Mithya remains an interesting character particularly on two accounts – one being that of his age, and the other being that with respect to the tragedy that he has faced. The former marks the impressionable stage of the individual who is on the cusp of adolescence. When his new friend in town asks him if he has ever watched ‘ those videos on his phone’, he chooses to step away. It is a sign that even his adolescence is in-transit, much like the situation that he finds himself in. The layered narrative allows the viewers to get a sense of his tragedy, even while revealing how Mithya lost his mother to suicide. It remains a complex situation for Mithya even while learning about his mother and the family adopting him – the twist of fate remains cruel even as he wishes to escape from his reality. In a scene, you see Mithya supposedly taking a while to return to his class after a loo-break, just that he didn’t want to relieve himself. Instead, he just wished to be left alone for a bit. Mithya’s other form of escapism remains his bicycle rides, something that is touched upon a various instances in the screenplay. Also at the opposite end of the spectrum, the ceiling fan represents an object of haunt and trauma, something that Mithya stares on at regular intervals in the screenplay.

The characterization around the protagonist also plays a crucial part in the world building. Unlike the general perception about stepparents, both Jyothi and Surya (Prakash Thuminadu) are broadly good people. In a scene, you see Surya quickly correcting his wife on how she was wrong in snatching food from a child, even as she insisted on Mithya washing himself up before a meal (out of care). In fact on more than one instance, It is Surya who conveys his love for Mithya citing that ‘he is the son that he always longed for’. On being questioned on the reason for it, he calmly exclaims on how he (Surya) wanted to convey to his father that raising a son isn’t that hard. It said so much about Surya as a person who may also have been in a similar situation to that of Mithya. Hence, it hardly comes as a surprise that Surya showers his love onto Mithya – he allows him to ride his daughter’s bicycle, challenges him for a race into the sea or the lighthouse, and even supporting him during a fight wherein Mithya is bruised and battered.

For Mithya, the in-transit phase is almost in the form of snapshots throughout the film. Because this remains a character-driven plot, the focus never shifts away from Mithya even for a second. So while you finally see him settling into his new life with a friend to boast of, another plot-twist unravels with Mithya’s father’s kith and kin appear, only to take Mithya with them for monetary gains. In a heartbreaking scene, you see the relatives poisoning Mithya’s young impressionable mind about his mother, and how she managed to ‘poison’ her husband. And so, the second act becomes a custody battle of sorts between the two parties, only to result in Mithya being sent to a shelter home. The shift in setting reminded me of Ishan Awasthi’s paradigm shift of his world in Taare Zameen Par (2007), but only ten times worse given that Mithya did not have a safety net of his parents, or even his uncle and aunt for the time-being. This, even as Mithya gets to know a startling secret about his sister – that she in-fact was her cousin and the daughter of Jyothi and Surya.

The in-transit phase also has moments of joy for Mithya. In a scene, you see him being gifted a new bicycle of his own, in another, you see him being given an icecream along with other members of the family. Yet in each of these scenes, you don’t quite see a gush of joy on Mithya’s face – it almost felt as if he wasn’t sure on how to react to joy that literally came out of nowhere, just like the tragedy that strikes him. Hence it hardly comes as a surprise, that all of his angst leads to his metamorphosis of anger. I could almost equate it to a younger Rannvijay Singh from Animal (2023) even as he gets in a brawl with another character, or even deliberately harms his younger sister during a harmless game of ‘Inki Pinky Ponky’. The complex form of emotion does take a binary route for Mithya, where rage remains the simmering entity around which his world stands.

In many ways, the entire turn of events reminded me of Jamie Miller (Owen Cooper) from Adolescence (2025) in many ways (Mithya had released way before). In a scene, Mithya is witness to Jyothi and Surya fighting over a task involving feeding their younger daughter. Surya being the ‘man’ of the house refused to fulfill this task much to the dismay of Jyothi. But what that fight did was probably also remind Mithya about his own parents fight that had begun after Jyothi’s young daughter was then brought into their household.

And so, the immediate reaction of rage leads to a horrifying finale that is momentarily retrieved through a sense of empathy on the part of the protagonist. And I say ‘momentarily’ because there are no clear indications on the healing psyche of Mithya. It almost felt like a reactionary move of wanting to correct his mistake while he could (unlike his mother), rather than fully committing to the idea of turning over a new leaf. It was chilling in many ways given that all the child needed was love and empathy (along with a hug to heal). And that took me back to the opening sequence that denoted the ‘in-transit’ phase of the protagonist. Alternately in a scene, we see Mithya testing his magnifying glass in the sun only to cause a blaze. That summed up the life of Mithya perfectly – on what he planned with it versus what he (almost) ended up doing. The screenplay here is complex and heavy with emotions that also doubles up as being a metamorphosis for innocence. All kids deserve it but not all kids retain it!