My character, Manjula, is someone who got married at a young age, with lots of idealistic dreams and expectations of what marriage would be like. But then reality sets in. Years down the line, there’s this sudden shift, and she finds herself young again. She gets to experience those feelings all over again, almost as though she’s revisiting her entire journey through life.

Manjula is extremely witty. Her experiences in life have really toughened her up because, when she was younger, she was a timid, gentle and naïve person. Over time, she transforms into someone powerful who calls the shots. She’s opinionated and is very clear with her stance. It was really fun to delve into all these different emotions within one character. The time-travel element and the magical world of the show gave us that kind of creative freedom to explore her character in different ways. It also delves into some very relatable questions about identity, relationships and how we perceive ourselves at different stages of life.

It was quite interesting on the sets because Ramzan (Muhammed) and I would be dressed in our younger avatars, and many of our costumes were similar to those worn by the older versions of our characters. In some scenes, Jayasudha ma’am (who plays the older Manjula), and I would be twinning, while Ramzan and Jayaprakash sir would be wearing matching outfits. They’d even check each other’s appearances, saying things like, ‘Your hair is a little off’ or ‘No, this has to be perfect!’

 We had a lovely rapport on set. Initially, Ramzan and I were quite conscious of showing them the respect they deserved as senior actors. But they were incredibly warm and welcoming, and it almost seemed as though being around us allowed them to embrace their younger selves.

I would describe Tharagai as a survival film because, in today’s world, just being a woman and finding your way through life can be a challenge in itself. The film follows Isai, a young woman who wants to explore, learn and experience life in all its many facets. However, coming from a small town, she faces the pressure of getting married, even though she is educated and has dreams of her own. It’s a story about her journey, from growing up in a loving household where she is the apple of everyone’s eye to having to make choices for herself.

When we released the promo, several people drew comparisons with Modha Rathri. But Tharagai is different in many ways, and the sequence unfolds from a completely different perspective. I wanted to clarify that because I received quite a few comments about the similarities, especially since our promo came out shortly after Modha Rathri became a viral hit.

What drew me to Tharagai was precisely the question of agency. I find it particularly interesting to explore a woman’s ability to make her own choices in a society where even the smallest decisions are often scrutinised or questioned. I’m looking forward to audiences discovering Isai’s journey. I don’t want to give too much away, I think I’ve already said quite a bit! But I hope people engage with the story beyond its premise.

Yes, in Love and War, I’m reuniting with Aditya Bhaskar for the third time. The series is directed by Ram Kumar, who is making his debut as a director.

I feel Madhumita, my character, is unlike anything I’ve done before. In most of my previous films, I’ve played characters who are soft-spoken or, even when confident, quite filtered and thoughtful, with a certain intelligence in the way they approach things. Madhumita, on the other hand, is impulsive. She acts on a whim without always thinking things through. She’s extremely opinionated, short-tempered and quite flawed.

I think both Adi’s character and mine exist in shades of grey. We’re fundamentally good people, but we also have flaws that come to the fore. It’s a performance-driven film, with much of the story unfolding through conversations. At its core, it’s a relationship drama, so I think the portrayal will feel very raw and real.

For me, the biggest difference lies in the emotional landscape of the character. Every role I play comes with its own circumstances and a distinct way of responding to the world. I’m curious to see what audiences make of this version of Gouri when Love and War comes out.

96 was the kind of debut any actor would dream of, and it will always be incredibly special to me. The love I continue to receive for it is inexplicable. But I also realised that when audiences connect so deeply with a character, it’s only natural for some of their perception of that character to carry over to the actor, which is something I’ve experienced. Having said that, I’ve never consciously tried to break away from that image. If anything, I’ve never let it dictate my choices.

For instance, Kalki in LIK is not the kind of character or look that audiences who know me as Jaanu would necessarily have expected. She represents a new-age, progressive and futuristic outlook. Gauri in Love Under Construction was also a modern woman. I think it’s important not to be confined to a particular niche or image.

