Wing it, till you bring it
It’s funny how, when you’re starting, you think everyone else has it together. Especially when I moved to New York to study filmmaking. I thought, “Okay, this is where I get all the answers.” Wrong. I remember being on the set of Sweet Things, this beautiful indie project I helped produce with Alexandre Rockwell. We were running a Kickstarter campaign, and it was wild. I had to manage posters, design campaigns, make sure our backers didn’t riot, and wrangle celebrity endorsements from people like Jennifer Beals and Steve Buscemi. Did I have a clue how to do all that? Nope. I was winging it. Turns out, thats the main job, continuous creative problem solving.
As part of our “Filmmakers Making a Social Impact” series, I had the privilege of interviewing Avi Kabir, an award-winning filmmaker known for amplifying marginalized voices in India. His films, like Entangled Lives — a World Bank-supported documentary — highlight the resilience of these communities while addressing crucial social issues. Avi’s participatory approach, which includes locals as crew members, empowers communities and ensures authentic storytelling. Notably, his work is instrumental in supporting the campaign for UNESCO World Heritage status for Meghalaya’s Living Root Bridges. Through his films, Avi raises awareness of gender rights, environmental preservation, and more, inspiring social change and influencing policy on both local and global scales.
Thank you so much for doing this interview with us! Before we dive in, our readers would love to get to know you a bit. Can you share your “backstory” that brought you to this career?
I’ve always loved making things. My grandmother and I would crack open one of those “101 Science Project” books we picked up from secondhand stores, and I’d get to work. At first, I was obsessed with being a scientist — one of those geniuses in lab coats, surrounded by bubbling test tubes and things glowing in strange colors, maybe even a little radioactive. Luckily (or probably for the best), I never got my hands on any of the really dangerous stuff. But my grandmother and I made all kinds of toys from whatever we could find — broken clocks, scraps of wire, cardboard from old boxes. Most of my creations fell apart immediately, but my grandmother’s? Her inventions could probably survive the apocalypse. She had this magic touch, and that’s where I learned to appreciate the craft of making things, even if I wasn’t that great at it back then.
Then came the punk rock phase. Ah, teenage angst. I decided music was my next big thing and started writing songs — mostly about how the world didn’t “get me” (as teenage me was firmly convinced). There’s something very cathartic about screaming into a microphone, even if you sound like a wounded animal. I wasn’t destined to headline any festivals, but I had a blast belting out songs and hammering away at power chords, which probably scared off a few neighbors. It wasn’t polished, but it was raw, honest, and it felt great. Plus, I got to wear some pretty questionable outfits, so win-win.
Eventually, all the different things I loved — science experiments, making weird gadgets, punk rock jams — started coming together, and filmmaking became the perfect outlet for it all. Like any kid with a wild imagination and access to a family camcorder, I started making films. My dog was the star — a real method actor, very intense. And those early films? Absolute classics. I won so many prestigious awards from the Dog Association of my neighborhood. Seriously, those dogs still howl in my honor.
But my first serious film came when I was barely a teenager. I found myself in a remote village in India, documenting a women’s self-help group. There I was, this kid with a camera, sitting in on these powerful conversations about gender inequality, disparity, and the invisibility of half the population. These women — from different religions and backgrounds — were sharing their stories, and their voices were raw, real, and honest. It hit me just how much I didn’t know — and how much I needed to learn.
And the only reason I was there, witnessing it all, was because I was filming it. That’s when it clicked — filmmaking can be a never-ending adventure, a way to stay curious, keep learning, and tell stories that matter. It lets me make sense of this weird world and share that sense with others. That’s what keeps me going — the idea that I get to be a lifelong student, always asking questions, collecting stories, and figuring out how to share them with everyone else.
It has been said that our mistakes can be our greatest teachers. Can you share a story about the funniest mistake you made when you were first starting? Can you tell us what lesson you learned from that?
You know, I was that kid in school who would study all night for a physics test — diagrams, notes, the whole shebang — only to sit down in the exam room and realize, ‘Oh no, it’s a biology test.’
Yeah, this kind of prep still leaks into my filmmaking.
