Imagine biting into a fruit that lacks rasa or flavour. You paid for it, but are asked to ignore your taste buds. This is how it feels when someone tells me to ‘leave my brain at home’ and enjoy a blockbuster film, or when I’m bombarded with uninspired, copycat OTT shows.

This mediocrity extends beyond filmmaking. Just look at that political hoarding down the street, that ugly brown couch in the cheap furniture store, or that biscuit packet with its unpalatable colour palette.

We didn’t always have garbage-strewn streets. Nor did our painters ignore colour theory. Search for images of ‘ancient India’ and you will see stunning stone sculptures, intricate art, and impeccable use of colour and theme. Imagine the mindset behind creating a monolithic temple carved from top to bottom, the paintings in the old Buddhist caves, or even the literary works of Amrita Pritam. These feats required grit and vision — not just for visual appeal but to imbue meaning.

Today in India, this kind of work in design, architecture and literature is rare. We are popular for our kitsch and chaos.

It’s time we embrace our very own Indian aesthetics. Concepts like rasa, alamkara, and dhvani — central to Indian aesthetic theory — apply to all art forms; painting, music, dance, drama, and literature.

Bharat Muni’s nine rasas or fundamental emotions in his book Natya Shastra give drama all the tools needed to evoke emotion. Love, humour, compassion, anger, courage, fear, disgust, wonder, disgust, and tranquillity are all listed. Don’t picture an Indian version of Pixar’s Inside Out. Instead, see how Satyajit Ray masterfully incorporates these rasas in his The Apu Trilogy. This kind of work earned him a lifetime achievement award from the Academy!

Using the concept of alamkaras, like alliterations, rhymes or repetitions, similes, metaphors, puns, hyperboles or even imaginative comparison can enhance literary works. You could argue that the lyrics, “Jab tak rahega samose mein aloo, tera rahunga o meri Shalu,” do indeed rhyme. I’m certain that if Bhamaha, the literary scholar who wrote the book on this, were alive today, he’d be hopping mad at the lyricist. Incorporating alamkaras in our writing is not only adding embellishment but also symbolism and depth.

The third pillar of Indian aesthetics, dhvani, is about suggestion and implied meaning. While Western screenwriting emphasises ‘show, don’t tell’, and art-house cinema uses subtext, dhvani goes further by infusing emotional and symbolic depth into what remains unspoken. It allows for multiple interpretations and deeper impact through language, imagery and sound. This means crafting every movie scene, every prop in that scene, every lyric with careful attention, ensuring everything holds meaning. Even something as small as a business card should have aesthetic value — an exaggeration, but you get the idea.

It’s what makes some artists more highly regarded than others. Everyone wants the fame and money successful artists get. Few will put in the effort to get there. Like Hayao Miyazaki said, “You must push yourself until your nose starts bleeding.” In my view, applying concepts from Indian aesthetics and adapting them to contemporary film, art and design is the best way to metaphorically make that nose bleed. When more of us commit to creating a beautiful world, we will bring it closer to reality.

Tarannum Pasricha is a freelance writer, film-maker and artist. She kicks off our monthly column featuring women producers and directors. In this series, through a female lens, these leaders share their thoughts about the industry.

This column first appeared in our October issue. Get your copy here. For subscription options click here.