Slumdog Millionaire: Blood Is Blood

　My brother fucked my woman, and took her away by violence. Shall I forgive him or kill him?
　　
　　Take your side.
　　
　　I'd forgive him. Because blood is blood. And a woman is just a woman. For Jamal Malik, a slum lad for the first time of his life bathing in the river of love, he probably would not stand with me. But he did. I've spent couple of years to reach that understanding and he did it without a second thought. That's what singles him out.
　　
　　However, there was truly a blood tie between Latika and Jamal, onward from the time she first slept under the same roof with Jamal and Salim on the soaking night, and that tie was again strengthened at the moment the little brothers had missed her hand on the roaring train. Miserable emotions have deeper roots. And a young mind would probably go all the way to tackle the problems however tough they seem.
　　
　　If someone dies for you, you are perhaps the most honored. This moral standard holds true all through cultures. In fact, Salim died first of all just for Jamal, and then he died for Latika. His death's meaning more than doubled because he at last died for us, revealing a mind of responsibility and a heart of blood and love.
　　
　　It's a world separate from mine, down at the south tip of the continent I live in. But I see similar things happening out there, more vigorous, full of hope, and with persistence. If I'd be asked again what India is like, I'd take a second thought and say, I don't know.