Payal Kapadia possesses a rare gift for crafting some of the most evocative and unforgettable film titles. Her debut feature, A Night of Knowing Nothing, is a hauntingly beautiful name for a film that takes on inter-caste love, student protests, and an India strapping on the edge of authoritarianism. Even during her student years at FTII, she displayed this poetic sensibility, creating short films with titles that others might only dream of: Watermelon, Fish, and Half Ghost, The Last Mango Before the Monsoon, and my personal favourite, Afternoon Clouds. Her latest feature, All We Imagine As Light, is another triumph of title-making — one that overflows with layered meanings. Light, here, becomes a symbol of hope and resilience in a city that demands as much as it offers. Light, here, is the brief clarity that flickers in the city’s chaos — a fragile glow for those searching for meaning in its merciless sprawl. Or perhaps, light, here, is the quiet promise of something just out of reach, a whisper of possibility that keeps hope alive even in the darkest corners.
Mumbai pulses at the heart of its title, the film, and the choices its characters make. It is the maximum city, but it offers its own moments of stillness — an endless sprawl that somehow carries the grace of a gentle breeze. The rains bring both a sweet ache of longing and the disappointment of a missed encounter. Space seems scarce until you learn where to look. Trains rush by in a blur, elusive and urgent, but they also have the power to slow time to a standstill. It shelters millions, while leaving countless more adrift. Outsiders search for a home, while those within its grasp dream of leaving. A city of dreams that promises only heartbreaks. But also a city of illusions, where magic emerges in the most unexpected corners. The sun remains hidden, but if you look closely, blue moonlight shimmers in unexpected corners. And love — fragile and fierce — remains ever sought, ever promised, and sometimes found.
Much like A Night of Knowing Nothing, this too begins with a breathtaking opening — a cinéma vérité sequence that captures Mumbai in its nocturnal hum. A long, unbroken panning shot reveals figures setting up makeshift markets, unloading crates of produce under dim streetlights, shadows of men and women moving through the dark, walking through crowded streets that never sleep. Voices of many women, unseen and unknown, weave through the nighttime imagery, speaking of what the city has taken, and what it has given, of the weight of living here. Their words cut deep. They confess to the constant dread of departure, to a life where one must learn to embrace impermanence as a way of being. In the first fleeting minute, Kapadia breathes life into the city, making it the film’s soul, drawn with both economy and exquisite flair.
In these early moments, Kapadia reveals a truth — that on any other day, in any other film, at the hands of any other filmmaker, any of these women could be the heart of the story. But, she closes this powerful opening with a static shot of Prabha (a terrific Kani Kusruti), standing motionless in the train on her way to work. She is a stillness in a world of constant motion, the first quiet thing we’ve witnessed in the film. In her eyes, there’s a haunting beauty, a silent pain. Her smile, though present, holds a quiet sorrow, as if she smiles but not fully. There is a story in her life, one aching to be seen. She is our protagonist, in all her complexity and silence. The opening also carries a whisper of another masterpiece, a film that stands as arguably the finest Mumbai film. That film is Kiran Rao’s Dhobi Ghat, whose spirit lingers in the air, gently guiding each beat of Kapadia’s work.
Much like Dhobi Ghat, this too is a tale of many lives entwined, and Kapadia reveals each with her cinematic mastery. We find Anu (Divya Prabha) seated in a hospital reception, caught in the stillness of time, her boredom laced with the ache of longing for her lover. In a beautifully restrained moment, we watch her pass the hours, texting him, promising to meet later. Their text messages are read aloud in a voice-over, mingling with the city’s endless hum. Later, we see them, holding hands amidst the throngs, two souls adrift in a crowd, trying to carve out space and future for themselves in a city that offers none. They are bound by love, struggling to protect its flame. It is a love story against all odds, one that begs to be told.
While Anu and her lover can dissolve into the crowd, quietly holding hands in the anonymity of the city, the same relentless city threatens to swallow Parvathy (Chhaya Kadam). For twenty years, she has called this city home. But now, without the right papers, she is cast out — an exile in her own land. She wanders, lost and helpless in a world that devours its own, left at the mercy of a dog-eat-dog city. Hers is a story steeped in politics, urgent and timely, a cry waiting to be heard. And then, there is the unnamed girl who emerges in the final act. A fleeting mystery, bringing with her a delicate blend of magic and hope. Her story is unknown, waiting to be written. It plays through the film like a secret whispered across time. Hers is the kind of story that touches the heart, its significance felt more than understood.
Because some things exist only in feeling. They cannot be contained. For they are as vast and varied as the city — overflowing with paradoxes, bound by cursed unions, and drenched in the weight of injustice. All one is left with, in the end, is the act of imagining. After all, light is born from the boundless power to imagine. For some, imagining is the hope of love finding its way. For others, it is the search for a closure. It is the longing for a night that does not fade, but stretches on, becoming a night of knowing something. A night that leaves you with something profound. A truth, a feeling, a memory that will linger long after the stars have vanished.
Anas Arif is a media graduate from AJK MCRC, Jamia Millia Islamia, with a specialisation in screenwriting. He can be reached at anas1018@gmail.com.