I want to explore as many kinds of characters as possible and continue discovering my range as an actor. There’s a difference between being grateful for how audiences first discovered you and feeling obligated to remain that person forever. 96 introduced me to audiences through Jaanu, and I’ll always be grateful for that. I started out young, and naturally, I’ve evolved both as an actor and as an individual. I believe my work should reflect that growth, even if it takes audiences a little time to come around to it.

Absolutely. If fact, it’s constantly changing. Earlier, I was much more instinctive in my choices. A character or a story either appealed to me or it didn’t. It was as simple as that. I didn’t have the experience to articulate why something resonated with me.

Over time, I’ve realised that a good role isn’t necessarily defined by screen time or how prominent a character is. Every character has an inner life. And when I say inner life, I mean how their presence contributes meaningfully to the story and offers me something to explore as a performer.

For instance, Dorothy is a film that has really stayed with me, and I think it will for a long time. Keerthy Suresh’s character is a wonderful example of this. She may not be present throughout the film, but her impact on the narrative is significant, leaving a lasting impression on the audience.

I’m constantly learning, and a lot of that comes from observing other actors’ choices and watching the films they make. Looking at the bigger picture has also made me decide. I now pay closer attention to the writing, the director’s vision and the kinds of conversations a film might spark.

I’ve become more discerning about the roles I choose. I try to take a step back and consider how I might feel about a project when it eventually releases, perhaps months down the line. That said, I don’t have a fixed plan, and I hope that, amid all the analysis and decision-making, I never lose the instinct and excitement I had when I first started acting. So, while my approach has certainly become more thought-out now.

I think the pressure certainly exists. Audiences today are exposed to a wide range of performances and storytelling from across the world. Since COVID, many barriers have broken down, giving people access to different kinds of cinema and naturally raising their expectations. In many ways, that’s a wonderful thing because it encourages all artistes, not just actors, to push themselves creatively. But I also think there’s a danger of confusing artistic innovation with the constant need to prove that you’re different.

Some of the most subtle performances can be incredibly powerful. Irrfan Khan is one of my favourite actors because he allows his performances to unfold organically, without relying on exaggerated expressions or gestures.

Who decides what reinvention actually means? Sometimes, it lies simply in how you perceive a character. As an actor, listening is incredibly important. The nuances you bring to a scene through listening might be subtle, but that doesn’t make the performance any less meaningful.

I sometimes come across comments in which actors are judged quite harshly. I’ve seen comments about myself, too, with people calling me a lazy actor or saying I’m doing the bare minimum. People can be quick to judge and extremely cutting in their assessments.

But I’d like to remind everyone that we’re all just figuring things out, and the industry isn’t an easy place to survive. Often, we have to choose from the roles that come our way and make the best of the opportunities available to us. It’s only when you reach a certain stage in your career that you have greater freedom to decide which stories you want to tell. That’s a different ball game altogether.

I also don’t think every role needs to be a complete departure from the previous one. You have to be comfortable with your craft. You don’t have to tell yourself, ‘I’ve just done a small-town film, so now I need to do a futuristic film or play a modern woman.’ You grow as an actor by allowing that process to take its natural course.

I’d much rather evolve organically than reinvent myself simply to appear unpredictable. That doesn’t mean becoming complacent; it means approaching my work authentically rather than feeling pressured to impress audiences or constantly prove that I can do something different.

Firstly, I didn’t even know I had an actor in me. Acting was never part of the plan. In fact, before I could even figure out what that plan was, acting happened, and it turned out to be such a blessing. I discovered a side of myself that could perform and emote. There have been moments when acting has felt almost like an out-of-body experience.

Acting and performing can be deeply spiritual experiences. Of course, amid the chaos and everyday humdrum of a film set, it doesn’t always feel that way. Sometimes, the process becomes mechanical, or you’re not happy with your performance. Every actor goes through that.

But there have also been moments when I’ve experienced something extraordinary, almost as though I’ve reached a state of nirvana. It feels as if something beyond me has taken over, like a divine touch that allows me to transcend myself and perform a scene in a way I couldn’t have anticipated.

