My Yali Capkini Journey: Rage, Romance and Baklava Cravings

I started watching the Turkish drama Yali Capkini (Golden Boy) on Amazon Prime (MX Player) for a very simple reason. The lead pair looked good. I honestly assumed I would drop it after a few episodes because good looks alone rarely keep me hooked. Chemistry matters. A solid storyline matters. Surprisingly, Yali Capkini seems to tick every box so far.

This is the first time I am watching a Turkish series, and it gave me a small window into how Turkish Muslims live. It feels very different from what we usually see in Indian society, where things tend to be more conservative. Turkish culture comes across as more liberal, and a lot of that credit goes to Atatürk’s reforms, which pushed women’s rights forward. The show reflects that beautifully. Women face no criticism for dressing modernly, can speak up for themselves, and aren’t afraid to assert their rights. At the same time, the drama also shows conservative families who believe women should stay home and raise children. One scene shows a father accusing his daughter of being a disbeliever just because she drew a Christmas tree. In Pakistani dramas, the word “kafir” gets thrown around easily, but from what I’ve seen here, it isn’t normalised in Turkish shows. In fact, later, you see characters happily celebrating Christmas trees and decor.

If you plan to watch Yali Capkini, keep a box of Baklava ready. There are so many references to the sweet that you will start craving it instantly. I highly recommend trying Swaadesi Baklava, which should be available in most local Indian stores and also online. In the show, coffee and Baklava feel like supporting characters. They show up during happy moments and sad ones. Just like how many of us enjoy a cup of chai on a rainy day, the characters in this drama keep turning to their coffee and Baklava at any time of the day.

Now, coming to the main characters. Ferit, played by Mert Ramazan Demir, has to be one of the most toxic characters I have ever seen in a drama or movie. Since Yali Capkini’s story is written by a psychiatrist, the male character’s behaviour feels layered and too realistic at times. He is the kind of partner who says “So what?” when you tell him he hurt you, yet he reacts strongly if you give him the same treatment. His emotional manipulation, hot and cold behaviour, and constant lying create a type of rage that builds up inside you. His words sting more than any physical act. Anyone who has ever dealt with a toxic partner would relate, and this applies to both women and men who have experienced suffocating or manipulative relationships. The way most female characters in the drama react to disrespect is infuriating, but it is still close to reality. We all know someone who tells women to “adjust” or “compromise” to keep the relationship going.

The female lead, Seyran, played by Afra Saraçoğlu, is stunning, with eyes that instantly remind you of Aishwarya Rai. She is fiery, refuses to accept injustice, and that naturally irritates Ferit and his family, who are used to submissive women. She is easily the best performer in the show and delivers every scene with perfection.

There are very less feel-good scenes here. The series feels like pure rage bait. Still, it keeps you hooked. I haven’t completed it yet because Season 1 alone has more than 100 episodes. Then there is Season 2 and 3. I am not sure I will finish everything if the constant toxicity gets too irritating, but for now, I still have the motivation to continue.

Yali Capkini is available in both Turkish and Hindi on Amazon and MX Player. The English subtitles aren’t perfect, and sometimes don’t make any sense, but I still recommend watching it with subtitles rather than switching to the Hindi dub. The Hindi audio uses overly respectful language even when characters talk to someone younger, and it takes away from the natural flow of the scenes. That was my only issue.

Why ‘The Girlfriend’ Left Me Thinking About Parenting and Love

I started watching the Telugu film The Girlfriend with low expectations. I assumed it would be yet another romantic drama that glorifies toxic relationships and emotional manipulation in the name of love. To my surprise, the movie took a more thoughtful and layered route.

