The word “slumdog” isn’t really a word. And in the best tradition of slangy non-words, it is a word which anyone can guess the meaning of: an underdog (“dog” features in common euphemisms on underbelly existence) who cannot possibly be clean since the dog/ human is from a “slum”.

Danny Boyle’s riveting film, Slumdog Millionaire, has been criticised precisely on this count, that the film showcases too much dirt: “nauseating” images of poverty, violence based on the poverty, faeces, smutty bodies, and well, just plain old dirt. More accusations follow: that the film undertakes a lot of India-baiting, providing tantalising and pornographic images of poverty of the “Other” world, and delivering shots that fascinate due to their grotesqueness.

But the “dirt” and the particular sweep of the film is its strength. Apart from being a simple story on the human spirit, the film also sticks true to the limited premise of the “slumdog”: Jamal, the protagonist never oversteps the blades of fortune. His rise is strictly due to a unique, though slummy, existence — one that packs punches but doesn’t incorporate the whole world in its sweep. So Jamal, for instance, who is in the business of making a buck through foreigners, may know the leader who’s printed on a $100 note, but not on a Rupees 1000 note. And the film has done something which we must thank it for: it has placed squarely, and compassionately, men, women and children who live in slums and landfills, back into our collective consciousnesses.

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