer forced to relocate to Baramulla after a professional controversy. He moves in with his wife Gulnaar (Bhasha Sumbli) and their two children, Noorie and Ayaan, into a creaky old house that seems alive with whispers, sighs, and shadows. Soon, a series of child disappearances grips the town — each heralded by the mysterious appearance of a white tulip.

As Ridwaan investigates, he’s torn between supernatural suspicions and the chilling reality of terror cells operating under the guise of freedom struggles. Jambhale cleverly blurs the line between political violence and paranormal fear, turning Baramulla into a layered allegory of Kashmir’s trauma.

Visually, the film is stunning — snow-draped valleys, dimly lit wooden interiors, and quiet moments of dread give Baramulla a haunting elegance. However, the pacing falters, especially through a long middle section where the mystery stagnates. The scares, too, are more psychological than visceral — whispers of grief rather than screams of terror.

Manav Kaul delivers a restrained yet affecting performance, though the script gives him limited emotional space. Bhasha Sumbli, playing a mother caught between intuition and denial, brings quiet strength, while the children’s arcs hint at deeper emotional scars than the film fully explores.

Despite its flaws, Baramulla finds its footing in a powerful, emotionally charged climax, where the metaphor of haunting turns literal — the ghosts here aren’t just spirits, but the memories of violence, loss, and fractured identity.

In the end, Baramulla isn’t a story about monsters lurking in the dark — it’s about the darkness people create, and the haunting that follows. It’s uneven but impactful, a film that dares to turn Kashmir’s political wounds into a deeply human horror story.