Seeking love in lonesome cities
There is a distinct subset of cinema that invariably bores my parentsthe slow, meditative kind where "nothing really happens." Think: the languid sermons of Govind Nihalani's Party or the temporal sprawl of Satyajit Ray's Pather Panchali. Films that seem to resist the very rhythm of life. Arthouse cinema is hardly alone in provoking this reaction. After watching Alfonso Cuarón's rather mainstream Gravity, for instance, my dad asked me: where is the story? Surely, one character and one room could not be it.
To its credit, Payal Kapadia's fiction feature debut, All We Imagine As Light, offers more than that. It has three women, an entire city, and a partial village to unravel a story steeped in longing. And what better city to host the tenuous intimacies of urban life than Karachi? On Saturday, Neutral held an exclusive screening as part of Chalti Tasveerain, its cinema initiative. For the first time in years, it felt as if a story had found its way home.
Since its launch in October, Chalti Tasveerain has curated a diverse catalog, inviting audiences to two films each month. The initiative is helmed by Saif Quraishi - physicist, actor, filmmaker - and Sameer Haseeb Khan, a Karachi-based filmmaker with a background in journalism and advertising. Together, the pair are focused on building Chalti Tasveerain as a space to bring people together over a shared love of great cinema.
Speaking to The Express Tribune about bringing Kapadia's film to Karachi, Saif said, "We reached out to their production team and followed the necessary protocols including the licencing fee. We just cold emailed them and it came about rather easily."
An ordinary cityscape
All We Imagine As Light follows the intersecting lives of Prabha (Kani Kusruti), Anu (Divya Prabha), and Parvaty (Chhaya Kadam) - three nurses from small towns now grappling with urban solitude and shifting desires. Prabha's unresolved past resurfaces in the form of an unexpected gift from her estranged husband, forcing her to confront the limbo of her marriage just as a new possibility for love emerges. Anu, restless and impulsive, tests the boundaries of love and social propriety, while Parvaty, a widow facing eviction, is forced to reckon with the city's indifference. Kapadia renders their dilemmas with remarkable tenderness, allowing emotions to build in hushed gestures and stolen glances, creating a world that is at once tangible and dreamlike.
With a languid two-hour runtime, Kapadia's feature remains remarkably faithful to an alternative mode of storytelling - one that begins long before the reel starts rolling and lingers long after the credits fade.
It is often difficult to articulate the experience of watching something that falls into the nebulous realm of slow cinema. What is there to recount about the three unhurried hours of cyclical mundanity in Chantal Akerman's Jeanne Dielman? She butters bread. She peels potatoes. She polishes shoes, folds laundry, bathes, dines with her son. There is nothing to spoil in a film that finds its rhythm in the ordinary.
When I return home from the screening, my mother asks me, What was the story about? So I point at us, then at the misty night sky. Boundless, borderless, indistinguishable from Mumbai.
The brown girl cinema
Later in the film, Mumbai's oppressive rhythms change to the open expanse of the coastal village. As Prabha, Anu, and Parvaty step away from the city's relentless demands, they enter a space where time slows, and submerged emotions come to the surface. Prabha, in particular, experiences a moment of almost mystical clarity, a reckoning that is both deeply personal and universal in its resonance. Is this a miracle or a hallucination? Or perhaps, they both mean the same thing, far away from the city.
Kapadia leaves room for ambiguity, infusing the film's closing moments with a luminous epiphany that resists easy interpretation. There is no writing on the wall, just chalkings full of love and promise in a dimly lit cave. And the weight of memory that the brown girl is all too familiar with.
This brown girl, a nebulous figure in its own right, is relatively new to me. It was not until I was an undergraduate student living in Karachi, suddenly exposed to the city's scholarly circles that I began to see myself as one.
She leads a double life. She knows how to hide and live better than anyone else. She moves through the lagging, rusted grids of the postcolonial metropolis, always in a state of fight or flight. Her joys belong to her alone, as do her sins. She is Anu, determined to live differently from Prabha and Parvaty. She is all of them.
Over the years, I have encountered the brown girl time and again: in the confessional poets at impromptu open mics, in anonymous declarations of love scattered across Facebook groups, in the quiet defiance of pleasure pursued in secrecy.
On screen, I last found her in In Flames (2023), embodied by a grief-stricken Mariam, haunted by a cityscape that loomed over her after a romantic rendezvous took a dark turn. Before that, she appeared as Biba, Mumtaz, and Nucchi in Joyland (2022) Saim Sadiq's critically acclaimed yet ruthlessly censored film.
That same year, Fawzia Mirza's The Queen of My Dreams, a festival-favourite tracing a young Azra's journey through her mother's early years in Karachi, remained absent from screens here, unable to secure a release.