So, there I am, on my first big project, shooting a local ad for villagers. It was supposed to be this feel-good, informative piece about why they should join their local micro-banks, which help with things like farming loans. I thought I had cracked it: Person A says their line, Person B says theirs, and we wrap it up with a nice, neat message. Simple, right? I mean, how hard could it be to get people to say a few lines on camera?
Turns out, very hard.
The moment we started filming, these lovely villagers — who had been so chatty and relaxed when I spoke to them off-camera — turned into robots. They were either staring at me like I’d asked them to recite Shakespeare in ancient Greek or mumbling words so quietly you’d think they were sharing state secrets. I remember standing there thinking, ‘Okay, this is bad. But maybe it’ll get better.’ It did not get better. The whole day was a wash.
I was baffled. How did it go so wrong? Then I heard this lady nearby, chatting on her landline. She was trying to convince her city bound cousin to come visit during the springtime, and let me tell you, it was poetry. She talked about how the sky and birds sing in her village, and I’m standing there thinking, ‘This is gold! Why can’t I get that kind of magic on camera?’
So, the next day, I threw out the script. Gone. And instead, I told them to imagine the camera was just a phone, like they were calling a friend or relative to explore their micro-banks. I didn’t know what to expect, but suddenly, they were animated, laughing, talking as if the camera wasn’t even there. Some of them even mimed holding phones to their ears! It was amazing. They were so natural, so themselves, and it was like I had a completely different group of people in front of me. I didn’t have to tell them what to say, and I didn’t have to call ‘Cut!’ It just flowed. Pure, beautiful humanity.
The lesson? I was so obsessed with how I thought things should go, I wasn’t paying attention to how they wanted to express themselves. I learned that the best way to connect with people, especially when you’re telling their story, is to meet them where they are and just listen.
Oh, and by the way, I did pass that biology test. My mom would probably say otherwise, though.
Who are some of the most interesting people you have interacted with? What was that like? Do you have any stories?
One of the recent profound encounters I’ve had was with a 92-year-old woman named Beverly. It happened on a busy New York street, where I was rushing, focused on whatever was next, when suddenly I heard a soft voice that somehow cut through the city noise:
“Young man, will you help me cross the street?”
I turned to see her — this small, elegant woman, 92 years old, radiating a quiet strength, as if she had weathered countless storms. Without hesitation, she took my hand, and we began to walk.
As we crossed, she started telling me about her day. Her iPhone had died, and when she went to get it fixed, the repair shop cracked the screen. I asked her if she had to pay more for that, and she smiled and proudly said, “Not a penny!”
When I asked if she liked living in New York, her response was simple, yet profound:
“I love it here. I can be part of every culture, every language and eat anything I want!”
As we walked, something shifted. Though I was physically guiding her, it felt like she was leading me, her pace slow but deliberate, as if she moved to a rhythm that transcended the rush around us and I could slow my senses and just enjoy seeing how each face drifting around me was different, how people walked and talked.
Her words carried a deep truth about the city’s vast diversity, a reflection of life itself — this idea that you can belong everywhere if you open yourself to the world around you. By the time we reached her building, she thanked me and disappeared as quickly as she had come. In that brief encounter, Beverly reminded me that real wisdom doesn’t always come from grand gestures or life-changing events. Sometimes, it’s found in small, everyday moments — the kind we often overlook. Even when we have many chaotic streets to cross in life, there’s always space for connection and shared humanity.
Which people in history inspire you the most? Why?
The people who inspire me most are those who dared to see beyond the veil of their time, those who stood at the edge of understanding and leapt into the unknown. Take Anaximander, who, in the ancient world, looked up at the heavens and imagined the Earth, not anchored to anything, but freely floating in the boundless void. It was a thought born of courage — a mind willing to defy the limits of belief and envision a universe unbound.
Then there’s Galileo, the stargazer who saw the truth in the stars and refused to bow to authority. When the weight of the world told him he was wrong, he held steady, guided by the light of reason. His rebellion wasn’t loud, but it echoed through time, reminding us that the pursuit of truth is a battle worth fighting, even when the whole world stands against you.
