The film is full of conversations — generally between two people — and mind you, these chats don’t always seek to propel the plot forward.
Indian wasn’t just about a man fighting corruption; it was the beautiful story of a flawed man being self-righteous enough to inflict great personal tragedies, if it meant doing what he thought was the right thing.
I sunk deeper into my seat, hoping nobody would recognise me in the theatre.
Sure, initially, I found it rather difficult to realise rather discomfitingly that I couldn’t utter a single word to my companion. After all, as Rajini says in Baasha, “Indian, pesalanaa sethuduvaan.”
How do you not end up watching a dud, and missing out on a masterpiece?