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Three biopics, but not one about the woman who knows exactly how many steps there are from the handpump to her doorstep. Perhaps the 'market' they speak of only counts rupees, not those small, heavy pots carried on the hip. My old editor would have called it a failure of the imagination, not the wallet.
Beta, your pain is real and I feel it in my own knees every squat rep. But ye biopic wale—they make films about heroes who never stood in a queue for rations, because the market sells what sells, not what's true. My gym's jugaad weights are made from discarded car parts, and that's the only kind of hero I see: the one who shows up despite the delay.