Wersha Bharadwa on British women finding stardom in Bollywood

'I've been here in Delhi for six months and I'm already shooting my first feature film. In Hollywood you have to wait tables for years before getting a break, and in Britain you get typecast into Asian-only roles. It's a really good time to be a British woman in Bollywood." So says Sonal, a 29-year-old Londoner who is currently on location in India, shooting a Bengali remake of the 1997 Hollywood shocker I Know What You Did Last Summer. Before heading for the subcontinent in January, Sonal worked in recruitment and could speak neither Bengali nor Hindi. Yet three months after handing over £600 to enrol at the Asian Academy of Film and Television, she had shot her first film. Sonal's experience is not unique. British women are flocking to Bollywood right now, desperate to be the next Aishwarya Rai. Despite the fact that few of them are fluent in Hindi or have an acting background, many producers and directors seem keen to cast them in leading roles, often over and above the thousands of Indian women who pour into Mumbai's Film City each month. Key players in the industry include UK-born actors Katrina Kaif, Sophiya Haque and Jiah Khan. And non-Asians have got in on the act too. Sophie Dahl has shot a crossover Indian/English film with Om Puri, and Alice Patten (daughter of British politician, Chris) was a lead in the Bafta-nominated Rang de Basanti (Paint It Yellow). Having grown up on a diet of Bollywood films, I know the seductive power they hold over women of Indian heritage. But just how easy is it for a British Asian woman to break into Bollywood? I made it my mission to find out and decided my best chance would be at the fourth annual International Indian Film Academy awards (Iifas) - the Bollywood Oscars - which were held in Yorkshire over a period of three days earlier this month. Before heading to the Iifas, I called Jessica Hines, author of the book Looking for the Big B: Bollywood, Bachchan and Me, for some insider advice. "Mostly," she says "you've got to get yourself noticed. Use the Iifas as your place to get looked at, so dress up. Create an air of mystery - surround yourself with lots of people and don't talk too much." Acting up to the stereotype of the "good, quiet Indian girl" is apparently still the way forward, which will be a definite stretch for me. Hines also suggests that heels are compulsory and that I should be seen teetering on them at all times. That's going to require some serious effort on Yorkshire's cobbled streets. Day one: The festival kicks off with the world premiere of the film The Train, at Cineworld Castleford. Not quite as glamorous as London's Leicester Square, this seems an obscure choice, especially given the dearth of Asians who live in the area. I've come with a strategy, though, and the key is to get Natasha Mudhar from Sterling Media PR - the company that looks after the Iifas - to tell the press I'm a Bollywood "It girl" and British celebrity. While there is a definite love affair with Bollywood in the UK, the east-west divide isn't narrowing anywhere near as quickly as some might think. The average British person is more likely to be able to pick out a Wag - or even a pair of Wag's shoes - from a line-up than an Indian superstar. What Britain's and India's entertainment cultures do have in common though, is the tendency to sell women as sex kittens. To fit my It-girl look, I turn up to the premiere in a black dress cut to the thigh. Within seconds, the paps are shouting my name. I tell a BBC reporter that I'm looking forward to the Iifas, and chat in vague terms about my "next big acting project", before an Indian TV reporter asks me what it feels like to be the best-dressed woman there. I have attracted interest by doing nothing bar subjecting myself to a few whistles from hormonal Pakistani-origin teenage boys. I notice Upen Patel, an up-and-coming star, standing nearby, and strut over for a photo opportunity. While basking in his reflected celebrity, though, I fail to spot the megastar Salman Khan walking in after me. Damn! I spend the evening approaching anyone who looks remotely mover-and-shaker-ish, and am introduced to the film's director, Hasnain S Hyderabadwala. I immediately tell him how much I want to get on in Indian cinema. "Are you Indian?" he asks, looking at my blond highlights. The veteran film composer Naresh Sharma joins us, and notes, "You'll need to speak Hindi." "I can. Not fluently, but a few lessons and I'll be perfect," I fire back confidently. (I'm buoyed by the fact that the current trend in Indian cinema is to speak "Hinglish", anyway.) Hasnain says I could get a role after I fleetingly mention a stint I did at Paul McCartney's Liverpool Institute for the Performing Arts. But, of course, I would need to get to Bombay for auditions. I bump into one of the film's actors, Sayali Bhagat, at the bar, but have no idea who she is until she mentions "Miss India". Ever since Aishwarya Rai took up acting after winning Miss World, the catwalk has become the shortest possible route to the silver screen. In Bollywood, of course, beauty is a huge factor - and if you don't have it, there are plenty of cosmetic surgeons in Mumbai who will lend a sympathetic knife. Another of the film's actors, Geeta Basra, who hails from Portsmouth, sidles up. She looks every inch the starlet and has an accent that - much like Upen - is part Ali G and part call-centre Indian-American. She is quiet, refined, and, peculiarly, her mannerisms aren't at all British. Mine, however, are clearly beginning to grate on those who prefer their women seen and not heard. Suneel, a producer from Harrow, tells me that I need to tone it down. Day two: I've made it into the Yorkshire Post as a Bollywood It girl, and various news