Avinash Tiwary talks about father-son dynamics in his latest film, ‘The Mehta Boys’
Avinash Tiwary steps into the shoes of Amey Mehta in The Mehta Boys, a role that is deeply emotional yet profoundly relatable. He says, “Jo cheez kahi nahi jaati, jo cheez suni nahi jaati, wohi kehne ki baat hai, wohi sunne ki baat hai.” (The things that are never said, the things that are never heard—those are the ones worth saying, those are the ones worth listening to.)
Boman Irani’s first directorial, The Mehta Boys, explores the intricacies of father-son relationship—one where silence often speaks louder than words. In this exclusive conversation with Indulge, Avinash delves into his initial reaction to the script, his process of preparing for the role, and the invaluable lessons he took away from portraying Amey.
Excerpts:
What was your first reaction when you read the script? Did you instantly connect with Amey Mehta’s character?
It felt incredibly relatable. It touches your heart. When this script came to me, my first instinct was, “If you call yourself an artiste, there’s no way you can let this go.” And that was it—I jumped at it. I understood Amey’s character deeply. What makes the story special is that it’s not just about a father and son—it’s about every relationship where ego, pride, and miscommunication create distance. The father-son dynamic is just the lens through which this human story unfolds. That universality is what moved me the most.
Amey and his father, Shiv Mehta, often communicate through glances and gestures rather than words—a very familiar dynamic in many Indian families. How challenging was it to convey those emotions without the crutch of dialogue?
We never really thought of it as a challenge. As actors, we don’t overanalyse these moments; we just become the characters. The unsaid parts of a relationship come through organically. I didn’t consciously work on silences—they just happened in the moment. A wise man once told me, “If anyone asks how you do it, just say it’s talent.” So, let’s go with that!
There is restaurant scene where you subtly express emotions while your father recounts a memory. Can you walk us through your process while filming such emotionally charged scenes?
It’s all about listening. Not just hearing the words, but truly listening. In that scene, Amey sees his father in a new light. He realises the depth of his father’s love for his mother, the loss he carries. At the same time, there’s guilt—he’s messed up, and he knows it. That complexity was written so well. I genuinely believe that a performance is directly proportional to the quality of writing and the director’s vision. If you liked my performance, a lot of that credit goes to the script and Boman sir’s direction.
How was it being directed by Boman Irani?
Honestly, I only met the director during rehearsals. He did all the hard work before we got to set. Once we were shooting, I was interacting with the actor Boman Irani, and that was pure fun. As a director, he pushed me hard. But as an actor, he was a joy to work with. He kept telling me, “Arre, dhai actor nahi hai tere jaise (No actor is half as good as you). Avinash, just go for it!” That shift made a huge difference. He loves to experiment, and that made it easier for me to try different things. We would do five variations of a scene just for fun, without worrying about the director’s judgment—because the director was also in the scene with us! Only later would he switch hats and analyse the takes. That dynamic made it a truly special experience.
Was there a particular scene where you personally felt the magic while watching the final cut?
Just three days ago, I was watching the film again, and there’s a moment in the climax where Amey takes a step and looks at his father as he leaves for the airport. In that moment, I could hear everything going on in his head. Every breath, every heartbeat. That moment stood out for me, and I felt proud of my work there.
What do you hope the audience takes away from Amey and Shiv’s story?
If I had to sum it up in one phrase, it would be generational acceptance. We talk a lot about generational trauma, communication gaps, and the baggage we carry. But what truly makes a difference is acceptance. If you notice in the film, the father doesn’t suddenly change. He still holds onto his quirks. But something shifts within Amey—and that’s what makes a relationship last. We can see further only because we are sitting on the shoulders of our parents. We must acknowledge that our foresight exists because of them. Instead of pushing them away, let’s recognise their role in shaping us. The Mehta Boys carries these subtle messages, and if audiences can see them, that’s the real magic of cinema.
