See all those fellows in the photo, staring raptly at images on the screen? One of them could be me, if the snapshot had been taken in New York City, and if one of the men happened to be Caucasian. (No, I don't watch movies in the lotus position.) For I am that strange, nearly solitary creature: a non-Indian fan of Indian movies.
Indian popular movies, that is. The movies that sing. The movies that show beautiful people suffering glamorously, wrestling with dilemmas of family honor and filial loyalty and, when words can't express the ache or ardor...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