Minor spoilers ahead for context

The Girlfriend doesn’t just explore unhealthy love. It also dives into toxic parenting and how childhood conditioning shapes adult behaviour. The female lead is quiet, agreeable, and used to shrinking herself. The film makes it clear that her personality isn’t random. Her upbringing trained her to feel guilty for wanting space, choices, or independence. So when she picks a controlling partner, it feels strangely familiar to her. She’s not frightened of it at first, but she faces a tinge of uncertainty throughout. She tries to treat her partner’s behaviour towards her as normal because she has spent years adjusting to her father’s controlling behaviour. But deep down, there’s a quiet discomfort she can’t ignore. Something feels off, and her instincts begin to push back. This duality is what makes the character so different. This push and pull that many of us have experienced in our own relations with others who are not right for us.

The male lead, on the other hand, is aggressive, impulsive, and driven by ego. He worships Virat Kohli, maybe because he admires the cricketer’s aggressiveness and his devotion towards his wife, Anushka Sharma. He has a charming personality and enjoys a lot of attention. People around him like him, and he knows it. He’s used to getting what he wants, even in friendships. His behaviour reflects a narcissistic mindset where his needs come first, and empathy barely exists. Yet he remains popular, which feels very realistic. In real life, people like him often get the benefit of the doubt because their confidence and charm make them likable, even when behind closed doors, they’re not. This is why it’s often hard for someone with a narcissistic partner to justify leaving. People around them struggle to believe anything is wrong. The scene where he delivers that long, dramatic monologue in front of everyone when she ends the relationship is unforgettable and true to life. It’s an attempt to stage himself as the victim, even when he himself was the one in the relationship with the problematic dynamic.

When the movie shows the male lead’s mother, the pattern becomes clear. She mirrors the heroine’s personality. Anxious. Passive. Always accommodating. His father dominated the household, and his mother absorbed the behaviour without protest. In his partner, he doesn’t just see love. He sees a repetition of his family dynamic. In his own dysfunctional world, this is the definition of love.

This is what makes the film interesting. Many romantic movies in Indian cinema focus only on the lovers. But The Girlfriend highlights how family culture, parenting style, and generational trauma influence relationships. It reminds you that behaviour has context.

It made me think of my own past. My ex-husband had a similar attitude at home. I remember watching him take all his mother’s freshly washed clothes and throw them outside the house, onto the dirt-filled ground, just because she left them drying near the house’s entrance. She didn’t scold him. She didn’t even react. She simply smiled and picked them up to wash again. She later told me she was once abandoned on the roadside at night by her husband after an argument. She narrated it casually, as if it were normal. That’s when I understood why her son expected unquestioning loyalty and forgiveness from his own partner, me.

Watching the movie felt personal because it portrayed something many Indian families silently live with. Not abuse in the usual cinematic sense, but the subtle cycle of fear, guilt, silence, and acceptance.

I liked The Girlfriend mainly because of how honestly it handled the parenting angle. The performances were solid, especially from Rashmika Mandanna and Dheekshith Shetty. Their chemistry felt natural, and the relationship dynamics never felt exaggerated or forced. The emotional tension, confusion, fear, and hope all felt real. It’s rare to see an Indian movie explore love, trauma, and family influence with this level of subtlety. If you enjoy character-driven cinema with emotionally complex and layered characters, this one is worth watching.

The Girlfriend is streaming on Netflix and runs for 2 hours and 18 minutes.

Even Goddesses Have Their Limits: Learning to Walk Away

I’m a divorcee. I have been for many years now. I’ve never hidden this fact. But I also never imagined my marriage would end the way it did. Then again, who does?

We all grow up believing our marriages will last forever. I also used to think of myself as a tolerant person, so the idea of my marriage failing felt impossible. In my mind, this is something that others might have to go through, the ones with anger issues, those who couldn’t compromise. Not me.

I followed every piece of advice perfectly. The kind you might have seen relationship gurus meting out on social media nowadays, i.e., communicate respectfully, try to understand the other person’s perspective, etc. But over time, I realized communication isn’t a one-way effort; it takes two people to make it work. If only one partner keeps trying while the other sits back, believing they have nothing to change, it slowly chips away at your happiness.

