I watched Danny Boyle’s global hit, Slumdog Millionaire, and likeeveryone else, I too cheered for Jamal Malik, the underdog, all the way to thefinal question for the final million. I did. I told myself not to get hung up onthe garbage and the shit, the violence and the squalor. Not to take it all tooseriously. After all, the film is supposed to be a modern-day fantasy. A Pauperto Prince fairytale that dares to imagine a different life for an orphan boyfrom the slums of Mumbai. And that, I told myself, should make the filmworthwhile.