A tiger turns white due to genetic disorder which is entirely governed by nature. It is neither a virtue nor any kind of condemnation. But in eyes of Balram, a die hard servant, it is engraved from his childhood that he's an equivalence of a white tiger- which is a boon, a legacy of importance.

Adarsh Gourav's magnetically performed descent into immorality eclipses whatever technical dark spots that existed (let's ignore Rao's jumbled accent). Ramin Bahrani uncorks this twisted cocktail…

"She's got eyes of the bluest skies
As if they thought of rain
I hate to look into those eyes
And see an ounce of pain."

Such warmth. Such affection. And such splendid uniqueness. It's as if our eternal sun has engulfed the artificiality of society and all that remains is bright light of healing. It's as if we have reshaped our language back to its primal senses, shunning away the euphemisms so that our feelings are no longer merely…

"She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks, she was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always - Lolita. Light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin. My soul."

I remember reading Lolita when I was nineteen. Against summer morning breezes while inhaling sweet grass scents, I was amazed at the sheer madness of love. It…