A day after the London premiere of 52 Blue, Neha Dhupia is still processing what she experienced. The actor, who stars in Egyptian filmmaker Ali El Arabi's international feature, says the biggest change isn't what the film might do for her career, but how it has changed the way she sees herself. "I would've accepted everyone's congratulations until yesterday," she says with a laugh.

"But the difference between speaking to you yesterday and today is that I've now seen the film. I'm genuinely proud because it's one of those films that adds something to your body of work. Every film has its own fate, I don't know where this one will go, but there's a dialogue my character Lakshmi says: 'Everything you do and everyone you meet is pushing you in a direction you're meant to be in.' That's exactly how I feel about this film."

What drew her to 52 Blue wasn't the prospect of an international project, but the opportunity to play someone she hadn't been allowed to play for years. "When they first called and told me about this woman from Kerala who's carrying so much emotional weight and eventually ends up living on an island, I was convinced I wasn't going to get the part. You fight for roles like these at the beginning of your career, and then somewhere along the way you stop expecting them."

The irony, she admits, isn't lost on her. "It took a filmmaker from Egypt to notice that he could see me like this. At one point, even I had forgotten that I could see myself like this. You start believing you have range, but then you slowly surrender to the box people put you in. I had opened one side of that box through films like Mithya and A Thursday, but after a point the rules become the same. That's why it's so special when somebody else's belief in you helps you rediscover yourself."

Her first meeting with Ali El Arabi happened over Zoom, but the director's instinctive reading of her stayed with her long after. "He told me, 'When I look at you, I feel like you've been through a lot. Your eyes tell me you're strong, but somewhere you haven't given up'. That's not something people usually tell you the first time they meet you. He also felt becoming a mother had given me something this character needed. Honestly, if this film had come to me before I had children, I don't think I would've been able to play Lakshmi the same way."

Years ago, Dhupia says, she actively chased the idea of crossing over into international cinema. "When I was younger, I really craved that crossover. Now, if this film opens doors internationally, wonderful. But even if it simply leads to more interesting work here, I'll be equally happy."

The biggest validation, she says, came immediately after the London screening. "Prakash Jha was in the audience yesterday. After the film, he came up to me, patted me on the back and said something that stayed with me. Sometimes all you need is for filmmakers to suddenly notice something in you that they hadn't seen before. Even that is enough."

Watching herself on a giant screen also became an exercise in confronting vulnerability. "This film made me braver than I've ever been. There's no makeup, no vanity, nothing to hide behind. You're completely exposed. I didn't think I was brave enough to do something like this. If I can be this raw and still feel proud of what I've done, then I know I can do so much more. I've always wanted to do a sports biopic because I've always been athletic. Maybe I'm older now, but then again, not every sports story is about an athlete at their peak. Some of the most interesting stories happen afterwards."

Despite working across films, television, OTT and podcasts over two decades, Dhupia admits she still feels her versatility hasn't translated into the kind of opportunities she craves. 

"I don't value my versatility enough myself," she says candidly. "Maybe after conversations like this I'll feel good for twenty minutes. Then someone will call to negotiate a fee and I'll go back to being an earnest worker who's grateful to have work. I've been in this industry for over two decades. I'm grateful that people know who I am wherever I go. But I genuinely wish my body of work was much wider than it already is. Sometimes I see a filmmaker's work and think, 'I'd love to do something like that.' Then later I hear they never even thought of me. That's the part that still hurts."