From Chaos to Cinema: Riya Agarwal on Growing Up, Misunderstandings, and Making Magic
Riya Agarwal is a storyteller who doesn’t just craft narratives; she brings to life the complexities of growing up, culture, and human connection in a way that resonates universally. Her debut screenplay, If You Show Me Yours I’ll Show You Mine, explores the bittersweet tension between innocence and curiosity, set against the backdrop of South Asian family dynamics in early 2000s America. In this candid and heartfelt interview, Riya reflects on her journey from a curious, sheltered child to an award-winning filmmaker whose work is as deeply personal as it is relatable.
Get ready to dive into a conversation filled with insight, humor, and the undeniable magic of storytelling.
Hey Riya! We’re super excited to get to know the mind behind “If You Show Me Yours I'll Show You Mine”! Can you tell us a bit about where you grew up and how your early experiences shaped your journey? Was there a particular moment or experience when you knew you wanted to become a filmmaker?
My childhood was a mix of stability and movement, shaped by the different places I lived. I spent my early years in Calcutta, surrounded by its rich cultural and artistic environment, which fueled my love for creativity. But in high school, I moved to Bangalore, where I transitioned from the Indian education system to an international one. That shift was transformative for me. The international system focused on applying what you learn and critical thinking, which helped me thrive academically for the first time. It was such a contrast to the Indian system, which often emphasized rote memorization without real understanding.
After two years in Bangalore, I moved to Delhi, and I also spent a significant part of my life in Goa. The time I spent in Goa, with its unique charm and slower pace, feels just as integral to my upbringing as the other cities. Each place gave me a different perspective, and together, they shaped who I am today.
A pivotal moment came during a rainy day in boarding school when I watched Fight Club for the first time. I was going through an identity crisis at the time, and that film hit me like lightning. It was bold, introspective, and unapologetically raw—it opened my eyes to the power of storytelling as a medium to explore the complexities of human nature and the questions we’re often too afraid to ask ourselves.
Before that, I’d always been drawn to the arts—selling abstract paintings in exhibitions in Calcutta as a child—but that moment showed me how stories could transcend words and visuals to touch something deeper. It was the first time I realized storytelling wasn’t just about entertaining; it could also be a form of therapy, self-discovery, and even rebellion. That realization has stayed with me ever since, and it fuels my desire to tell stories that challenge, heal, and provoke thought.
You worked as an assistant director with award-winning filmmakers like Anurag Kashyap on Raman Raghav 2.0 (which was featured in Cannes Directors’ Fortnight in 2016), Nandita Das on Manto (shown in Cannes Un Certain Regard in 2018), and Oscar-nominated director Ashvin Kumar on No Fathers in Kashmir. How did these experiences shape your approach to storytelling and filmmaking? Are there specific lessons or insights you took from working with each of these directors?
Working with these incredible directors was like getting three masterclasses in filmmaking, each with a completely different perspective. Anurag Kashyap taught me to embrace chaos. On Raman Raghav 2.0, I saw how spontaneity and boldness can create something deeply visceral and human. He showed me that sometimes, the best ideas come from letting go of control and trusting the moment.
With Nandita Das on Manto, I learned the importance of nuance and research. Her approach to storytelling is so thoughtful, and she has a way of exploring social and cultural complexities with such elegance. It reinforced for me how powerful subtlety can be in crafting characters and themes.
Ashvin Kumar, on the other hand, was meticulous about authenticity. On No Fathers in Kashmir, every shot felt like it carried emotional weight. His focus on staying true to the setting and story taught me how to ground even the most emotionally charged moments in reality.
These experiences shaped my approach by giving me a deep appreciation for both the creative chaos of filmmaking and the disciplined craft it requires.
Let’s talk about your debut screenplay - “If You Show Me Yours I'll Show You Mine”. In your writer's statement, you mention this story was inspired by people closest to you. Can you elaborate on that without compromising anyone's privacy?
This story draws heavily from the dynamics I observed growing up in a close-knit family and community. It’s not autobiographical, but it’s deeply personal. Many of the characters—especially Niki—carry fragments of people I know and love. Niki’s innocence and curiosity, for instance, are inspired by both my younger self and the stories I’ve heard from others about navigating those awkward, confusing years of adolescence.
The conflicts and misunderstandings in the film are also rooted in real experiences—moments where people had good intentions but struggled to communicate them, or when cultural expectations clashed with personal growth. These nuances helped me shape the story in a way that feels authentic but still protects the privacy of those who inspired it.
The story tackles the delicate balance between protection and over-protection. What personal experiences led you to explore this theme?
Growing up in a conservative South Asian household, I experienced the constant push and pull between being shielded from the world and wanting to explore it. My family’s desire to protect me often came from a place of love, but there were moments when it felt stifling.
This tension stayed with me, and as I got older, I began reflecting on the unintended consequences of over-protection—how it can create confusion and even mistrust. This theme felt important to explore because it’s so universal, yet deeply personal, especially in immigrant families where cultural values are being renegotiated across generations.
Why did you choose to set the story in the early 2000s? How does this time period serve the narrative?
