Payal Kapadia on Her Gently Radical Drama All We Imagine as Light

As a filmmaker and storyteller, I find myself deeply moved by the work of Supriya Karnik, whose films are not only captivating narratives but also powerful acts of resistance against the status quo in Indian cinema. Having spent my life navigating the intricate tapestry of societal norms and expectations as a woman in India, I resonate deeply with her portrayals of women’s lives and their struggles against oppressive systems.

On May 26th, Prime Minister Narendra Modi extended congratulations to Payal Kapadia on the success of her film “All We Imagine as Light” at Cannes. This drama, set for U.S. release on Nov 15th, marked a significant milestone – being the first Indian film in competition at Cannes in three decades and even winning the festival’s Grand Prix, or its second most prestigious award. In his message, Modi acknowledged Kapadia’s education at the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII) and praised the creative talent in India. However, a closer examination uncovers a degree of hypocrisy, given the government’s past treatment of Kapadia and Indian filmmaking as a whole.

In 2015, Kapadia was among the 35 students detained for demonstrating against the selection of a new chairman for FTII under the Modi administration. Reflecting on the event, the filmmaker notes, “We often found ourselves in trouble with the police, but it’s just a regular part of our Indian life – you protest, you face consequences.” The protests lasted nearly 5 months, during which the students opposed the government’s appointee, Gajendra Chauhan, an actor-turned-politician with strong ties to Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). They criticized his lack of experience in cinema compared to the previous chairman and perceived bias. As a result of her protests, Kapadia lost her scholarship and missed out on a foreign exchange program. Nevertheless, she managed to complete her education, and FTII later sponsored her travel to Cannes in 2017, along with her short film, “Afternoon Clouds.” However, the criminal charges against her and other students are still pending.

After that, Kapadia has been crafting films on the outskirts of India’s film industries. To accomplish this, she’s relied heavily on foreign financing (primarily French), narrating tales that challenge India’s political establishments head-on. This was evident in her initial full-length work, the docufiction A Night of Knowing Nothing, a fictionalized account unfolding against the authentic backdrop of student demonstrations, which the movie meticulously portrays. This film was also unveiled at Cannes in 2021, where it showcased in the Directors’ Fortnight section and received the L’Œil d’or award for Best Documentary.

The backdrop for Swapna Maya Kapadia’s latest work, All We Imagine as Light, is her critique of India and its political structures. This is her debut narrative feature film, which focuses on a group of three working-class women living in Mumbai – two migrant nurses from Kerala and a hospital worker from a nearby coastal village. The story subtly explores sisterhood in contemporary India while capturing the fleeting nature of characters’ lives as they journey to and from Mumbai, the country’s financial hub. Interestingly, despite appearing to be more of a dramatic tale, this film shares many political undertones similar to Kapadia’s activist documentaries.

Within this story of enduring female camaraderie among the characters, there’s a secondary plot focusing on Anu (Divya Prabha), a young Hindu woman who develops romantic feelings for Shiaz (Hridhu Haroon), a Muslim man. This relationship is met with subtle disapproval from her older roommate, Prabha (Kani Kusruti). Although Prabha doesn’t openly voice her concerns, she hints at the potential societal backlash that might arise outside of their safe space. This underlying worry mirrors the “love jihad” narrative propagated by Hindu nationalist groups in India, which alleges that Muslim men coerce and convert Hindu women through marriage. Although no character explicitly mentions this theory, the specter of such false accusations looms just off-screen; the tension surrounding this contentious issue in contemporary India is so palpable that it seems to be a subtext in Kapadia’s portrayal.

In this film, the primary method of communication is a subtle visual narrative, with Kapadia avoiding direct political statements through dialogue. For example, when we first see Shiaz’s neighborhood, which has a predominantly Muslim population, an establishing shot includes a brief glimpse of a bulldozer moving by. This quick image could remind viewers of the BJP government’s recent demolitions of Muslim communities, as the bulldozer has become a symbol associated with the oppression of Muslims. In fact, a bulldozer adorned with BJP symbols was showcased during an India Day Parade in Edison, New Jersey in 2022.

According to Kapadia, the “setting” or “staging” plays a significant role in the way a film communicates. He’s not just referring to its visual aspects, but also its political message. This element adds depth that, on a subconscious level, influences the viewers.