And Einstein, wild-haired genius. He took Newtonian physics, which had seemed unshakable for centuries, and, with his theory of relativity, showed us a completely different way to think about space and time. His creativity, his ability to question the very foundations of physics, to me, exemplifies the kind of thinking that can lead to deep, revolutionary insights.
On the side of art, Paul Klee mirrors this same spirit. His work didn’t capture what we can see but revealed what lies beneath — hidden patterns, invisible structures, the secret pulse of the universe. He once said, “Art does not reproduce the visible; rather, it makes visible.” In this, he reminds me of the physicist’s journey — to lift the veil, to show what was always there but unseen.
Let’s now shift to the main focus of our interview, how are you using your success to bring goodness to the world? Can you share with us the meaningful or exciting social impact causes you are working on right now?
I believe that storytelling is a powerful way to spark change, and I’ve been fortunate enough to use my work as a filmmaker to shine a light on underrepresented communities and important social issues. One of my most meaningful projects is Entangled Lives, a documentary that focuses on community-led natural resource management in Meghalaya, India. This film not only highlights the beauty of the region’s Living Root Bridges but also emphasizes the resilience and deep connection of the indigenous people to their environment. Through the film, we are able to support the movement to have these bridges recognized as UNESCO World Heritage sites, which will have a significant impact on preserving cultural heritage and fostering sustainable tourism.
Another ongoing effort that holds a special place in my heart is my work with rural women in Uttar Pradesh through the Rajiv Gandhi Mahila Vikas Pariyojana. I collaborated with these women, not just as subjects but as active participants in the filmmaking process. By involving them in the production, I’ve been able to help amplify their voices, creating films that promote gender rights and health awareness, while ensuring their stories are told from their own perspective. It’s incredibly rewarding to see how these films have empowered communities and given people a platform to speak about issues that directly affect their lives.
Many of us have ideas, dreams, and passions, but never manifest it. But you did. Was there an “Aha Moment” that made you decide that you were actually going to step up and take action for this cause? What was that final trigger?
I don’t think there was an ‘Aha Moment’ that made me step into this field. Much like in physics, where we understand the universe as a series of interactions and connections, my decision to become a filmmaker wasn’t a single event but a process — an accumulation of experiences. Whether it was my love for music or my fascination with science, filmmaking became the perfect medium to weave everything together. It was the space where I could explore all the subjects that captivated me without having to choose one over the other.
The creative process, in many ways, is like an ongoing conversation with the world. It’s a constant interaction, an evolving dialogue with new ideas and perspectives. What really pulled me into filmmaking was this very plurality — the chance to bring together seemingly unrelated things, to explore questions from multiple angles, and to tell stories that could capture the complexity of the world. It’s all about embracing the freedom to keep asking questions, to keep exploring, and to discover new ways of connecting everything that fascinates me.
Can you tell us a story about a particular individual who was impacted or helped by your cause?
One story that left a lasting impression on me happened while I was working on Misri Matti — 18-Day Compost, a film about sustainable agriculture and composting in rural Uttar Pradesh. The film focused on teaching women farmers the Berkeley method of composting, a way to create nutrient-rich soil in just 18 days. While we were filming, I met a woman named Poonam, who had been farming for decades but had never heard of this method.
Poonam was initially skeptical. Composting was something she associated with a slow, traditional process, and she wasn’t sure if this “18-day method” would really work. But she was also curious. We spent time explaining the process to her, and she agreed to give it a try. During the shoot, she even participated, helping to turn the compost piles as part of the demonstration.
A few months after the film was released, I got word from the local team that Poonam had fully embraced the technique. She had started using it on her own farm, and the results were remarkable — healthier crops and better yields. But what was even more inspiring was that Poonam didn’t stop there. She became an advocate for sustainable farming in her village, teaching other women the same method. What had started as a film about composting turned into a movement in her community.
She later told me, “This isn’t just about farming anymore. It’s about the future of our land and our children.” That really struck me. The film wasn’t just about improving agricultural practices — it was about giving women like Poonam the tools to take control of their livelihoods and pass on that knowledge to others.
It was a powerful reminder that sometimes the smallest technical changes, like a new way to make compost, can lead to much bigger transformations. What started as an educational film ended up inspiring a ripple effect, empowering women to become leaders in their communities. And that, to me, is the true impact of this work.
