Vyarth: A spotlight on the shadows of stardom

Vyarth: A spotlight on the shadows of stardom

In a world where women in their 30s are swiftly typecasts as “moms”, Vyarth dares to ask a piercing question, What happens to ambition when the world decides you’re past your prime? Kusha Kapila, well known for her comic sketches and influencer stardom, steps into far deeper territory with this quietly powerful short film not just as an actor, but also as a co-producer.

Jakiarifa Yasheen
  • Jul 30, 2025,
  • Updated Jul 30, 2025, 10:29 AM IST

In a world where women in their 30s are swiftly typecasts as “moms”, Vyarth dares to ask a piercing question, What happens to ambition when the world decides you’re past your prime? Kusha Kapila, well known for her comic sketches and influencer stardom, steps into far deeper territory with this quietly powerful short film not just as an actor, but also as a co-producer.


Vyarth meaning “futile” or “pointless” is anything but that. It is a compact layered narrative that holds up a mirror to an entertainment industry obsessed with age, packaging and predictability.


The plot revolves around Kapila playing Bhumi, an actress who’s been neglected to playing mother roles despite her desire and talent for more dynamic characters. Her growing frustration reaches a tipping point when her younger flatmate Meenakshi, played by Anushka Kauskhik auditions for the same “mother” role.


What makes Vyarth compelling is how deeply personal it feels. There is a soul-sucking eerie depression lingering in the air around Bhumi’s aura. Kusha Kapila did not just act here, she surrendered to the role. Director Pankaj Dayani, handles the story with restraint, letting moments breathe without over-explaining. The dialogues are laced with nuance never melodramatic, yet quietly cutting.


Cinematographer Swapil S. Sonawale brings a fluid naturalism to the film. The cramped apartment shown in the film feels both comforting and suffocating, making it a perfect metaphor for Bhumi’s internal state. The silences were unbearably good, minimal but effective, highlighting silence as a form of both  distance and intimacy.


One line from the short film captures the heart of the film, “ Life mat bana, heroine bana.” It’s a rebellious, aching cry for recognition, not just of talent but of identity. Vyarth isn’t trying to fix the industry. It’s trying to reflect it in all its quiet injustices and whispered compromises. It speaks to the creative fatigue of being boxed in, the erasure of women’s ambition and the invisible toll of having to constantly play nice. The film also gently nudges at the dynamics between women. Rather than setting Bhumi and Meenakshi as enemies, the film lets their bond unfold in the quite tension of shared longing. It shows how both are trapped in different ways, one by youth and inexperience and the other by maturity and monotony. When passion meets reality, the choices aren’t easy. Short, sharp and sincere, Vyarth is a reminder that even in under 20 minute runtime, stories can carry the weight of years. 

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