All We Imagine as Light Filters Life in Modern Mumbai Through the Eyes of Three Women

The torrential waters of monsoon season and the right-wing policies of Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi both indelibly color All We Imagine as Light, the second feature from rising filmmaker Payal Kapadia. As the deep purple-blue hues of summer storms wash over the largely nocturnal Mumbai cityscape, three women find themselves in various states of anxious limbo in Kapadia’s Cannes Grand Prix-winner. Touching upon (but never proselytizing about) matters of misogyny, religion, caste and gentrification, All We Imagine as Light exudes unwavering naturalism, undoubtedly influenced by the filmmaker’s documentary background. Yet Kapadia also demonstrates a narrative tact that echoes the slow cinema stylings of filmmakers like Apichatpong Weeresthakul and Tsai Ming-Liang, complete with scenes of the mundane that eventually reveal an underlying mysticism.
All We Imagine as Light opens with Mumbai’s late-night bustle of packed night markets, metro cars and sidewalks, featuring narration from citizens about their relationship to the locale. They recount anecdotes involving strong odors, economic promise and residential impermanence, rooting the viewer in the excitement and trepidation that arrests city-dwellers old and new. Kapadia then homes in on three women who work at a small hospital, each grappling with the consequences of their partnerships with men. Prabha (Kani Kusruti) throws herself into her nursing duties to distract from the loneliness of an absentee husband who emigrated for work in Germany shortly after their arranged marriage; 20-something receptionist Anu (Divya Prabha) has nightly trysts with Muslim boyfriend Shiaz (Hridhu Haroon), a taboo considering her own Hindu background; older widow Parvaty (Chhaya Kadam) risks losing her longtime apartment when she cannot locate the papers that prove her husband’s previous ownership and developers swoop in. While their individual struggles speak to widespread discrimination across several of India’s social sectors, their womanhood alone deems them second-class citizens.
As opposed to flat-out decrying this harsh reality, Kapadia relishes in the way these characters orchestrate small rebellions. When Prabha receives an unmarked package in the mail, she unboxes a German-made rice cooker and quickly deduces that it serves as an unceremonious parting gift from her husband. Offensive in its sheer lack of decorum—coldly cumbersome despite its candy apple red coating and tethered to domestic notions of gender—Prabha immediately stashes it in a remote corner of the apartment, barely acknowledging its presence and the message it bears. Upon hearing that Shiaz’s relatives will be out of town for a wedding, Anu purchases a burqa in order to sneak into his largely Muslim neighborhood undetected. When Parvaty crosses paths with a sign for the developers that threaten to displace her, she chucks stones through the banner. While none of these actions radically push back against their material circumstances, they nonetheless demonstrate how these women seize control whenever they can; these are not victims or doormats.