How to Break Into the Film Industry Without a Godfather

Spoiler: it sucks, it’s worth it, and you’ll bleed for it.

Let’s kill the myth right here: no one’s coming to discover you. Not in a coffee shop, not on Instagram, not through some “viral” short. Especially if you’re like me—no surname in the industry, no uncle in Film City, no Juhu brunch crew. Just a kid from Chandrapur with a camera obsession and a lot of borrowed luck.

But it’s possible. I know because I made it in, and I’m still fighting to stay in.

1. Start With a Clear Madness

My origin story doesn’t start with a camera. It starts with Shaktimaan. As a 90s kid, I was glued to DD National like my life depended on it. I watched every episode religiously—Shaktimaan, Byomkesh Bakshi, Alif Laila, Vikram Aur Betaal, and all the other shows that made our living room feel like a cinema hall. Those shows felt like real magic to me—not just the plot, but the act of someone creating something that made people believe in the impossible.

That was it. I didn’t want to just watch the magician—I wanted to be the guy who builds the trick behind the curtain.

Of course, in a small town like Chandrapur, you don’t say “I want to be a filmmaker.” You say “I’ll do engineering” and suppress the madness. My parents never discouraged me directly, but like any lower middle class Indian household, it was implied that the only way out was education—engineering or medicine.

Eventually, we moved to the village where my father had grown up. He wanted to return to farming. That decision changed the pace and feel of our lives. But the dream to break into films didn’t leave me.

I believed in shooting anything and everything to learn. I watched countless YouTube tutorials, practiced endlessly, and kept asking every friend if they knew someone—anyone—in the film industry. I never stopped saying I wanted to be a filmmaker. I never stopped believing it. No matter how small or chaotic the shoot, I was always enthusiastic—because every moment felt like a step closer.

2. Flunk, Fall, and Walk Into Opportunity

I joined engineering in Mumbai, and like many others who were there because they had to be—not because they wanted to—I failed, again and again.

After dropping out, I enrolled in BMM (because at least it had the word “media” in it). That was around the time I landed my first unexpected break. Here’s how:

I was outside Malad station, in a parking lot, playing Ludo on my phone with two friends. We were doing absolutely nothing productive. Then I suddenly remembered a production house someone had casually mentioned to me—a stoner friend who once said, “Bro, there’s this setup near Versova.”

I Googled it, found it was nearby, and asked my friends if they wanted to tag along. Just to see what happens. They were like, “Sure, let’s go.”

We took a bus to Versova. My friends waited outside while I walked into the office alone. The boss asked me to wait outside the office for a bit. After some time, he came out and spoke to me directly. We had a short interview, during which I showed him some of my previous small-time work. He nodded and said, “Let’s try you out on a shoot.”

That shoot had a proper DOP. I was put on second camera duty with an Osmo. Nothing fancy. But that’s how it started. Impromptu, unscripted, no resume sent, no contact pulled.

I ended up working there for almost a year. And during that time, I met the DOP who worked on Roadies. He liked how I worked and invited me to join his team. That was my jump into reality television.

3. Mess Up. Learn. Repeat.

Reality shows were chaos, but great training grounds. It was on a Roadies audition day that I had my first major screw-up.

We’d been shooting all day. I was manning a cross axis shot on a tripod. The camera handle was in my hand. I got so drowsy, I drifted off for a second. The camera moved slightly. The DOP, watching from the PCR room, caught it instantly.

He came down and gave me an earful. Loud and clear. I was embarrassed, but also sharp after that. Never let it happen again.

4. Boss Advice That Changed Everything

During my time at WhatWorks, when I was doing everything from making pitch decks to editing and grading exactly how my boss guided me, he casually asked me one day:

“Do you want to be an operator, or do you want to be a DOP?”

What he really meant was—are you going to use your own brain, or just keep following instructions forever? That one line flipped a switch in me.

It was a casual question, but it rearranged something in my head. Until then, I was just doing jobs. Now I wanted to build a career.

5. Celebrate the Small Wins

My first freelance payment? ₹6000. My BMM teacher knew I was hustling, and she offered me a chance to shoot her wedding anniversary. That money helped me cover my rent that month. That job also reminded me: people want to help, but they can only do that if you show up and ask.

Another milestone moment? I remember seeing a large diffusion frame on a set for the first time. I was so excited I took a photo of myself standing in front of it like it was the Mona Lisa. That’s the kind of joy you can’t fake. That’s when I felt like I was in the right place.

6. The First Time It Felt Real

Eventually, I got to shoot second unit on a web series—real narrative scenes, not just B-roll. That’s when I stopped feeling like a helper and started feeling like a DOP.

It didn’t happen overnight. I dropped out in 2015, joined WhatWorks in 2017, and only got that break in 2025. A full decade of figuring it out. Maybe you’ll get there sooner, maybe later—there’s no fixed route. You just have to keep doing the thing you want to be.

Now looking back, I’ve shot five web series and a bunch of ads. Feels surreal sometimes. But it started with that one shot.

And if you ever feel like it’s not working, remember:

You’re not lost. You’re just in the middle of your montage.

Ten years ago, I was a college dropout with a borrowed camera and big talk. Now, I’ve shot five web series and ads I used to dream of working on. I’m not at the top. But I’m on the map. And that’s more than enough to keep the fire going

If this hit a nerve—or made your inner artist sit up—share it. Someone out there is on the verge of giving up. Maybe this will stop them. Or at least make them laugh before they cry again tomorrow.

Epilogue: The Quiet Victories

I still remember the first time I paid my rent with money I made from holding a camera. It wasn’t much. But it felt like a rebellion. Against every entrance exam I failed. Against every wedding where I was the “disappointment” cousin. Against the voice in my head that said, “You’re not cut out for this.”

Now, even when a project doesn’t come through, or when the phone is quiet for a week too long, I don’t panic. I’ve seen worse. I’ve survived worse. And I’m still here, camera in hand, back straight, eyes open.

You don’t need permission to call yourself a filmmaker. You just need to make films. Now go, make a film!