Quem Quer Ser Um Milionario -slumdog | Millionaire- Legendado

The studio fell into a vacuum of silence.

Jamal swallowed. His throat was dry. He wasn't a genius. He wasn't a professor. He was a slumdog . A chai wallah from the phone centers of Juhu. And yet, every question so far had been a ghost from his own life.

(THE END... or just the beginning?)

He was just one question away. Twenty million rupees. A fortune that could buy back every piece of his childhood that the city of Mumbai had stolen. Quem Quer Ser Um Milionario -Slumdog Millionaire- Legendado

Jamal froze. His heart stopped.

The host, a slick man with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, leaned forward. "Jamal, my friend. The last question. For twenty million. Are you ready?"

The host grinned. "Lock it in. A, B, or C?" The studio fell into a vacuum of silence

"See this? This is the real king of Mumbai," the guide had said. "Not the politicians. Him."

"Final answer," Jamal whispered.

The host revealed the screen. The audience gasped. The subtitles translated in calm, white letters: He wasn't a genius

But Jamal didn't move. He didn't smile. He sat perfectly still as the rupees rained down around him like plastic leaves.

Question seven: Which Hindu god is depicted with the head of an elephant? He knew Ganesh because his mother had lit a single candle for him every year before she was taken away in the riots.

Question one: Who wrote the national anthem? He knew that because a policeman had beaten him over the head with a stick as he sang it wrong in a dusty orphanage.