Are there three things that individuals, society or the government can do to support you in this effort?
In my journey as a filmmaker, one of the biggest challenges has been finding the resources and support to bring stories to life — especially those that blend culture, environment, and art. To keep pushing forward, I’ve learned that it’s not just individual effort but also collective support that makes a difference. Here are three things that could significantly help:
- Collaborative Networks: Filmmaking is a deeply collaborative art. It’s not just about directors or actors; it’s about bringing people from all walks of life together. One thing individuals can do is support emerging filmmakers by fostering spaces for interdisciplinary collaboration. During The Fog Catcher, for which I received the Alfred P. Sloan Film Award, I had the unique opportunity to learn from a physicist about phase changes in matter and engineering. This scientific insight enriched the narrative, giving the film a depth that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise. Encouraging collaboration between artists, scientists, and engineers can lead to new, innovative ways of storytelling that push boundaries.
- Government Support for Independent Projects: While there’s often support for larger commercial films, independent filmmakers can struggle to secure the funding they need. Governments could step in by offering grants and support structures specifically for indie projects, particularly those that address social issues or document lesser-known cultures. I’ve seen this first-hand with Entangled Lives. Collaborating with the World Bank and the Meghalaya Government has shown me what’s possible when public and private institutions value and invest in cultural preservation and environmental storytelling. Expanding this kind of support would empower more filmmakers to tell meaningful stories.
- Promoting Cultural Understanding and Education: One of the greatest barriers I’ve faced is the disconnect between people and the diverse stories that shape the world. Society can help by promoting education that fosters cultural empathy and curiosity. The more people are exposed to different stories — whether through films, books, or other media — the more they understand the value of those narratives. Storytelling becomes a bridge, and if society champions this curiosity, more voices like mine, tackling unique stories like those of the Khasi people in Meghalaya, can be heard.
What are your “5 things I wish someone told me when I first started” and why? Please share a story or example for each.
1. Wing it, till you bring it
It’s funny how, when you’re starting, you think everyone else has it together. Especially when I moved to New York to study filmmaking. I thought, “Okay, this is where I get all the answers.” Wrong. I remember being on the set of Sweet Things, this beautiful indie project I helped produce with Alexandre Rockwell. We were running a Kickstarter campaign, and it was wild. I had to manage posters, design campaigns, make sure our backers didn’t riot, and wrangle celebrity endorsements from people like Jennifer Beals and Steve Buscemi. Did I have a clue how to do all that? Nope. I was winging it. Turns out, thats the main job, continuous creative problem solving.
2. Better together
When I started filming in the village, I remember this one woman, Sita, who didn’t know anything about “shot composition” or “angles,” but she understood something far more important: authenticity. She knew how to capture the right moments — whether it was the way women gathered to discuss their work, or how they prepared meals while also managing community projects. With no formal training, these women were naturals at storytelling. They had an instinct for what needed to be shown, for the emotions behind the struggle and resilience that no script could ever capture. Together, we made films that weren’t just about them — they were from them. These weren’t always polished, technical great productions. They were raw, emotional, and honest, because the women themselves shaped the narrative. It was a collaboration where I learned that filmmaking isn’t about how many classes you’ve taken, but about how deeply you’re willing to connect with your subjects.
3. Don’t be afraid of the “strange”
I’ve pitched some unconventional ideas. Like when I suggested blending animation with a documentary about living bridges for Entangled Lives. People looked at me like, “You sure about this?” Honestly, not really. But the thing is, that’s why it worked. Those Living Root Bridges in Meghalaya aren’t just physical structures — they’re alive. They’re part of the community’s stories, mythology, and way of life. The film needed to feel alive, too, and sometimes the strangest ideas are the ones that resonate the most. It’s always the weird ones that hit home — don’t be afraid to follow those rabbit holes.
4. Don’t Have to Choose Just One Passion.
At first, I thought I had to pick one lane — either filmmaking, music, or something else. But what I’ve learned is that all of these passions can fuel one another. In Entangled Lives, I wove in my love for science, storytelling, and animation. The bridges in the film aren’t just architectural wonders, they’re living organisms, which allowed me to explore both biology and mythology. I learned that I didn’t have to choose between these different fields; I could bring them all together in my work. Embrace every interest — you never know when they’ll intersect.