The early 2000s felt like the perfect backdrop for this story because it was a transitional period—both culturally and technologically. It was a time when conversations around sexuality and personal boundaries were beginning to shift, but those changes hadn’t yet reached every household, especially in more conservative communities.
Setting the story in this era also allowed me to explore the dynamics of pre-social media adolescence, where curiosity was shaped more by word-of-mouth and limited access to information. The limited exposure to certain topics amplifies Niki’s misunderstandings and makes her journey feel even more poignant.
The screenplay explores South Asian family dynamics in America. How much of this cultural context was intentional versus naturally emerging from the story?
The cultural context was both intentional and organic. I wanted to ground the story in a South Asian immigrant family because it’s a world I know well, but the dynamics naturally emerged as I wrote. Themes like generational conflict, cultural expectations, and the balance between tradition and adaptation are so deeply embedded in these families that they naturally infused the story.
At the same time, I was careful to ensure these dynamics felt authentic rather than forced. The goal wasn’t to explain what it’s like to grow up in a South Asian family, but to let those cultural nuances add richness and specificity to the universal themes of the film.
You mention being a 'naive and sheltered child' in your statement - sounds like you were describing someone familiar! :) How did that experience inform Niki's character development?
Absolutely! Niki’s naivety is deeply personal to me because it mirrors my own experiences growing up. Like Niki, I was curious about the world but didn’t always have the tools or context to fully understand it. That mix of innocence and confusion shaped much of her character.
When writing Niki, I drew on memories of how it felt to navigate the awkward space between childhood and adolescence—moments where I thought I understood something, only to realize I had it completely wrong. Those experiences informed her misunderstandings and her determination to figure things out, even when the adults around her send mixed messages.
Niki’s journey is very much a reflection of what it feels like to grow up sheltered yet eager, making sense of a world that’s both fascinating and overwhelming.
The dynamic between Niki and Adam feels particularly authentic. What inspired their sibling relationship?
Niki and Adam’s relationship is inspired by the unspoken bond that many siblings share. Growing up, I saw how siblings could be each other’s confidants, allies, and occasional rivals, all at the same time. That kind of relationship feels so real and raw because it’s often where we first experience trust, loyalty, and the inevitable moments of tension.
Adam’s role in the story is unique because he’s not just Niki’s older brother—he’s her first mirror to the adult world. His nonchalant, sometimes clueless attitude toward her curiosity creates moments of both connection and conflict. He doesn’t fully understand the impact of his words or actions, but he represents that safe harbor Niki turns to when she feels lost.
Their bond reflects the duality of sibling relationships: deeply supportive yet imperfect, full of love but tinged with the growing pains of adolescence.
Niki's misunderstandings about adult concepts (like the White House pregnancy approval) are both hilarious and poignant. How did you strike that balance between humor and innocence?
Striking that balance came from remembering how kids process information—they take everything literally, even when it doesn’t make sense. Those moments of misunderstanding are funny, but they’re also deeply human because they reflect how we all navigate the gap between what we know and what we don’t.
For Niki, her misunderstandings are a way of exploring her curiosity while holding onto her innocence. The humor comes naturally from her attempts to piece together a world she doesn’t yet fully grasp, but the poignancy lies in what those misunderstandings reveal about her vulnerability.
It was important to me that the humor never felt like we were laughing at Niki but rather laughing with her. The goal was to create moments that felt true to the experience of growing up—where innocence and hilarity exist side by side.
The character of Obi, Niki’s uncle, raises some complex moral questions. I found myself growing increasingly uncomfortable during certain scenes between him and Niki, especially in his bedroom. What challenges did you face in crafting his character, and were there moments when you questioned if you might be pushing the boundaries too far?
Obi’s character was one of the most challenging parts of the screenplay to write. He’s meant to embody that gray area where good intentions can go awry, and it was crucial to strike a delicate balance in how his actions were portrayed.
The biggest challenge was ensuring that his complexity came through without reducing him to a villain or excusing his behavior. Obi doesn’t see himself as crossing a line—he believes he’s teaching Niki something important—but his actions are unsettling because they lack the awareness of how they impact her.
There were definitely moments where I questioned if I was pushing too far. But ultimately, the story is about misunderstanding, not abuse, and I wanted to stay true to that. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s meant to spark reflection on how even well-meaning actions can blur boundaries in ways that are deeply confusing for a child.
The egg-throwing birthday scene provides both humor and character development. I could practically hear the squeals and laughter, smell the raw eggs, and feel the sticky mess. What inspired this scene?
The egg-throwing scene came from a mix of memories and imagination. Growing up, birthdays were always chaotic in the best way—full of silly games, pranks, and moments that felt larger than life. I wanted to capture that sense of unfiltered joy and camaraderie that comes with being surrounded by friends who bring out your most carefree self.
At the same time, the scene serves as a turning point for Niki. It’s one of the few moments in the film where she feels completely in her element, only for it to be disrupted when her mother steps in. That contrast highlights the push and pull between Niki’s desire for freedom and the restrictions placed on her by the adults in her life.
The scene is sticky, messy, and full of life—just like being 13.
As this screenplay is currently in post-production, how closely does the filmed version align with your original vision?
