A still from Mithya. (courtesy: iamhumaq)
Cast: Huma Qureshi, Avantika Dassani, Parambrata Chatterjee, Rajit Kapur, Indraneil Sengupta, Samir Soni
Director: Rohan Sippy
Rating: 3 stars (out of 5)
A college campus in Darjeeling serves as the principal location for Mithya, directed by Rohan Sippy from a screenplay by Althea Kaushal and Anvita Dutt. The six-episode Zee5 series is a female-centric psychological drama in which men have largely reactive though not necessarily insignificant roles. Its setting, two strong protagonists and deliberate pace combine to lend the six-episode Zee5 series distinct textural and tonal qualities.
Hindi literature professor Juhi Adhikari (Huma Qureshi) accuses first-year student Rhea Rajguru (debutante Avantika Dassani) of plagiarism when the latter submits her end-of-term dissertation. The allegation sets off a twisty chain of events as the younger woman seethes with rage.
Unerring execution and solid performances help Mithya tide over its ponderous stretches (which, thankfully, aren't too frequent) and acquire a gripping, stable core. The tale of obsession, suspicion, betrayal and revenge pans out at an unhurried but even pace as the two women and their conflicting versions of truth collide.
Huma Qureshi shoulders the burden of the series without wilting and debutante Avantika Dassani does not let the challenge embodying a complex scarred and conflicted girl overawe her. Mithya also draws strength from a finely calibrated performance by Parambrata Chatterjee in the role of a man caught in the middle of an all-out skirmish.
Produced by Applause Entertainment's Sameer Nair and Deepak Segal and Rose Audio Visuals' Goldie Behl and Shradha Behl Singh, Mithya is a welcome addition to a steadily growing slate of Indian web shows located in non-underworld terrains where gangsters, when they do at all appear, are relegated to the fringes. In Mithya, there is none.
How often do characters in a Hindi web series recite Shakespeare ("The worst is death, and death will have its day...") and Wordsworth ("For oft, when on my couch I lie...") or allude to Hindi poets Kedarnath Singh and Naresh Saxena or let a conversation touch upon Bengali nonsense rhymes? Not that these allusions are overdone: they flow in and out of the narrative almost unobtrusively. As does Rhea Rajguru's Gen-Z lingo, which, as the story unfolds, plays a significant part in a crucial plot twist.
The Mithya format was conceived by English screenwriter Gaby Hull for the ITV series Cheat. 'Created for India' by Goldie Behl and Priya Jhavar, the story, pretty much like the Israeli original that was turned into another nifty Applause Entertainment show, Your Honor, does not appear to lose anything in translation.
Deceit acquires varied forms in Mithya and spans from the domain of marital and filial ties to the world of academics. It takes us into the psyches of two strong-willed women pitted against each other. One is a professor in line to be the next head of department, the other a student aspiring to use her writing skills to get ahead in life.
Their college, an institution of repute, cannot afford to let a scandal of any manner snowball. The line between truth and lie is summarily blurred, if not entirely erased, as Juhi and Rhea go for each other's jugulars. "I want to teach her integrity," the teacher says in defence of her harsh action. The student responds with equal vehemence: "I can't speak but I can write, why don't you get that?... My tears, my silence, my late-coming are personality flaws, not academic flaws."
An intense, unrelenting, bruising mental battle between the two brings to the fore, and heightens, personal grudges rooted as much in the repercussions of the cheating accusation as in the lingering fallout of emotionally scalding past events.
Juhi's father is Anand Tyagi (Rajit Kapur), a respected retired professor and well-known writer. Rhea's dad (Samir Soni), is one of the trustees of the college. Neither woman can, therefore, escape speculation that she has benefitted from her privileged status.
Juhi, in a fit of anger, calls Rhea "an entitled brat". Rhea returns the favour by blaming the punishment she receives from Juhi on "abuse of power". Juhi's father and her husband, Neil Adhikari (Parambrata Chatterjee), a professor in the same college, are trapped in the crossfire.
Juhi and Neil are a childless couple whose marriage has all but run aground. They live in a beautiful house nestled in the hills, dig Abida Parveen, drink single malt and have a love seat in the living room. But there is little ardour left in their decaying relationship, a fact symbolized by Juhi's incessant fiddling with her wedding ring.
Rhea is a lonely girl. She lives in the college hostel and has no friends. Her inner demons weigh heavy on her. Acceptance from a professor she looks up to is all she needs. When she realizes the futility of living in hope, her rebellious streak bubbles to the surface and pushes her deeper and deeper into a quagmire.
Because the positions that Juhi and Rhea take are ethically ambiguous, the immediate motivations of the duo are shrouded in mystery. As the series progresses - the first episode ends with a murder, four subsequent segments begin eight days prior to the incident and progressively move backwards to the act of killing, and the sixth and final episode delivers an open-ended denouement - it is hard to separate considered fact from mere suspicion as resentments and recriminations multiply and not only between the two pivotal characters.
The central pair of women, the feckless men in their lives (one of them ends up in a body bag), and the local police investigators, Ajeet Biswas (K.C. Shankar) and Sunanda Das (Bishakha Thapa), are sucked into the vortex of a crime probe that deepens the mist around the hill town.
The policeman, seasoned and cynical, is prone to jumping to conclusions. He sees the murder as an open-and-shut case. The policewoman, younger and more earnest, favours a slow and steady approach. She, like the professor of Hindi who is suspected of killing her husband, believes that truth has many dimensions.
The nature of the confrontation between Juhi and Rhea determines the pace and substance of the narrative: languorous, focused, engrossing and centred more on subtle twists than on in-your face revelations.
Qureshi, playing a character that is the polar opposite of her earthy, unlettered 'Maharani' persona, brings poise and precision to bear upon the task of masking Juhi's misgivings and vulnerabilities with a facade of control and equanimity. Dassani delivers a performance that deserves unstinted praise. In a supporting role, Bishakha Thapa, too, stands out.
Rajit Kapur effortlessly and skillfully brings out the complexities of man whose failings and fears put him at variance with the women around him. K.C. Shankar, playing a cop, makes his appearance count.
Cinematographer Sirsha Ray captures the sun, rain and mist of Darjeeling with striking felicity. Editor Abhijit Deshpande does his bit to enhances show's seamless flow.
Mithya isn't a thriller in the conventional sense. Its pace isn't scorching nor is it action-packed. That is precisely what sets it apart from the ordinary.