With time, after observing other marriages around me, I understood that maybe I wasn’t as tolerant as I thought — at least not by Indian standards.

Different Levels of Tolerance in Relationships

My regrets in relationships are less about the ex and more about how I handled things. “Why did I let others influence my decisions? Why did I tolerate and compromise more than required?“

Of course, every relationship requires compromises. But each partner also has their own tolerance limits. For me, physical or emotional abuse is unacceptable. Yet, even I, someone who might appear intolerant of everything, tolerated it for a while before deciding I’d had enough. Many women, however, make peace with such situations in their marriages (and relationships in general) for their own reasons (dependency, fear, children, financial pressures, and more).

To cite an example of varying levels of tolerance: When I kept hearing cries of domestic violence in my building, I complained to the building association, even though people advised me not to. “It’s their family, their rules.” But I couldn’t just sit there doing nothing while hearing those cries. It was traumatizing. I took this step because there were times, even in my own relationship, that I wished my neighbors had intervened. Probably, ring the doorbell or knock on the door. It would have provided that much-needed relief.

After my complaint, it hasn’t happened since. But who’s to say the guy didn’t just find quieter ways to hurt his wife? I would’ve run away if such things had happened to me repeatedly, even if it meant begging on the streets for the rest of my life. But his wife might be thinking, “It’s okay. He’s doing it all out of love.” Who’s to know? You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

Different levels of tolerance.

People also need to understand that no one files for divorce after just one instance of mistreatment. It happens when the same behavior repeats, even after requests, pleas, and calm conversations. Some choose to walk away, while others make peace with the idea that this is how their life will be. So the common advice of “give it one more chance” is mostly useless, and a bit insensitive, because the ones involved might have already given it multiple chances before deciding to let go.

Power of Faith During Tough Times

Even though I’m not a religious Hindu, having faith in some form has always helped me through tough times. It’s the one thing to hold onto when it feels like your world is falling apart. Even now, I rarely visit temples or follow rituals properly, but in moments of extreme heaviness, I still pray. Not to any specific god. I believe we’re all praying to the same divine force, just using different names and stories. What else could explain miracles happening in every community?

I remember, when I was married, our home had a lone idol of Goddess Kali, a deity I had rarely prayed to before. My parents usually had Lord Krishna at home. I still remember looking at the deity and crying. I asked if this was how it would be for the rest of my life – painful and broken on the inside, faking happiness on the outside (especially for social media).

I sometimes think I might have continued living that way if I hadn’t been pushed by some greater power to take a stand for myself. Probably it was Her. Must have been fed up with me always looking at Her, crying and whining. Even goddesses have their tolerance limits. Also, gods only help those who help themselves, right? Or as we Malayalees say, “Thaan paathi, dhaivam paathi” (you must put in your half of the effort, and God will take care of the rest). Maa Kali might have gone, “Bitch, why don’t you just leave the marriage, instead of troubling me all the bloody time?“

The day I walked out of my marriage was also the day I told my parents, “If you don’t help me, I’ll do it on my own.” Thankfully, they stood by me when I made that decision. I also had the confidence to stand on my own feet. I wasn’t employed then, but my freelance work brought in some income. I knew that if I left the marriage, I wouldn’t be a burden on anyone. That same freelance experience later helped me secure a job. It formed the bulk of my resume, and it convinced my employers that I could handle responsibilities independently, even while working from home, at a time when WFH wasn’t even common.

When I look back, I feel the universe was guiding me in small but meaningful ways toward a life that may be inadequate for someone else, but is absolutely correct for a homebody, introverted feminist like me.

Taking Marriage Advice from Society

But the point is, society will tell you not to take advice from a woman like me. Because I’m a divorcee. What would I know about marriage and relationships, right?

Yet it will encourage you to listen to the woman who keeps enduring it all, at the cost of her well-being, because that’s what a “good wife” does.

Society doesn’t really care about what a woman thinks or feels. It just wants you to stick to the rules.

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Photo by Monojit Dutta