Out of nowhere, a hand slaps him ferociously across the face. 4 ..are back in the studio, the gun-fire morphing into rapturous applause. He would surely turn and run but for the iron grip on his shoulder of the smiling host, Prem Kumar. Under cover of the wild applause, Prem ushers Jamal towards the guest's chair, leaning in and hissing. The lights seem to bore into him but Jamal manages a tentative smile.

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Grabs Jamal's arms and starts squeezing them all over until the Inspector has had enough. Look, it's hot, my wife is giving me hell, I've got a desk full of murderers, rapists, extortionists, assorted bum-bandits..you.

Clicks his fingers in front of Jamal's face to check for a response.

Constable Srinivas's hand pulls back Jamal's head by the hair, forcing him to stare directly into the lights.

Prem leans back in his chair, a man at home in his surroundings.

Leaving a trail of shouting and wreckage behind them, the pair approach a brand new Mercedes almost blocking the lane.

The kids dash across a rubbish dump and disappear down dozens of tiny lanes that run in between the shacks of the slum. All modern India is here, drinking tea, shouting at each other, selling food, playing carom, video games. 14 The two renegades are dumped by Jamal's Mother into their desks as Mister Nandha hands out ancient school books.

11 Bright sunlight filtered through the ever-present Mumbai dust. Jamal and Salim stop to give him a taunting, hip-gyrating parody of the dance on the tv before scooting down another tunnel.

The seven-year old Jamal stares up at the ball, jinks around trying to get into position. 11 CONTINUED: 11 He pays no heed to the rest of the children who are scattering fast to the edges of the tarmac. Jamal is knocked to his feet by the down-draft of the plane. The irate Security Guard gets tangled up in a bicycle. Jamal skids to a halt, bumping into Salim who is already frozen.

10 Jamal's body dangles motionless from the ceiling. A rumpled man in his late forties who has seen pretty much everything. INSPECTOR You've been here all bloody night, Srinivas.

In the corner, Constable Srinivas mops his brow and lights a cigarette. The door opens and the Inspector of Police walks in. CONSTABLE SRINIVAS Apart from his name, I can't get a word out of the runt. Constable Srinivas brings a box and a tangle of wires out of a cupboard and proceeds to put crocodile clips on Jamal's fingers. INSPECTOR (CONT'D) Every night I get home, "why can't we have a/c like Bajan Chacha? 10 CONTINUED: 10 INSPECTOR (CONT'D) Why don't you care about your poor family, dying in this heat." Twenty-four years a policeman and I can't afford bloody a/c.

12 At the back of a pack of children, carrying a piece of wood crudely fashioned into a sword, Jamal is running for his life, pursued by an ancient but surprisingly nimble Security Guard from the airport who is screaming abuse and wielding a long stick. It is packed: with people, stalls, bicycles and cows.