As the intermission ended and the crowd moved back inside, an arm became intertwined with mine and pulled me aside. A miniscule man with an equally small voice spoke to me clearly and directly in English.
"Hello, sir. I am a special correspondent for Rajni's fan club in Mumbai. Please write that Rajni gives much money to charity. He is a very good man."
"Is he like a god?" I asked seriously.
"Of course!" The man rejoined quickly and easily, beaming a smile and guiding me back to my seat.
The second half of the film was like the beginning – fun, fantastical and ridiculous. Rajni repeatedly stopped bullets in mid-air and withstood numerous mortal wounds. Intermittently came the catchy item numbers, featuring a profusion of both bright colours and bad dancing. It was Bollywood on steroids.
When the three-hour rollercoaster glided to a finish, I was left with a pounding headache and a sweaty shirt. I exited the theatre as a single component in a much larger social organism. The electric crowd still whooped and hollered, patting each other on the back, the smallest climbing onto the shoulders' of the largest. Jealous onlookers shook our hands, treating us deferentially for having caught a glimpse.
In this picture: Musicians played typical Tamilian music during the morning pooja
Also Read: 'Rajni sir is like an elder brother'
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