There are countless stories where the brown girl longs to be seen and heard, and it is no coincidence that these are the first to be sacrificed to ideologues and censorship. But for one night, in a room so intimate it could hardly be called a cinema hall, the bureaucracies felt distant. With a quiet sense of wonder, I realised that Mumbai's heavy skies fade into the same deep indigo as Karachi's - and that all brown girls are on the run.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Express Tribune
16 hours ago
- Express Tribune
Pitt takes the wheel
Brad Pitt, whose new F1 film is out next week, has now driven a Formula One car for real after testing a McLaren at Austin's Circuit of the Americas, reported Reuters. The reigning world champions confirmed the Hollywood A lister drove a 2023 McLaren MCL60 car at the Texas track on Thursday. Media reports said the British-based team had been carrying out a private test with F1 regular Lando Norris and F2 driver Alex Dunne. It was the first time 61-year-old Pitt, who plays the fictional racing driver Sonny Hayes in the Apple Originals film, had driven a real Formula One car on track. The cars used in the making of the film were Formula Two cars, modified by Mercedes to look like real Grand Prix racers. Champions McLaren had teased the drive on Thursday with a social media post of overalls with the initials BP and the caption "It's a Sonny day in Austin". Seven-time world champion Lewis Hamilton, a co-producer of the film, said in March that Pitt had shown real speed while testing the F2 cars. "Watching Brad drive around at speeds over 180 miles an hour was really impressive to see because it's not something you can just learn overnight," he said. "The dedication and the focus that Brad put into this process has been amazing to witness." Director Joseph Kosinski, who directed the hit Top Gun: Maverick, explained how Hamilton was the first person he reached out to with the idea of a film. "I sent him an email and just said 'I want to tell the story in your world. I want to make it as authentic as possible. Will you help me?'" he said. "And luckily Lewis said yes... He had actually talked to me earlier about playing a role in Top Gun: Maverick. So that's how I knew Lewis."
Express Tribune
2 days ago
- Express Tribune
Going loco for Labubu
The viral dolls are said to be quirky, ugly, and inclusive. Photo: AFP Small, fuzzy and baring sharp teeth, Chinese toymaker Pop Mart's Labubu monster dolls have taken over the world, drawing excited crowds at international stores and adorning the handbags of celebrities such as Rihanna and Cher. Beijing-based Pop Mart is part of a rising tide of Chinese cultural exports gaining traction abroad, furry ambassadors of a "cool" China even in places associated more with negative public opinion of Beijing such as Europe and North America. Labubus, which typically sell for around $40, are released in limited quantities and sold in "blind boxes", meaning buyers don't know the exact model they will receive. The dolls are "a bit quirky and ugly and very inclusive, so people can relate", interior designer Lucy Shitova told AFP at a Pop Mart store in London, where in-person sales of Labubus have been suspended over fears that fans could turn violent in their quest for the toys. "Now everything goes viral... because of social media. And yes, it's cool. It's different." While neighbouring East Asian countries South Korea and Japan are globally recognised for their high-end fashion, cinema and pop songs, China's heavily censored film and music industry have struggled to attract international audiences, and the country's best-known clothing exporter is fast-fashion website Shein. There have been few success stories of Chinese companies selling upmarket goods under their own brands, faced with stereotypes of cheap and low-quality products. "It has been hard for the world's consumers to perceive China as a brand-creating nation," the University of Maryland's Fan Yang told AFP. Pop Mart has bucked the trend, spawning copycats dubbed by social media users as "lafufus" and detailed YouTube videos on how to verify a doll's authenticity. Brands such as designer womenswear label Shushu/Tong, Shanghai-based Marchen and Beijing-based handbag maker Songmont have also gained recognition abroad over the past few years. "It might just be a matter of time before even more Chinese brands become globally recognisable," Yang said. TikTok effect Through viral exports like Labubu, China is "undergoing a soft-power shift where its products and image are increasingly cool among young Westerners," said Allison Malmsten, an analyst at China-based Daxue Consulting. Malmsten said she believed social media could boost China's global image "similar to that of Japan in the 80s to 2010s with Pokemon and Nintendo". Video app TikTok — designed by China's ByteDance — paved the way for Labubu's ascent when it became the first Chinese-branded product to be indispensable for young people internationally. Joshua Kurlantzick from the Council on Foreign Relations (CFR) told AFP that "TikTok probably played a role in changing consumers' minds about China". TikTok, which is officially blocked within China but still accessible with VPN software, has over one billion users, including what the company says is nearly half of the US population. The app has become a focus of national security fears in the United States, with a proposed ban seeing American TikTok users flock to another Chinese app, Rednote, where they were welcomed as digital "refugees". A conduit for Chinese social media memes and fashion trends, TikTok hosts over 1.7 million videos about Labubu. Labubumania Cultural exports can "improve the image of China as a place that has companies that can produce globally attractive goods or services", CFR's Kurlantzick told AFP. "I don't know how much, if at all, this impacts images of China's state or government," he said, pointing to how South Korea's undeniable soft power has not translated into similar levels of political might. While plush toys alone might not translate into actual power, the United States' chaotic global image under the Trump presidency could benefit perceptions of China, the University of Maryland's Yang said. "The connection many make between the seeming decline of US soft power and the potential rise in China's global image may reflect how deeply intertwined the two countries are in the minds of people whose lives are impacted by both simultaneously," she told AFP. At the very least, Labubu's charms appear to be promoting interest in China among the younger generation. "It's like a virus. Everyone just wants it," Kazakhstani mother-of-three Anelya Batalova told AFP at Pop Mart's theme park in Beijing. Qatari Maryam Hammadi, 11, posed for photos in front of a giant Labubu statue. "In our country, they love Labubu," she said. "So, when they realise that the origin of Labubu is in China, they'd like to come to see the different types of Labubu in China."
