As kids, many of us wished our dads would just skip work for once—stay home and spend the entire day with us, every day. And yet, that innocent desire was often met with a familiar line: “If he doesn’t go out to earn, how will he buy you toys?”

Paranthu Po takes you on ‘that’ very trip down memory lane—and gently tugs at the strings you didn’t know were still attached.

Some may argue this isn’t a typical Ram film. I’d strongly disagree. From his signature aerial drone shots and wide-angle views to the deeply rooted theme of the common man navigating post-globalisation India, the filmmaker remains faithful to his voice. The difference? This time, it’s wrapped in humor—and headlined by the unexpectedly delightful casting of Mirchi Shiva. But even that feels in tune. Because Ram’s dry, unforced humor has always been tucked between the seams of his films.

At its heart, Paranthu Po is a tender tale of a child teaching his parents how to live again. Gokul (Shiva) and his wife (Grace) are caught in the unending rat race of middle-class survival, running just to make ends meet. In doing so, they leave little room for home, for rest, or for their son, Anbu (Mithul Ryan), who is often left alone.

It reaches a point where Grace has to move out of Chennai for a few days to earn some extra money through her saree business. Ram encapsulates this reality in one of the film’s most notable metaphors: Gokul squeezing the last drop of oil from a pink sponge—life being sucked out dry. Fittingly, he’s wearing a pink shirt in that very shot.

But that’s just the setup. (Of course, Ram has always said he doesn’t write within the bounds of the three-act structure.)

The real journey begins with an absurd yet hilarious chase sequence—one that sets off a father-son road trip. No classic mini-van or modified car here. Just a humble Splendor-like bike, with a pending EMI. The journey that unfolds over three days becomes transformative.

There’s laughter, laced with longing. Melancholy, masked by amusement. As the ride unfolds, Gokul begins to see what he’s been missing all along. He stops. He breathes (Gasps, climbing the mountains). He watches his son’s antics not with frustration, but with wonder. In a quietly heartbreaking moment, he never misses his chance to say, “I’m proud of you, my son,” a line he perhaps longed to hear from his own father.

Maybe, just maybe, Paranthu Po was always about that!

By the end, Gokul and Grace don’t promise change. They simply say they’ll think about it. But in a world that moves too fast, even that feels like a small revolution.