My Bollywood adventure began in the frenetic tourist district of Colaba, in Mumbai, India. Honestly, I had entertained a tiny fantasy of experiencing the Indian movie industry first-hand — but it was far from my mind as I teetered on a narrow (and I do mean narrow: my toes hung off one side and my heels the other) cement median in the middle of four lanes of exhaust-spewing traffic.

I gauged my odds of crossing in one piece as similar to that of the scores of limping dogs that I had seen since arriving in India.

“Has anyone approached you about being an extra in a Bollywood movie?”

Costumes and makeup were part of the 10-hour shoot day.

I threw a quick look over my shoulder to see a clean-cut man in his 30s smiling openly at me. My priorities lay elsewhere: “Help me cross the street!” I shadowed him through the choked traffic, knowing I had a better chance of traversing unscathed if I used a local as a human shield. (This also works with local elementary school students, I am not ashamed to admit.)

He then presented me with a business card: “Planet Star” Casting Company was looking for 18 “Western European–looking” tourists to work as extras. The terms: to meet at the popular Leopold’s Café the following morning at 7 a.m., from whence we would be taken by luxury coach to the film set.

We would put in a long day of shooting, starting with costumes and makeup, until 6 p.m. or so. Lunch and payment of 500 Indian Rupees (about US$ 10) was included. Was I interested? Absolutely!

Arriving early the next morning, I passed the time in a 24-hour Internet café chatting with family and friends about my exciting day ahead. Everyone was online and our conversations flowed in real time. “What is the movie called?” my husband inquired. “Doom 2!” I exalted across cyberspace.

Fear cloaked as disapproval churned in his response. “Isn’t that based on an ultra-violent video game?” The actual title was Dhoom 2, as I would learn later, sequel to the hugely successful action flick Dhoom, starring a handful of India’s hottest, hippest actors.

Friends in New Delhi proffered advice. “They will think you are loose because of how you look and because you are Western. But you will be fine because of how you handle yourself.”

At Leopold’s, pockets of already-sweating foreigners sipped instant coffee and downed yellow omelets and cold toast in the silence of steamy dawn. We pooled our information and stoked our imaginations.

“They said we will have beautiful costumes and professional hair and makeup!”

“I wonder if we will have to do stunts?”

“Maybe it will be a battle scene like in Lord of the Rings! Will we have to ride horses?”

“We are going to be movie stars …”

As with every Western expectation of India, the day’s events happily unfolded “something like that.” Our “luxury” coach was filthy and snarled with dents, broken seats and no air-conditioning. But we were heady and ecstatic, up for glorious adventure. This vehicular throwback to the British Raj–era India became our limousine, the driver our personal chauffeur, the roadside pedestrians our fans.