A Quiet Luminescence of Being: Payal Kapadia’s ‘All We Imagine as Light’ is a Tale of Survival, Resilience, and Quiet Rebellion
- The movie is also an ode to the magical city of Mumbai that offers “ unforeseen hope” to many Prabhas and Parvatys.
‘All We Imagine as Light’ is a haunting and poetic portrayal of three women bound by isolation yet fleetingly connected by moments of joy and shared humanity. Payal Kapadia, celebrated as the first Indian filmmaker to earn a Grand Prix at Cannes for a non-English film, crafts a slow-burning but deeply resonant tale of survival, resilience, and quiet rebellion. The film captures the extraordinary bonds and life-changing decisions of women navigating the melting pot of Mumbai — a city often seen as a place to earn money to send home.
Set against the bustling yet indifferent metropolis of Mumbai, Kapadia’s film reveals a city where millions migrate in search of opportunity but frequently encounter loneliness instead. From cramped shared apartments to rain-soaked streets teeming with commuters, Kapadia paints a dim, claustrophobic existence. Her characters live in the shadows of high-rise buildings, glitzy malls, and the glittering Bollywood dream factory, quietly accepting their muted lives without complaint. As I watched their story unfold against the backdrop of Bollywood blockbusters, I was struck by their quiet sense of purpose.
The narrative’s momentum emerges from the interwoven lives of its protagonists. Prabha (Kani Kusruti), a nurse from Kerala, has endured 22 years of waiting since her husband disappeared after taking a factory job in Germany. Yet her longing does not define her; it coexists with her relentless commitment to her patients, her friends, and herself. She navigates hospital wards, crowded streets, and dimly lit quarters with a matter-of-fact dignity, her kindness a quiet defiance against the city’s cold anonymity. In one poignant moment, she hugs a rice cooker sent by her absent husband. A visiting doctor (Azeez Nedumangad) offers her a poem and a chance for something new, but Prabha, ever proper, resists stepping out of her status quo.
Prabha’s story intertwines with those of two other women. Anu (Divya Prabha), her free-spirited, impulsive, and spendthrift roommate, dreams of escaping societal constraints, daring to love a Muslim man, Shiaz (Hridhu Haroon), despite the odds. Anu’s recklessness often creates trouble—missed rent payments, impractical decisions—but Prabha tolerates her flaws with the patience of an older sister. Then there is Parvaty, a widow grappling with the heartbreak of losing her small Mumbai apartment. Forced to return to her ancestral village, Parvaty leans on Prabha for support, their friendship a poignant testament to solidarity in the face of despair.
Together, these women form a fragile circle of warmth and shared resilience. Their small acts of rebellion—laughing over chili fish curry, seeking solace in a Chinese restaurant, playing with a stray cat, or throwing stones at an oppressive billboard—become powerful symbols of their humanity.
Kapadia’s gift lies in her ability to elevate the mundane into the extraordinary. The rain-drenched streets of Mumbai, the cosmopolitan mix of languages — Malayalam, Marathi, Tamil, Hindi, and English—and the automatic passage of time echo the women’s struggles. Yet within this wet claustrophobia, moments of light shine. Prabha’s quiet strength anchors her friends. She stands by Parvaty, helping her sift through old letters—including a greeting card from Parvaty’s son—and enlisting an attorney in a futile bid to save her home.
When Parvaty’s battle is lost, Prabha accompanies her to the coastal village of her childhood. Here, the narrative shifts from Mumbai’s shadowy rain to a landscape of light, sand, and sky—a stark and poignant contrast that mirrors Prabha’s emotional release. The openness of the coastal air awakens something dormant in her: a reminder that life holds more than waiting, even if it is found in the smallest, most unexpected moments.
Ranabir Das’s cinematography captures this duality with breathtaking skill. Mumbai’s oppressive rain is rendered in shadowy elegance—umbrellas bobbing in mist, lights flickering through drenched windows. By contrast, the coastal village emerges as a luminous revelation, its natural beauty offering respite to both the characters and the audience.
Kapadia’s storytelling crescendos in a dreamlike sequence near the film’s end. Lost in thought, Prabha imagines herself rescuing a man from the sea.
Is he her long-lost husband, finally returned? Or a stranger, a reflection of her unfulfilled longing? The ambiguity is poignant, encapsulating the film’s exploration of yearning and hope.
Amidst the desolation, “All We Imagine as Light” celebrates resilience. The women’s shared joys—dancing after a stolen swig of rum, laughing together, or simply existing in each other’s presence — are acts of quiet rebellion against a world that seeks to confine them.
This film is more than a narrative; it is an elegy to those who persist in the face of adversity, those who hold onto their humanity even when life offers little in return. For Prabha and her companions, hope is not an abstract ideal but a quiet, steady rebellion. Kapadia’s bittersweet ode resonates deeply, a tribute to women like them and millions more.
As I watched the film alone, I was reminded of Emily Dickinson’s words: “I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.” Kapadia’s characters, too, seem to carry their lanterns, searching for light in the shadows.
With one foot in Huntsville, Alabama, the other in her birth home India, and a heart steeped in humanity, writing is a contemplative practice for Monita Soni. She has published hundreds of poems, movie reviews, book critiques, and essays and contributed to combined literary works. Her two books are My Light Reflections and Flow through My Heart. You can hear her commentaries on Sundial Writers Corner WLRH 89.3FM.
