September 15, 2000 Secure Line 15:30 Hours
The line connected. Dhirubhai Ambani, the patriarch of Reliance, was on the other end.
"General," Ambani's voice was gruff. "My advisors are telling me to cut my losses. The Shiv Sena is burning my branches. The stock has dipped 4%. Why should I stay in a burning building?"
"Because you are not building a cricket team, Dhirubhai," I said, dropping all formalities. "You are building a pipeline."
I let the silence hang for a second.
"If the League fails today," I continued, my voice low and urgent, "then the Kartarpur Corridor fails tomorrow. The Free Trade Zone we discussed? The textile exports to Pakistan? The energy grid from Central Asia? It all dies."
"The Arabs are not attacking cricket," I pressed. "They are attacking your future monopoly. They want Indian goods to go through Dubai forever. They want you to be a sub-contractor, not a master."
"Think in decades, Dhirubhai. Not quarters."
Ambani was silent. The man who had built an empire by seeing the future where others saw only risk was doing the math.
"If I stay," Ambani grunted, "I need air cover. I cannot fight the Arabs with money. They have more oil than I have cash."
"You don't fight them with cash," I said. "You fight them with the one thing they don't have. You fight them with a Voice."
The Weapon
"Launch the Bollywood option," I whispered. "Not the dancers. The conscience."
Ambani chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. "You mean the Perfectionist?"
"He has a film coming out soon, doesn't he? Lagaan?" I asked. "A movie about fighting an empire with cricket? The irony is perfect."
"I will make the call," Ambani said. "Watch CNN tonight."
The Interview September 15, 2000 CNN International Studios, Mumbai Link 21:00 Hours
The world was expecting a business update or a cricket press conference.
Instead, Christiane Amanpour was interviewing Aamir Khan.
Aamir sat in a simple white shirt. He looked tired, emotional. He wasn't playing the superstar. He was playing the "Concerned Human."
Amanpour: "Aamir, there are reports that you are reconsidering your investments in the Middle East. Rumors are swirling about a new project. Is it true?"
Aamir looked into the camera. His eyes were moist.
Aamir: "Christiane, I have spent my life telling stories. But some stories... they haunt you."
He paused, taking a sip of water.
Aamir: "I met a woman yesterday. From Kerala. She worked as a maid in a Gulf country. I won't name which one; they are all the same. She came back in a coffin. But she wasn't dead. Her soul was dead."
The studio was silent.
Aamir: "We call them 'partners'. We call them 'brotherly nations'. But what they do to our people... the Indians, the Pakistanis, the Bengalis who build their skyscrapers... it is not employment. It is slavery."
He used the forbidden word. Slavery.
The Bomb Drop
Aamir: "They take their passports. They lock them in camps. And the women..."
He choked up, wiping a tear.
Aamir: "The stories of rape. Of domestic workers abused by their 'masters'. Of children... mere children... used for camel racing. Broken bodies thrown onto flights back to Mumbai and Karachi like garbage."
He leaned forward, his voice trembling with righteous anger.
Aamir: "I am ashamed. I am ashamed that we danced for them. I am ashamed that we promoted their tourism."
Amanpour: "So, what are you going to do?"
Aamir's face hardened. The sadness vanished, replaced by the steel of a man on a mission.
Aamir: "I am announcing my next production. It is not a romance. It is a horror story. It is titled 'The Golden Cage'."
Aamir: "It will tell the true story of the life of a migrant worker in the Gulf. The beatings. The Kafala system. The sexual abuse. We are filming it now. And we will release it in every language in the world."
He looked directly at the lens.
Aamir: "They can ban my movies. They can ban me. But they cannot ban the truth. It is time the world saw what lies beneath the sand."
The Impact September 16, 2000 Riyadh & Dubai
The reaction was nuclear.
CNN aired the clip every hour. The BBC picked it up. The New York Times ran a headline: "Bollywood Star Accuses Gulf Monarchies of Modern Slavery."
This wasn't a UN report that could be filed away. This was Aamir Khan. He was beloved in the Arab world. Arabs watched his movies. Their wives watched his movies.
To be called "Slave Masters" and "Rapists" by their favorite hero was a cultural dagger to the heart.
The Panic
In the Royal Courts, the phones were ringing off the hook. PR agencies in London and Washington were screaming.
"The narrative is shifting, Your Highness," a British PR consultant told the Saudi Information Minister. "Western human rights groups are picking up on Aamir's statement. They are demanding investigations. If this movie comes out... your image in the West will be destroyed."
"Stop him!" the Minister shouted.
"We can't stop him," the consultant said helplessly. "He is an actor. If we attack him, we look like villains. The only way to stop the movie... is to make peace with his backers."
The Truce Aditya's Office
I watched the replay of Aamir's interview. It was a masterclass. Ambani had pulled the trigger perfectly.
"General," Shaukat Aziz walked in, holding a fax.
"It's from the UAE Ambassador."
"Read it."
"They are... 'concerned' about the misinformation being spread by Indian media. They are willing to 'reassure' the investors regarding the security of the region. They have cracked down on the funding channels for the 'miscreants' in Mumbai and Peshawar."
I smiled.
"They blinked."
"They realized that a Cricket League is annoying," I said, "but a Bollywood movie about their human rights abuses is catastrophic."
"Tell Ambani to put the movie on 'indefinite hold'," I ordered. "Keep the script ready. Just in case they forget their manners again."
I looked at the screen where the Mumbai Sultans' stock price was starting to tick upward again.
"The riots will stop by tonight, Shaukat. The check has bounced."