My journey through Indian cinema begins with a sense of wonder and complexity. This narrative world, vast and layered, is not just popular entertainment but also a powerful vehicle for aesthetic, cultural, and spiritual reflection. It is a cinema that intertwines multiple visions of India: urban modernity and traditional village life, deep-rooted spirituality and political tensions, poetry and reality.
One of the most compelling lenses through which to understand Indian cinema is its connection to travel literature and the poetry of movement. These genres, dating back at least to the 17th century, have long served as a way for Indian authors to explore the world — and the self. In Indian literary culture, the journey is often a metaphor for knowledge, inner transformation, and the search for identity. From the writings of pilgrims and itinerant poets to modern 20th-century prose, there is a persistent effort to portray encounters with cultural otherness in a thoughtful and respectful manner, avoiding the exoticizing tendencies common in some Western narratives.
This same sensibility is present in certain cinematic works that portray India as a pluralistic, stratified, and often contradictory space. In this context, it is worth reflecting on how the concept of “illusion” has become a mirror through which India is interpreted, narrated, and sometimes misunderstood — both within the country and from abroad.
The title India of Illusions does not correspond to any specific or official film, but it can evoke several references. On one hand, one might think of India: Matri Bhumi (1959) by Roberto Rossellini — a poetic, hybrid documentary that seeks to depict an authentic India, far from exoticized imagery. Rossellini films with humility and respect, deliberately avoiding spectacle. His work reflects a desire to connect with the essence of the country and break free from visual clichés rooted in the colonial imagination.
On the other hand, more recently, All We Imagine As Light (2024) by Indian director Payal Kapadia — awarded the Grand Prix at the Cannes Film Festival — offers a contemporary example of poetic and political cinema. Set in Mumbai, the film follows the story of two nurses searching for intimacy and freedom in a city that offers no reprieve. The title itself suggests the thin line between reality and desire, between the visible and the invisible, between dream and illusion. In this sense, All We Imagine As Light might also embody an “India of illusions” — not in the sense of deception, but as a layered field of perceptions, hopes, and constraints.
Finally, the notion of “illusion” can be interpreted more conceptually. Many Indian films, especially in the realm of auteur cinema, grapple with themes of appearance and truth: what do we truly see of India? What are we shown, and what do we choose to see? Illusion, in this context, is not necessarily a falsehood but a form of mediation — a lens through which we explore otherness.
Cinema, like travel literature, becomes an act of translating experience. To translate India — for a local or foreign audience — inevitably involves filters, symbols, and images. Some films openly question this process: such as The Namesake (2006) by Mira Nair, which explores diasporic identity and belonging, or Pather Panchali (1955) by Satyajit Ray, where the journey is both physical and metaphysical, a constant search for meaning.
In conclusion, to speak of an India of illusions does not mean to expose a fiction, but to become aware of the complexity of perception. Cinema and literature do not offer definitive answers, but questions, tensions, and interpretative challenges. The India that emerges from these art forms is never singular — and perhaps it is precisely in this multiplicity, in the constant interplay between appearance and depth, that its poetic and narrative power lies.