The filmed version aligns with my original vision in many ways, but it also grew beyond what I had imagined, thanks to the collaborative energy of the cast and crew. The heart of the story—the balance between innocence, curiosity, and misunderstanding—remained intact, which was my primary goal.
That said, there were moments during production where I had to adapt. Some scenes evolved on set as the actors brought their own interpretations, and in some cases, their input enriched the story in ways I couldn’t have anticipated. For example, the dynamic between Niki and Obi carried more nuance than I initially wrote, thanks to how the actors approached their characters.
Ultimately, the filmed version feels true to the spirit of the screenplay, while also benefiting from the organic growth that happens during production.
What were the biggest challenges in translating this sensitive material from page to screen?
The biggest challenge was maintaining the subtlety and balance that the story required. The themes are delicate, and it was crucial to ensure the film didn’t come across as exploitative or overly heavy-handed. Translating those gray areas from the script to the screen involved careful choices in everything—from framing and lighting to how the actors performed certain scenes.
Directing the scene with Obi and Niki in his bedroom, for instance, required a lot of preparation and trust. We worked closely to ensure the performances conveyed discomfort and misunderstanding without crossing into territory that felt gratuitous or inappropriate. Similarly, the humor in the film needed to feel natural and not undermine the seriousness of the story’s more poignant moments.
Another challenge was finding the right pacing. This story lives in the silences and the small, telling moments, so it was important to give the characters and the audience space to sit with those emotions. Balancing that while keeping the narrative engaging was a delicate process.
What was the most rewarding part of creating this film?
The most rewarding part of creating this film was seeing the characters come to life. Writing is such a solitary process, and you’re always wondering if the emotions and nuances you’ve put on the page will translate. Watching the actors embody these characters and bring their own layers to them was incredibly fulfilling.
There was also something deeply gratifying about collaborating with the crew to build the world of the film. Whether it was the production design capturing the feel of the early 2000s or the cinematography creating the tension and warmth in Niki’s world, every department added something unique that elevated the story.
On a personal level, this film allowed me to revisit and reflect on my own adolescence. Seeing it take shape reminded me of why I tell stories—to explore, connect, and make sense of the complexities of growing up.
Sometimes magic happens on set that surpasses what's written on the page. Did you experience any such surprises during filming - where the collaborative energy of the cast and crew elevated a scene beyond your original vision?
Absolutely. One of the most magical moments happened during the final scene, where Niki and Adam run hand-in-hand to the beach. The way the actors connected during that moment brought a spontaneity and joy that I couldn’t have fully scripted. We shot it during golden hour, and the natural light combined with their chemistry created something truly special.
Another surprise came during the egg-throwing birthday scene. The actors leaned into the chaos with such enthusiasm that it felt completely real, almost like we were filming a memory instead of a scripted moment. Their energy made the scene so vibrant and alive, far surpassing what I had imagined on the page.
These moments reminded me of the magic of collaboration—how trusting your cast and crew can lead to unexpected, beautiful surprises that make the story even richer.
What do you hope viewers, particularly young people navigating similar experiences, take away from this film?
I hope viewers, especially young people, feel seen. Adolescence is such a confusing, messy time, and it’s easy to feel like you’re alone in navigating those emotions and misunderstandings. Through Niki’s story, I want them to see that they’re not alone in their curiosity, confusion, or the push and pull they might feel with the adults in their lives.
For adults, I hope the film serves as a reminder of how critical it is to approach these moments with care and thoughtfulness. It’s easy to impose our intentions on young people without fully considering how they might perceive or experience them.
Ultimately, I hope the film sparks conversations—within families, among peers, and even within ourselves—about how we navigate the delicate transition from innocence to maturity.
How has your approach to storytelling evolved through the making of this film?
This film taught me the value of subtlety and trust in storytelling. It reinforced the idea that you don’t need to spell everything out for the audience—sometimes, the most powerful moments are the ones that live in ambiguity.
It also deepened my understanding of collaboration. Seeing how actors, crew members, and even the environment shaped the story reminded me that filmmaking is a collective art form. It’s about creating a space where everyone’s contributions elevate the story.
On a personal level, this film pushed me to confront some of my own memories and misconceptions from adolescence. That process of reflection has made me more empathetic, both as a storyteller and as a person, and it’s something I want to carry into all my future projects.
What’s next for you?
I’m currently developing a feature-length version of If You Show Me Yours I’ll Show You Mine, which expands on the themes and characters of the short film. I’m also working on a couple of other projects that explore identity, family dynamics, and the intersection of personal and cultural narratives.
Filmmaking is a journey, and I’m excited to continue exploring stories that challenge and connect me to the world in new ways.
Where can our readers follow your work?
You can follow my work on Instagram - @riya.agarwal124, where I share updates about my projects and behind-the-scenes glimpses into the filmmaking process. I also have a website, www.riyaction.com - where you can find more about my films and upcoming projects.
Is there anything else you’d like to add?
Just a heartfelt thank you to everyone who has supported this film and its journey. Making If You Show Me Yours I’ll Show You Mine has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life, and I’m so grateful to have had the opportunity to share this story. I hope it resonates with viewers and readers alike.
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