Most memorable films are driven by a strong, compelling narrative that dictates the behavior of its characters: challenges to be overcome, problems to be solved, relationships to be resolved.
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| As Prabha (Kani Kusruti, left) watches apprehensively, Anu (Divya Prabha) tries to figure out where this unexpected gift — a fancy rice cooker — came from. |
We’re first introduced to the city itself, as viewed through the windows of a passing bus, via an impressively long tracking shot: bustling, cacophonous, overwhelmingly crowded. And hot, humid and wet; rain is constant, windows nonetheless left open to catch an occasional stray breeze.
This portion of the city — Lower Parel to Dadar — is in constant transformation, with rapacious developers demolishing residential chawls (tenements) that have long housed the workers who keep the city functioning, into gated luxury building complexes and high-end shopping malls.
One particularly obnoxious billboard shamelessly flaunts the blatant unfairness of India’s caste system: “Class is a privilege ... reserved for the privileged.”
Random individuals express their thoughts, off camera and in different languages — Gujarati, Bhojpuri, Bengali — as this bus proceeds, each brief snippet a haunting saga of its own:
“I’ve lived here maybe 23 years, but I feel afraid to call it home. There’s always the feeling I’ll have to leave.”
“I fought with my dad, so I packed my bag and left for Mumbai. My brother had a job at the dockyard. His place smelled so bad, the first night I couldn’t sleep.”
“I was pregnant, but I didn’t tell anyone, because I’d recently found a job at a house. I had to take care of a lady’s kids, but they were pests. But the lady ... she fed me well. That year I ate like a queen.”
Das’ camera settles, and Kapadia introduces her key characters. Prabha (Kani Kusruti) is a veteran hospital nurse in a Hindi district; she’s capable, conservative and quiet, having come to Mumbai from Kerala, where nursing is a respected profession for (somewhat) independent women. She buries her unhappiness — a long-ago arranged marriage to a husband who promptly took a job in Germany, never to be seen again — by becoming an “angel” to others.
Kusruti’s dolefully resigned bearing, when not around others, is heartbreaking. Prabha long ago gave up the notion that her life would change for the better; she copes by feeling needed.
She’s considerate and understanding with her patients, such as an elderly woman suffering from dementia. Prabha also shares her apartment with younger trainee colleagues, the most recent of whom is Anu (Divya Prabha). She’s the polar opposite: outgoing, impatient, rebellious — sporting a tattoo (!) — and somewhat self-centered. Anu spends her salary money on clothes and designer sunglasses, then begs Prabha to forgive her monthly rent.
Even worse, Anu clandestinely dates a Muslim boyfriend, Shiaz (Hridhu Haroon), which scandalizes her co-workers ... and, she’s fully aware, would horrify her conservative parents, back in Kerala.
At first blush, we’re inclined to despise Anu; Prabha makes her narcissistic and insensitive, to the point of rudeness. But this is a front, as is the case with her older roommate; Anu’s outward insolence conceals deep insecurity, even fear.
Prabha also helps the hospital’s cook, Parvaty (Chhaya Kadam), who’s threatened with eviction from the home in which she has lived for 22 years, by a greedy developer who wants to build a skyscraper.
“They think that by building taller and taller,” Parvaty says, with repressed anger, “they can replace God.”
Kadam radiates silent nobility; Parvaty may be a lowly cook, but she’s nonetheless dignified. She’s also the one person in whom Prabha confides.
Alas, even with the help of a compassionate lawyer, Parvaty’s situation is hopeless. Her husband is dead, and — as is custom — there isn’t a shred of proof that she has any legal right to her home.
“You only seem to be real,” she laments, “if you have papers.”
Prabha’s carefully orchestrated life is upended one day, by the unexpected arrival of a large box containing a fancy rice cooker. She and Anu pore over the box, which has no return address. The latter’s close scrutiny of the cooker reveals that it’s of German make ... a gift from Prabha’s long-absent husband?
If so, it’s unwanted, and gets hidden away in a low cabinet.
At work, the shy Dr. Manoj (Azees Nedumangad) is sweet on Prabha, which makes her even more uncomfortable; she long ago forgot how to process such feelings. We ache for this man, with whom she very likely could build a happy life. But is that any more likely, than the uncertainty of Anu and Shiaz’s relationship?
The subtle genius of Kapadia’s approach becomes clear — perhaps with surprise — upon realizing that we’ve become wholly invested in the fates of these three women. They aren’t merely characters in a film; they’re friends, perhaps even neighbors. Relationships know no geographical or cultural boundaries.
Everything comes to a head when Parvaty reluctantly decides to quit her job and move back to her village in Ratnagiri. Prabha and Anu tag along, to help her relocate.
And, via all three women, Kapadia quietly confirms that what we often need most is closure. Prabha’s final, unexpected encounter with a Ratnagiri local is metaphorically poignant, and a true gut-punch.
Mention also must be made of Saee Abhay Limaye, who makes the most of his brief, carefree role as the teenage manager of an outdoor beachside café.
Kapadia’s film is a leisurely, intimate emotional stroll that may tax impatient viewers. But those who fall under its spell — and the intoxicating Mumbai ambiance that continues to attract so many — will understand why All We Imagine As Light won the 2024 Cannes Grand Prix (Grand Prize).
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