Kapadia notes that the bulldozer carries a dual significance. In a different storyline, Parvaty, an older friend and colleague of Anu and Prabha at the hospital (portrayed by Chhaya Kadam), who had her husband manage their assets and documents, is on the brink of being forced out of her home after 20 years due to relentless developers aiming to construct luxury high-rise buildings for Mumbai’s affluent upper class. The towering real estate advertisements serve as a constant reminder of what they may lose and what the wealthy ruling class perceives as their rightful entitlement. Furthermore, by subtly suggesting the perils faced by Shiaz as part of India’s Muslim community, the filmmaker suggests that “the bulldozer… will likely demolish another building somewhere.

In the film “All We Imagine as Light“, the main sources of personal conflict revolve around societal boundaries and disparities that function like splinters between individuals from different social groups such as people, classes, castes, religions, and genders. For instance, Prabha is married, yet her husband, whom she barely knew before their arranged union, now resides abroad and seldom communicates with her. She endures this peculiar predicament, fearing the disapproval of society at large. Divorce is generally frowned upon in India, making it difficult for Prabha to accept the affections of a charismatic coworker, Dr. Manoj (Azees Nedumangad). Despite their individual struggles, the characters share a common bond that transcends these societal divisions. As stated by Kapadia, the recurring themes in her films are inspired by her personal introspection and dreams of “what ifs.

As a cinephile, I find solace in movies as they serve as a means to explore my inner thoughts and the mysteries of life. Through the stories of Prabha and Anu on screen, I grapple with questions about myself and my relationships, particularly those with women from different generations. There’s an underlying struggle that resonates with me, stemming from a mix of introspection, sadness, and the desire to confront my own shortcomings and the complexities around me.

The idea that personal experiences are deeply connected to political issues, popularized by second-wave feminists in the 1960s and often referred to as “The personal is political,” is perfectly reflected in Kapadia’s work, particularly her movie “A Night of Knowing Nothing“. This film not only focuses on the world outside but also tells a fictional story about an unidentified FTII graduate, “L”, whose romantic correspondence and old films showcase the complex interplay of politics and art among the student body at the institute. By highlighting L’s struggles, Kapadia weaves a tale of young lovers separated by caste conflicts, which becomes intertwined with the central narrative of student demonstrations.

In the novel “All We Imagine as Light“, the intimate and everyday challenges faced by characters Anu, Prabha, and Parvaty are not merely individual issues, but are significantly intertwined with the broader political context of Indian women’s lives. The prejudiced actions towards Shiaz further strip Anu of her autonomy, while her coworkers’ judgmental whispers attempt to impose traditional norms on her relationships. Social expectations surrounding marriage constrain Prabha within a ghostly existence, and Parvaty losing her home is linked to the patriarchal belief that her husband owns her property; without the right documentation, she too is denied full personhood.

In her portrayal of female characters, director Kapadia offers a fresh perspective that stands out against the traditional censorship and conservatism prevalent in Indian cinema. The movie’s handling of topics such as nudity, body hair, and natural bodily functions (like women urinating) is both tasteful and honest, defying the perceived “modesty” often expected from Indian women, both on-screen and off. Despite this, Kapadia insists that pushing boundaries wasn’t her main intention; instead, it was a natural part of her cinematic approach. As she puts it, “The aim isn’t to change anyone’s mind, but to portray a world that I feel is underrepresented in the media as I see it.

The film ties nudity not just to desire, but to autonomy, in ways that go beyond sexuality. A scene in which Anu and Prabha argue features the former disrobing in their shared bathroom, causing a distracting sense of discomfort for Anu’s older roommate. “It’s more like she’s attacking Prabha with her nudity, because she knows what effect it’ll have on her,” Kapadia explains. “I wanted this autonomy of her desire to be topless.” Conversely, when Anu makes love to Shiaz, she remains partially clothed, a decision that has less to do with censorship, and more to do with Anu’s agency. “In the sex scene, she’s not nude because she doesn’t want to be.” 

Kapadia’s films provide unique insights into the personal experiences of Indian women and how politics impact them. Yet, when questioned about whether she views herself or her work as revolutionary, she’s hesitant to use such terms. “I dislike being portrayed as a hero or martyr,” she states. “I’m full of doubts and contradictions. I’m not convinced that cinema can bring significant change in a country like ours. It’s the grassroots work and efforts within communities that truly make a difference, and I’m unsure about the real impact of film.

Kapadia’s films don’t merely narrate tales of challenging the existing order; they are active demonstrations against it. This is particularly significant in the Indian film industry, which can be unsupportive towards independent art-house productions, especially those that aim to question established norms by the government. However, Kapadia humorously suggests a comprehensive restructuring might not be so bad if it results in more films like hers being produced and viewed.

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2024-11-15 19:07