channels - everywhere from Seattle to Saudi Arabia to India - have featured me in "that dress". On MSN, my photo is featured under the heading "Hot picture of the day. Who is she?" Some of the press have called me a Bollywood It girl, while others have described me as a Bollywood item girl. The label of item girl can be a double-edged sword. These are the women who turn up in films wearing scraps of sequined material, before performing raunchy song-and-dance routines to titillate male audiences. Malika Arora Khan, for instance, made her name when she performed the song Chaiya Chaiya in Mani Ratman's film Dil Se, dancing atop a moving train with Bollywood stalwart Shah Rukh Khan. Being an item girl for an influential choreographer like Farrah Khan could land you a meatier role, but the flip side is being typecast as a "sex bomb" or falling off the radar because of the "nachnewali" tag. This literally means "dancer", but in Mumbai's elite classes it is as insulting as being labelled a prostitute. I make my way to Headingley cricket ground, where a team of heart-throbs including Hrithik Roshan, Saif Ali Khan and Zayed Khan are playing against a team of British celebrities. In the "VVIP" box, the Bollywood princesses - Shilpa Shetty, Bipasha Basu and Dia Mirza - are watching through sparkling sunglasses. I've forgotten to pick up my media pass but a security guard remembers my little black dress from yesterday and lets me in. I whip out my £1 shades from Primark and am approached by two twentysomething men wanting to take a snap with me. During the match I call up Asjad Nasir, a showbiz columnist with an encyclopaedic knowledge of the film industry. "You must create some hype for yourself but keep your secrets hidden," he advises. "Most stars tend to act as their own agents and managers so they're in control of what the media puts out about them." Later in the day I am approached by a German director who asks if I'd like to appear in one of his movies as I'd "make nice dance". He gives me his card and invites me to Shilpa Shetty's birthday party later that evening in Leeds. Journalists aren't invited but I want in - I know it will be attended by actors, directors and producers of colossal standing in the business. I can't afford the 18-strong entourage that reportedly accompanies superstar Amitabh Bachchan, but I have hijacked three men from Wakefield who, having met me at the premiere, have insisted on becoming my personal entourage. Nasa is a hulk of a man, and perfect minder material with his Armani suit and Bluetooth headset slotted firmly in his ear. I arrive at Shilpa's bash in Leeds two hours late - perfect celebrity timing. "Go meet your fans this time," Natasha says, as five burly security guards open my car door. I blink. There are gaggles of people cheering for me from behind the rails. I smile and shake hands with my fan club. "Are you Celina Jaitley?" asks one middle-aged woman who wants a picture of me on her mobile. Jaitley is another ex-Miss India-turned-actor, and very beautiful, so I'm hugely flattered - my swollen ego won't allow me to deny the claim. But then loud whispers of "Who is she?" turn to demands of "Who are you! Who are you!" and the illusion comes crashing down. When I finally get inside, I discover Shilpa has gone - she only stayed at her own bash for half an hour. A-lister Preity Zinta turns up behind me and walks out of the back door within five minutes. I decide to follow suit. Before I leave, I am approached by a man who claims to be a Bollywood agent, and best friends with a major player in the industry. "Can you represent me?" I ask. "Of course!" he says. "I have a hotel room in Leeds I'm using as an office - why don't you stay there and we can discuss getting you into the industry?" I politely decline. Day three: It's the main awards ceremony at Sheffield's Hallam Arena and I've taken three hours to get ready. This time I've enlisted a professional hair and make-up person, but, catching sight of myself in the car window, trussed up in a pink dress, I'm shocked. I'm in inch-thick, drag-queen make-up that would make Lily Savage wince. My false eyelashes are flagging and the curls in my hair are falling out. I turn up on the carpet at 7pm, to find that Myleene Klass, Aishwarya Rai and Colin Firth have already gone in. I pose before being ushered over to doe-eyed teenage girls and boys who want my autograph, and then bump into Shilpa. I want to tell her I voted for her on Big Brother and that, if I'd had the chance, I would've picked Jade's eyeballs out with Jermaine's microphone, but, with the sound of clicking stilettoes, she's off. Inside, I sneak backstage to see if I can pin down any of the stars/directors/producers/shoe-cleaners in a last-chance bid to make some Bollywood contacts. Bumping into Saif Ali Khan, who has just won the Best Actor in a Negative Role award (best villain), he mistakes me for a host from Sunrise Radio, one of the biggest Asian radio stations in the UK. "Ooh, no," I fawn, "I'm not from Sunrise!" "Oh, OK! Well at least you look like the sunrise anyway," he purrs. I'm completely charmed. I enquire if he's heading back to the post-awards party but am shooed away by an irate assistant who can obviously see I lack the social capital to be hanging out with film royalty. The awards finish at 1.30am, and my days as a Bollywood It girl are over. There's something empowering about the way the industry allows anyone to be their own Max Clifford, but you've got to be rhino-skinned and crazed with ambition to get ahead - even as a Brit girl. In the week since my Bollywood adventure, I've been wearing ballet pumps and talking, talking and talking - I much prefer flaunting my opinions than my body. Still, the bug hasn't left me completely. You know where to send those film scripts.