One instance that comes to mind is the monologue in Suzhal 2 with Lal sir, where I’m crying and speaking to him. Even today, when I watch that scene, I’m not entirely sure how I managed to perform it that way. There are a few moments like these in an actor’s career, but I don’t think you can demand or force them. They have to come to you. Thankfully, I’ve experienced that feeling during some of the most important sequences of my career, and that feeling is truly magical.

Those experiences have made me realise that acting requires far more vulnerability than you might initially imagine. You have to ask yourself how much of your own self you’re willing to bring into a performance: your experiences, insecurities, observations and sometimes even things you haven’t fully processed yourself. Acting has also taught me to become more comfortable with uncertainty, particularly when it comes to opportunities. You might go four months without a single gig, and then suddenly, everything falls into place.

I tend to over-prepare. Over time, however, I’ve learnt that some of the most interesting moments happen when you allow yourself to be present and respond instinctively. I’m still learning to find that balance between preparation and spontaneity.

I think both can be true. There’s definitely greater visibility and representation today, and we’re seeing women who don’t necessarily conform to particular beauty standards being celebrated for their individuality. That’s really encouraging.

However, I think we need to distinguish between celebrating diversity in theory and genuinely practising it. While actors who challenge conventional ideas of beauty are increasingly being cast, there are still very specific expectations placed on women, particularly in the entertainment industry.

These expectations are especially pronounced when it comes to women’s bodies, appearances and the way they age. What’s interesting is how often these standards are disguised as professional requirements or casual observations. A woman’s appearance is frequently the first topic of conversation.

I’ve had to navigate my own relationship with these standards, and I don’t think confidence is something you achieve once and never have to work on again. It’s an ongoing process that involves being mindful of your self-talk and fight that body dysmorphia.

I think the larger conversation is about allowing women to exist without their physical appearance constantly being subjected to scrutiny. We should be able to discuss a woman’s work, opinions and achievements without the conversation always circling back to how she looks. That’s where I think we need to get to.

Firstly, I don’t think speaking up should be considered an extraordinary act of courage. Ideally, it should be something we’re all able to do. I’m not sure I’d describe myself as fearless; it’s more about recognising that remaining silent is also a choice, and one I’m not always comfortable making. Having studied journalism, I’ve always been conscious of and aware of what’s happening around me. There’s also an activist bone in me, so certain things happening in society unsettle me deeply.

Since entering the industry, I’ve become increasingly aware of the responsibility that comes with having a public platform. That said, I don’t believe I need to have an opinion on everything. I’m also comfortable admitting when I don’t know enough about an issue to speak about it. There’s so much noise around us, with people constantly taking sides and arguing. Sometimes, you need to tune it all out to think clearly. I try to listen and educate myself.

During the CJP protests, for instance, I faced a great deal of negativity and hate. People unfollowed me, accused me of being paid to express my views and even called me anti-national, all because I wanted to show my solidarity. It makes me wonder why conversations about freedom of speech and the right to express an opinion so often turn hostile. The moment you speak about certain subjects, the reaction can be incredibly aggressive.

I’ve also had directors and senior people in the industry advise me to stay away from politics and other potentially controversial subjects. I try not to let these debates consume me, especially because the film industry is already so demanding. If I am doing down that rabbit hole, I don’t think I will be able to dedicate to my craft. However, I’ll continue to speak up when I feel the need to. I think it’s important for all of us to understand ourselves, stand by what we believe in and embrace the things that make us who we are.

I think the film industry needs to speak more openly about the unspoken misogyny that exists within it. Everyday inequalities have become so normalised that people stop questioning them.  Women’s safety and representation are important, but we also need to examine the smaller, everyday dynamics. Who gets hurt? Whose boundaries are respected? Who feels comfortable saying no? Are people treated with the same level of dignity?

Meaningful change isn’t always about grand declarations. It’s also about creating an environment where people feel safe enough to express discomfort, disagree with others and stand up for themselves without fearing professional consequences. These conversations shouldn’t be limited to women, either. Everyone in the industry has a role to play.

More often than not, people find themselves walking on eggshells. They worry about the tone of a message, how they communicate over the phone or whether a director might take offence. Sometimes, even when I ask to read a script, the response is something along the lines of, ‘Would you only decide once you’ve read the script?’ In other industries, there are established codes of conduct. The film industry remains largely unorganised in this respect, which makes it all the more important to advocate for change wherever possible.

