In a development that has sent shockwaves through the giddy world of diplomatic nuance, the Indian film union has performed a breathtaking U-turn, dropping its boycott of a Bollywood superstar whose name escapes me but whose face has been on every second billboard from Mumbai to Milton Keynes. The union, presumably after a stern warning from the Ministry of Cultural Vibes, has decided that withholding their collective talent from a man who can't dance to save his life was a bit much. Meanwhile, British cultural ties with India, already strained by the export of bad reality TV and worse curries, remain technically unaffected.
One can only imagine the frantic phone calls to the British Council: 'Please, don't let the subcontinent's box office implosion tarnish our shared love of Shakespeare and Greggs.' The reality is that the boycott's collapse is less a victory for diplomacy and more a recognition that boycotting a Bollywood star is like boycotting oxygen: noble in principle, but fundamentally unsustainable when you need to pay the rent. As one anonymous union member put it, 'We tried, but the man's got a face that sells popcorn.
' In the end, the only thing truly affected is the prospect of a cultural exchange visit from a reasonably talented British mime artist. But, given the state of British mime, perhaps that's for the best.
