In a country that sees about 8 to 10 million weddings a year, Vishal Punjabi shoots just 15.
That statistic itself tells you everything about the core philosophy of The Wedding Filmer, the wedding cinematography company founded by Punjabi, that can easily take credit for revolutionising Indian wedding videos into cinematic, storytelling films.
In an industry that thrives on volume, speed, spectacle (and often mimicking), Punjabi has chosen scarcity, instinct and story.
“I can only do 15 out of 1.5 million weddings. That’s 0.000001 per cent,” he says. And yet, his films routinely set the benchmark for what a “cinematic wedding” in India looks like.
But here’s the twist: he doesn’t think they’re cinematic at all.
Not a music video. A memory
It is safe to say that before Punjabi, wedding videos were largely documentation, recording everything, capturing every guest, showing the food, showing the decor. Then he came along and treated a wedding like a documentary.
Dialogue. Speeches. Pacing. Sound design. Access. Emotion. Layers.
“A slow-motion montage with a romantic song is not a wedding film,” he says bluntly. “That’s a random music video.”
What separates a forgettable wedding video from a future-proof film? Timelessness. The kind that reveals something new each time you watch it. The kind your children and their children can sit with and feel.
He isn’t interested in orchestrating moments. In fact, he actively avoids couples who want to be directed.
“I try to place myself where I know something beautiful is about to happen. After 16 years, it becomes instinct,” he explains. Shooting weddings, to him, is like shooting wildlife. You don’t crowd the action. You wait for it.
His advice to aspiring filmmakers? “Go on a safari. Learn to be quiet. Be patient.”
Choosing couples, not clients
Punjabi insists the selection process is mutual.
Yes, it’s first-come, first-served. But there’s always a conversation first to see if their visions align. If a bride comes with a Pinterest reference and asks for a replica, he’ll likely pass.
“If she already has a vision, another crew may execute that better. I want to get to the root of their story.”
He looks for couples different from him — culturally, emotionally, experientially. A recent Sikh wedding in Chandigarh moved him deeply, not because of the spectacle, but because of the way the couple spoke to each other, their faith, their tenderness.
The vividness with which he recalls these moments makes it clear: this isn’t just work for him. It is immersion. He becomes part of the emotional fabric of the families he films.
This brings us to a detail he shared, drawing on years of experience.
“You hear many beautiful things,” Vishal says. “But there’s one line that’s common. The most successful fathers often tell me, ‘My only regret is that I wish I had spent more time with my child growing up. Now she’s already married.’”
There are usually tears in their eyes. And he believes them.
“In that moment, I know that if I asked him to trade all the money he’s ever made for those years back, he would.”
For Punjabi, every wedding is also a life lesson.
From Lake Como to Lake Pichola
A few years ago, aspirational Indian weddings chased Lake Como and Thailand. Today? Udaipur, Jaipur, Hyderabad, Goa, Andaman, and Jim Corbett.
Post-pandemic, there’s been a conscious shift inward.
“India has so much to offer,” he says, adding that four of his favourite wedding locations in the world are right here.
Punjabi, who tied the knot with Nikki Krishnan last year, chose Amanbagh in Rajasthan for his own wedding.
“We discovered Amanbagh in Rajasthan, and that’s where we got married. My wife is from England; we could have chosen Europe. But I’m deeply connected to this country. Rajasthan has given us so much.”
He adds, “I also used Udaipur as a base while shooting Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani, and since then it’s become the wedding capital. Everyone dreams of a Lake Pichola wedding now.”
And we agree!
AI? Useful. Replaceable? No
With AI creeping into every creative industry, could it disrupt wedding filmmaking?
“For tacky weddings, yes,” he shrugs.
Punjabi uses AI, but only for damage control. Cleaning audio. Balancing colour. Removing flash glare. Speeding up technical corrections. What it cannot do, he insists, is capture instinct, nuance or respect.
“Would you want a robot capturing your main life event?”
His stance is clear: if you’re bad at your job, AI can replace you. If you’re good, it simply gives you more time to create.
Music is emotion, not background
For Vishal, music isn’t an afterthought layered onto visuals — it’s the emotional spine of the wedding film. And it’s always collaborative.
“It’s a two-way street,” he says. “It’s about what the couple likes as much as what I feel works.”
He recalls the wedding of Sidharth Malhotra and Kiara Advani. Kiara (whom he and his team shot) wanted to walk down the aisle to “Ranjha,” the song from Shershaah that featured both of them. Vishal loved the haunting melody, but there was a problem: the lyrics were heartbreakingly sad — not quite wedding material.
“I didn’t want to say no to a bride,” he explains.
So instead of rejecting the choice, they reinvented it. With Sony Music’s support, the lyrics were rewritten overnight, re-recorded, mixed, and delivered in time for the edit. The melody remained; the emotion shifted. It became theirs.
Sometimes, he says, it’s a mother of the bride singing at the sangeet. She’s not a trained singer. The pitch may waver. The mic quality isn’t perfect. There’s no studio setup, no acoustic control. But none of that matters. They capture it anyway. Because what she’s really offering isn’t a performance — it’s love.
And later, that imperfect recording can become the seed for something new. A song rebuilt, rearranged, and polished in post-production, but still carrying the tremble in her voice that made it special in the first place.
“It’s not about reinventing the wheel,” he says. “It’s about listening.”
Longer weddings? Why not
A recent The New York Times story predicted a rise in multiple wedding celebrations, some even spanning months. When asked if this was necessary, Vishal Punjabi’s response was a resounding yes!
“I got married last year. If I could stretch it for a year, I would,” he laughs.
Beyond indulgence, he sees weddings as economic ecosystems. Planners, musicians, bartenders, chefs — thousands benefit. Celebration, to him, is not excess; it’s human.
The fusion generation
Punjabi believes 2026 will bring more mature love stories, couples born in the late ’80s and ’90s, shaped by a hopeful, transitional India. Their weddings, he feels, reflect that grounded optimism.
He’s particularly drawn to blended rituals — interfaith, intercultural, multilingual ceremonies.
“When you mix salt and sweet, flavours are richer. The more colours you mix, the more beautiful the result,” he says. Fusion, in his view, isn’t dilution. It’s identity.
Wedding first. Shoot later
Perhaps the most revealing line from him is this: “It’s always her wedding first, then a shoot.”
If a bride doesn’t want a shot, it doesn’t happen. If a moment doesn’t align with their comfort, it’s abandoned. The film exists to honour the day, not dominate it.
That’s also why he limits himself to 15 weddings a year, not for exclusivity, but for intimacy.
In an industry chasing scale, spectacle and algorithm-friendly “cinematic” montages, Vishal Punjabi is doing something almost radical.
He’s waiting.
And in that waiting, he’s finding stories worth keeping.