I experienced something similar quite recently on a Malayalam film set. There was an issue being discussed, and everyone kept turning to the male lead for his opinion. It was happening right in front of me, and I couldn’t ignore it, so I offered my perspective. Everyone present was a man, and they all looked down at the floor as though I didn’t exist. It was as if what I’d said didn’t matter at all. That kind of response completely invalidates your voice.

Women are silenced in different ways, but this can happen to actors, too, particularly when they’re starting out. People don’t always take your thoughts or opinions seriously, and how much your voice is valued can depend on where you stand in the industry. I think we need a healthier working environment where people feel empowered to speak openly.

I wouldn’t say it’s a fictional character, but I recently read Everything I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton, a memoir. I found myself relating to her quite a lot because the book explores navigating your early twenties, dating, relationships and friendships. A significant part of it also focuses on female friendships, her flatmates and the bonds she builds with the women in her life.

I’ve come to realise just how integral female friendships are to who we are and how we see ourselves. My girls have healed me. Sometimes, they can see the inner child in me even when I struggle to recognise her myself. They know how to reach that part of me.

What I loved about the book is, it isn’t a particularly heavy read; it was more of a comfort read for me. I ended up highlighting so many passages on my Kindle, and I still go back to them occasionally because they resonate with me so deeply.

Oh, yes, definitely. I was a voracious reader as a child, and I think reading taught me to be curious about people’s inner worlds. Unlike cinema, where so much is conveyed through visuals and performances, literature often gives you direct access to a character’s thoughts, contradictions and motivations.

As an actor, I find that incredibly valuable because what a character says isn’t necessarily what they feel, and what they do doesn’t always reflect what they want. Reading has taught me to look beyond what’s explicitly written in a script and ask more questions about the person I’m portraying. I think it has also made me a more empathetic observer of people, which is such an important part of acting. You learn to look beyond the version of themselves that people present to the world and try to understand what might be happening beneath the surface. In a way, it’s about learning to read between the lines, quite literally! I have to admit that I don’t read as much as I used to, but I’m trying to get back into the habit.

Probably films. Growing up, watching a film every week was something we did religiously. Conversations about films, actors and performances were part of how I was brought up. But when I’m chatting with friends, I don’t want to pretend to be philosophical or say something fancy, we talk about boys, relationships, dating and all the usual gossip.

Among my friends, we also have this running joke about the Bechdel test, which examines how women are represented in films. Broadly speaking, it asks whether a film features at least two named women who have a conversation about something other than a man. We sometimes joke that we’d probably fail the Bechdel test ourselves, especially in our mid-twenties, when so much of our conversation revolves around relationships, meeting someone new, dating experiences and updates about our love lives. I never get bored.

I’m fascinated by human behaviour in general. I love observing the strange ways people behave, the contradictions they carry and how two people can experience the same situation in completely different ways. I also love conversations that start with something completely ordinary and somehow meander into discussions about life, identity and relationships. I’m naturally curious and enjoy bouncing ideas off people. Sometimes, I walk away from a conversation with more questions than answers, and it marinates in my head as I am quite an overthinker. I think these conversations help me see things from different perspectives and deepen my understanding of people.

On screen, I’m excited to say yes to characters who surprise me — women who are complicated, imperfect, ambitious, vulnerable and sometimes difficult to understand. I don’t think a character has to be likeable to be compelling. I want to explore that kind of complexity because it reflects the world around us. People aren’t simply good or bad; there are so many shades of grey, and I’d love to delve into those nuances.

Off screen, I’m learning to say yes to experiences that take me out of my comfort zone, whether that’s travelling, learning something new, meeting different people or simply making more room for the things that bring me joy. I started working at a young age, and for a long time, so much of my life revolved around the next project or professional milestone. Being in such a competitive industry doesn’t make it any easier, but I’m increasingly keen to build a life that feels fulfilling beyond work, too. I want to keep growing as an actor while also evolving as a person, and hopefully, those two journeys will complement each other along the way.