Express Tribune
4 days ago
- Express Tribune
BTS fans rally for Korean adoptees
K-pop megaband BTS is back from military service, and their international fandom — long known for its progressive activism — is celebrating by rallying behind a cause: adoptees from South Korea. Now Asia's fourth-largest economy and a global cultural powerhouse, the idols' native South Korea remains one of the biggest exporters of adopted babies in the world, having sent more than 140,000 children overseas between 1955 and 1999. The country only recently acknowledged, after years of activism by adult adoptees, that the government was responsible for abuse in some such adoptions of local children, including record fabrication and inadequate consent from birth parents. The septet's fandom, dubbed ARMY, is known for backing causes like Black Lives Matter and ARMY4Palestine, and launched the #ReuniteWithBTS fundraising project last week to support Korean adoptees seeking to reconnect with or learn about their birth families, which can be a painful and legally tricky process. Almost all of BTS members have completed South Korea's mandatory military service, required of all men due to the country's military tensions with North Korea. "We are celebrating both the reunion of BTS and ARMY, and BTS members being able to reunite with their own family and friends," the BTS fan group behind the initiative, One In An ARMY, told AFP. "Helping international adoptees reunite with their birth country, culture, customs and families seemed like the perfect cause to support during this time." The fans are supporting KoRoot, a Seoul-based organisation that helps Korean adoptees search for their records and birth families and which played a key role in pushing for the government to recognise adoption-related abuses. Peter Moller, KoRoot's co-representative, told AFP it was "very touching" that the BTS fans had taken up the cause, even though "they're not even adoptees themselves". For many adoptees, seeing Korean stars in mainstream media has been a way for them to find "comfort, joy, and a sense of pride" in the roots that they were cut off from, KoRoot's leader Kim Do-hyun added. Soft power BTS, who have discussed anti-Asian hate crimes at the White House and spoken candidly about mental health, have long been considered one of the best examples of South Korea's soft power reach. For years, Korean adoptees — many of whom were adopted by white families globally — have advocated for their rights and spoken out about encountering racism in their host countries. Some adoptees, such as the high-profile case of Adam Crapser, were later deported to South Korea as adults because their American parents never secured their US citizenship. Many international adoptees feel their immigration experience has been "fraught", Keung Yoon Bae, a Korean studies professor at Georgia Institute of Technology, told AFP. Some adoptees have found that, like Crapser, their guardians failed to complete the necessary paperwork to make them legal, she said. This is becoming a particular problem under US President Donald Trump, who is pushing a sweeping crackdown on purported illegal immigrants. Bae said it was possible that "'accidentally illegal' adoptee immigrants may fall further through the cracks, and their deeply unfortunate circumstances left unremedied". The whale Reunions between Korean adoptees and their birth families can be emotionally complex, as Kara Bos — who grew up in the United States — experienced firsthand when she met her biological father through a landmark paternity lawsuit. During their encounter in Seoul in 2020, he refused to remove his hat, sunglasses, or mask, declined to look at her childhood photos and offered no information about her mother. He died around six months later. "The journey of birth family searching is very lonely, difficult, and costly. Many adoptees do not even have the means to return to their birth country let alone fund a family search," Bos, 44, told AFP. To have BTS fans rally around adoptees and provide help with this complex process is "a wonderful opportunity", she said. For Malene Vestergaard, a 42-year-old Korean adoptee and BTS fan in Denmark, the group's song "Whalien 52", which references a whale species whose calls go unheard by others, deeply resonated with her. "I personally sometimes feel like that whale. Being amongst my peers, but they will never be able to truly understand what my adoption has done to me," she told AFP. "For me, finding BTS at the same time I started looking for my birth family and the truth about my adoption and my falsified papers, was such a comfort." Vestergaard said the grief woven into her adoption would never go away, but that "BTS and their lyrics have made it easier to reconcile with that truth".
