Chandravati Pawar

Majhi Prarthana (2025) drops you into the thick of a small Maharashtrian village, where everything’s a little too quiet and the air crackles with secrets. Chandravati Pawar does her thing—she’s the stubborn, sharp-tongued matriarch who’s basically the glue (and sometimes the dynamite) holding her family together. The movie’s not trying to be some preachy lecture about rural life, but it digs deep into the messiness of faith, family, and all those tiny betrayals that pile up over time. You’ve got this massive family, all under one roof, and every single person’s got their own drama. The eldest son wants to move to the city, the daughter-in-law’s got her own ideas about freedom, and Chandravati’s clinging to traditions that nobody else seems to care about anymore. There’s this weird tension between old prayers and new ambitions, like everyone’s stuck in a tug-of-war, and nobody’s willing to let go. It’s not all gloomy, though. There are wild festival scenes, sudden bursts of laughter, and seriously awkward family dinners where people say way too much or not enough. Chandravati’s “prayer” isn’t just about gods or rituals—it’s what she whispers late at night, hoping someone’s listening. The whole thing builds up to this raw, emotional confrontation that’s messy and real, but honestly, it’s the little moments—the side glances, the half-heard confessions—that hit the hardest. No tidy endings, just the feeling that life keeps grinding on, prayers or no prayers.