Each of these lessons came from experience, and while they weren’t obvious at first, they’ve been essential to my journey as a filmmaker.
5. People want to basically just hang out
The one thing no one tells you: being talented isn’t enough. I learned that while working on The Fog Catcher. We got the Alfred P. Sloan Award, which was amazing, but it wasn’t because I knew everything about science (I didn’t — thank you, physicist friend). It was because I knew how to work with people, to listen, to make the whole process enjoyable. At the end of the day, people want to hang out with you, not just tolerate you. Filmmaking is long, stressful, and if you’re not someone people want to be stuck in the trenches with, it doesn’t matter how good your script is. Be a human first, filmmaker second.
If you could tell other young people one thing about why they should consider making a positive impact on our environment or society, like you, what would you tell them?
Every little thing we do, from helping the environment to supporting our communities, ripples outward in ways we can’t even imagine.
Think of it like filmmaking. You might start with one small idea — a shot, a line of dialogue — but as you build on it, suddenly it’s shaping entire worlds, telling stories that connect people across time and space. When you do something good for the environment or society, it’s like that — it might seem small at first, but it becomes part of a much bigger narrative. The world is connected in ways that are pretty mind-blowing.
And, if you think about it, you’re basically a quantum filmmaker. Every choice you make is part of this cosmic web. You’re not just helping out in the present; you’re shaping the future, like some kind of intergalactic storyteller. So yeah, maybe the universe won’t send you a thank-you note, but you’re making the world a better place for everyone — and that’s the best story there is.
We are very blessed that many other Social Impact Heroes read this column. Is there a person in the world, or in the US, whom you would like to collaborate with, and why? He or she might see this. 🙂
If I could collaborate with anyone, it would be Ai Weiwei. His work is a masterclass in using art to make a statement — challenging authority, addressing human rights, and sparking conversations that really need to be had. What I admire most about him is that he doesn’t just create for the sake of beauty (though his work is visually striking); he creates to make you uncomfortable, to make you think, to push you into seeing the world differently.
For me, that’s what filmmaking should do too. My project Entangled Lives, for example, isn’t just about the beauty of the living root bridges in Meghalaya — it’s about how communities adapt, survive, and maintain their connection to the environment in ways that feel almost mythical but are deeply real. Ai Weiwei’s ability to combine art with activism could elevate these kinds of stories, turning them into something even more powerful.
I feel like we both share this need to explore the social and political layers of life, but in ways that aren’t just straightforward — they’re immersive, complex, and challenging. So, if you’re reading this, Ai Weiwei, let’s collaborate and make something that shakes people up!
Can you please give us your favorite “Life Lesson Quote”? Can you share how that was relevant to you in your life?
One of my favorite life lesson quotes is from William Blake:
“To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.”
This quote has always resonated with me, especially in the context of creativity and the constant process of learning and unlearning. It reminds me that no matter how overwhelming or chaotic things might seem, there’s always beauty and clarity in the smallest details if you’re willing to look closely enough.
As a filmmaker, I’ve learned that creativity is this constant cycle of being broken down and rebuilt. Every project teaches me something new, and sometimes, it completely shatters what I thought I knew before. That process of being “born again,” whether through art or science, can feel disorienting, but it’s also incredibly exciting. It’s like starting over with fresh eyes, where everything feels abundant and full of possibility.
For me, it’s about staying open — about seeing the world in a grain of sand, finding stories in the quietest places, and letting the process of discovery lead the way. That’s where the magic happens, in being willing to let go of what you think you know and embrace the ride, no matter how unexpected or uncomfortable it gets. It’s in that space where both creation and reinvention come alive.
How can our readers follow you online?
You can see and read about my work, as well as contact me, on my website: www.avikabir.com
Or my instagram : www.instagram.com/avikabir
This was great, thank you so much for sharing your story and doing this with us. We wish you continued success!
Filmmakers Making A Social Impact: Why & How Filmmaker Avi Kabir Is Helping To Change Our World was originally published in Authority Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.