Opinion Why I became a K-Drama fan: They are an emotional shelter in a fractured world

But somehow, nearly three years ago, I gave in to my self-diagnosed FOMO and jumped onto the Korean wave (music, dramas, fashion, and beauty) bandwagon, when it was witnessing a pandemic-induced global resurgence, and watched the first thing that Netflix recommended. Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha starring Kin Seon-ho and Shin Min-a. I finished the 16-episode K-drama, with each episode being nearly an hour and a half long, in about four days; sleeping only once in two days.

Addiction would, in fact, be the right word for the madness that had me functioning on autopilot. It lasted four months. The addiction. The fandom continues. By then, I had watched enough to call myself a Hallyu fan, had a favourite actor, followed all the leading stars on Instagram, picked up the 10 most-used words in the Korean language, looked for restaurants serving Korean food, splurged on Korean skincare, and started making travel plans for South Korea.

I most definitely could have used more sleep during those months, but even if it was an addiction, I don’t regret it. For me, it opened up a world that was unfamiliar yet desirable; fantastical yet so possibly real. It felt like a gentle stroke on my bruised heart, still grappling with the aftermath of the pandemic. The kindness that seems so rare in the real world comes almost naturally in these stories, from neighbours, friends, and, often, strangers. The high emotional quotient of these stories, in turn, became an emotional outlet to navigate feelings that one refuses to confront.

K-dramas also redefined masculinity on screen. Again, they presented an idea of a hero that was not traditional but immensely desirable. For someone like me, who had written them off over their androgynous looks, K-dramas allowed me to get over my preconceived notions and realise that the plunge after all was worth it.

Thanks to K-dramas, I entered a world of high-achieving heroes, who had it all — the money, the looks, the education, and, most importantly, the sensitivity. They were not defined by the conditioning that, even in the 21st century, continues to be an excuse for men to be emotionally unavailable. They actively worked towards dismantling that conditioning to become vulnerable and ask for help.

They were not driven by a saviour complex. Women in K-dramas don’t need saving, and the men are aware. Often, the men don’t mind being saved themselves. Most of the time, it is an equal world in K-dramas, sometimes even slightly tilted towards the woman. One of my favourite scenes of all time is when Min-a’s Yoon Hye-jin, a dentist, in Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha, feels apologetic about purchasing a 5 million won pendant in front of her boyfriend (Seon-ho’s Hong Du-sik) — who does odd jobs for a daily wage— eventually returning it. Du-sik, on finding out, says, “You don’t need to be afraid about how you live your life. You went and bought yourself a gift with the money you worked hard to earn. Why worry what I think? I am not bothered.” And he means it.

This is not to say that K-dramas are always great works of art. The tropes are often repetitive. You almost always know how the story will turn out. After watching a few K-dramas, you know a past connection between the leads will be the big reveal. It isn’t great filmmaking, but it is great storytelling. And I wouldn’t mind watching them. All over again. Because these stories, they don’t just tug at the heartstrings, but also the mind strings.

The writer is associate editor, The Indian Express. trisha.mukherjee@expressindia.com