When 'Sarvam Maya' Finally Sits Down

Film: Sarvam Maya

Language: Malayalam

Year: 2025

Director: Akhil Sathyan

Cast: Nivin Pauly, Riya Shibu, Aju Varghese, Janardhanan, Preity Mukhundhan

Genre: Supernatural comedy / fantasy drama

Runtime: 146 minutes

Release: Theatrical (December 25, 2025); now streaming on OTT

The nicest trick ‘Sarvam Maya’ pulls is that it makes you feel slightly uneasy for a long time and then, without announcing anything, it suddenly doesn’t. The movie feels like a polite, over-correcting, anxious person in a room who keeps adjusting the cushions instead of sitting down. It sounds gentle, behaves impeccably and yet seems to be constantly asking, “Is this okay? Should we add something here? Maybe music? Yes, definitely music.”

The unease begins early and politely. In a concert sequence, musicians are thanked and instruments are named. Everything is orderly and respectful until the camera reaches the guitar and pauses on the wrong one. A classical guitar gets its moment while the electric guitar waits patiently off frame, like someone who showed up to the party but didn’t get introduced. The pause is brief, polite even, but unmistakable. When the camera cuts to Prabhendu, his reaction mirrors the error. The film, it seems, excels at being almost right.

That sense of near-miss spreads everywhere.

Music is the most obvious tell. It enters scenes early, often before emotions have decided what they are. At first, it feels comforting. Then enthusiastic. Eventually, it starts to feel like someone is filling the silence because silence might ask uncomfortable questions. Quiet is treated like a risk. Costumes repeat. Conversations arrive, hover and leave without escalating.

Faith is present but mistimed. Rituals are performed sincerely, while care arrives too late elsewhere. A lamp burns steadily as something more urgent slips out of reach. Belief doesn’t collapse or get interrogated. It simply stops fitting the moment it’s placed in. It feels badly scheduled, like doing the right thing while missing the bus. The film never attacks religion. It lets fear do the work.

Love, too, is handled with gloves on. It exists, it’s encouraged, but always with disclaimers. Wanting is allowed, but carefully. Possessiveness sounds like something that needs an explanation before it’s permitted. Desire is treated less like a force and more like a liability that must be managed.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, an old idea starts hovering in the background, not as philosophy, but as lived experience. The ‘Purusharth’ cycle, not from a textbook, but from daily life. ‘Dharma’ misfires when vocation is recognised but not claimed. ‘Artha’ remains incomplete when meaning, name and story are left unresolved. ‘Kama’ becomes cautious when desire is felt but not fully permitted.

‘Moksha’, if one must use the word, doesn’t show up here as transcendence.

It shows up as relief. The shift isn’t announced. It’s felt. Sound backs off. Moments are allowed to land without assistance. Recognition happens without hesitation. The film no longer escorts its own emotions to their seats. It trusts them to stand.

‘Sarvam Maya’ leaves you unexpectedly cheerful. It’s ease, the feeling that comes when something finally stops correcting itself mid-sentence.

You walk out thinking less about ghosts or philosophy and more about how often life feels better the moment you stop managing it so closely.

Somewhere along the way, the right guitar gets named. And the film, finally, sits down.

Darshim Saxena writes on cinema and culture