It had people from all over the country and the world. The great thing about Bombay as a city was it was a magnet for anybody with talent, or ambition or hunger, or beauty, or intelligence. If you had any of these things and you wanted to make something of yourself, you went to Bombay and the city would reward you. I think all of that changed in 1992, when the last big riots happened in Bombay between Hindus and Muslims. Now when I go back to the city and I look at it, I can see the kind of profound impact that those riots had, and how it's changed the character of the city, and in such a profound way that I don't think it will ever change back to what it was before '92.

I was born in the south of India but I've never lived there. I went to school in Bombay, and in Hong Kong and in New York. But the place I've lived in the most is Bombay, because I've been there at various stages of my life.

During my growing-up years in Chandigarh, or even in Mumbai, I’ve never come across nasty people. I’ve only heard of it but never seen the bad side of the film industry. Of course I was rejected many times in auditions. But I wouldn’t call that rude.

I always tell up-and-coming artistes that if they want to make it in Nollywood, respect is a key component to overall success. You must be passionate about the job and not just be interested in acting just for the money-it will come at its own time. I believe that a successful person shouldn’t be over-ambitious. Fame will come easily once you work hard and learn the ropes as you grow.

My parents never supported me to play Wushu. Simultaneously, my surroundings also were not sympathetic. Still, I ignored all these odds and continued training under Rajesh sir. I began to win state-level competitions in Jaipur and Rajasthan. Still, my parents did not change their minds. Even before my first competition outside Rajasthan in 2010, they strongly objected and were not allowing me to go to Bhopal to take part in that West Zone Wushu championship. But after I returned with a bronze medal the scenario changed and I also decided to make my career professionally with Wushu.

It had been hard enough to drive past the area. It was harder to imagine what it was like living there. Yet people lived with the stench and the terrible air, and had careers there. Even lawyers lived there, I was told. Was the smell of excrement only on the periphery, from the iridescent black lake? No; that stench went right through Dharavi. Even more astonishing was to read in a Bombay magazine an article about Papu's suburb of Sion, in which the slum of Dharavi was written about almost as a bohemian feature of the place, something that added spice to humdrum middle-class life. Bombay clearly innoculated its residents in some way.

I had another glimpse of Dharavi some time later, when I was going in a taxi to the domestic airport at Santa Cruz. The taxi-driver - a Muslim from Hyderabad, full of self-respect, nervous about living in Bombay, fearful of sinking, planning to go back home soon, and in the meantime nervously particular about his car and his clothes - the taxi-driver showed the apartment blocks on one side of the airport road where hutment dwellers had been rehoused. In the other direction he showed the marsh on which Dharavi had grown and, away in the distance, the low black line of the famous slum.

Seen from here, Dharavi looked artificial, unnecessary even in Bombay: allowed to exist because, as people said, it was a vote-bank, and hate-bank, something to be drawn upon by many people. All the conflicting currents of Bombay flowed there as well; all the new particularities were heightened there. And yet people lived there, subject to this extra exploitation, because in Bombay, once you had a place to stay, you could make money.

I remember, too, the kudos being born in Calcutta gave me by making me stand-out as a rarity when, at the age of 10, I found myself in the highly competitive society of a British boarding school. To boost my kudos even further, I would boast that I was born in the "Second City of the British Empire".

I had almost no education. I hardly went to school. I’d be away for weeks doing films, then I’d come back and have no idea what they were talking about. Of course the other kids loved it: ‘You may be a well-known star but you don’t know how to do algebra.’ It was a nightmare.

Growing up in Michigan was fine...until I realized where I was.

I am so disappointed in those people who said our athletes fumbled in Durban. In the first place, people should look at the circumstances our athletes travelled to Durban. About one week to the competition, athletes from other countries were already on ground in Durban, but our athletes did not even know whether they would make the trip or not. Some of our key athletes couldn’t make the trip due to one reason or the other. Coaches were also affected. I want Nigerians to celebrate the athletes. At this stage of our preparation for Rio Olympics, what they need is encouragement. We must not do things that will make the athletes remember the hard way they made the trip to Durban.

A city like Bombay, like New York, that is a recent creation on the planet and does not have a substantial indigenous population, is full of restless people. Those who have come here have not been at ease somewhere else. And unlike others who may have been equally uncomfortable wherever they came from, these people got up and moved. As I have discovered, having once moved, it is difficult to stop moving.

In Bollywood, people concentrate more on lifestyle, vanity and interpersonal equations than their craft. Though we made a big film, a Bollywood film remains only as big as its star. I was in Bollywood’s ‘big’ club.

It was there [India] I realised that engineering was not my cup of tea. I proceeded to London to look for avenues and got myself enrolled into Hornsey College of Art there. Initially, there was no hope for me, but one exhibition in 1979 made me. That proved to be extremely lucky for me.

My parents kept things real. I had no idea they were famous. In fact, it didn’t hit me until one day when I was riding in the car with my father in Ann Arbor, Michigan—I was maybe 8 and could barely see above the dashboard—and we stopped at a crosswalk. Suddenly we were surrounded by people who recognized my dad and were really thrilled to see him. I remember looking at this man I thought I knew so well and thinking, “Who are you?”