Ditzy trophy wife Bella “Bae” Chowdhary (Ananya Panday) wakes up every day in her mansion and delivers what she calls her “morning affirmations”; I presume this means pep talks for the lexically challenged. “My name is Bae. I’m here to slay. Eat, love, pray. Seize the day!”

Unfortunately for Call Me Bae and its creator (screenwriter Ishita Moitra), pulling off this kind of avowedly silly writing onscreen needs the raw charisma and the Speedy-Gonzalez-on-coke energy of a Ranveer Singh. Moitra had this at her disposal in Rocky Aur Rani Ki Prem Kahani, which she also wrote. 

Despite Panday’s best efforts the absence of this madcap energy is felt keenly in Call Me Bae. Within the show’s opening 15 minutes or so, Bae has been shunned by spouse and family. And while the family lives in Delhi, Bae’s offense is heavily Gurgaon-flavoured: a fling with a personal trainer.

Now, she has to make a life for herself from scratch, with a little help from street-smart Saira (Muskkaan Jaferi), shrieky TV journalist Satyajit (Vir Das) and a revolving cast of other supporting characters flitting in and out of Bae’s life. Das turns in a serviceable Arnab Goswami impression, turning the misogyny and the decibel levels all the way up. Bae’s scenes with Satyajit give us some of the best moments from the show.

The problem is straightforward, really: any story preoccupied with its protagonist’s shallowness runs the risk of sharing said shallowness frequently. Cue Bae’s mother taunting her MBA dreams by quipping that for the likes of Bae, MBA means “Mascara, Botox and Abdominoplasty”. The jokes about mimosa brunches, duckface pouts and the ongoing ‘demure’ trend on social media, begin to wear thin by episode three or so. 

There are other weird writing choices, like Saira proudly introducing the following ‘life hack’ to the impressed Bae: Saira essentially uses dating apps “like an Airbnb”, choosing young men with good apartments and breaking up with them within weeks—repeating the sequence as many times as she needs. I am not sure why upper-class women in Call Me Bae have been shown to be so very reluctant while pursuing marriages of convenience—whereas Saira boasts about her Airbnb hack with a smile and a twinkle in her eyes. Is the message something like “rich married women are reluctant, one-time martyrs, but working-class women are incorrigible whores?” I can’t tell because Call Me Bae wears irony like a shield against criticism: no moment of pathos is allowed to linger without a juvenile non-joke in hot pursuit. 

A missed opportunity at a desi Two Broke Girls, this, which is a pity because Panday really does try her best.