Ruth (Kalki Koechlin) is a British woman who lost her sister to suicide a couple of years ago. She comes to India, to search for her father, who is of Indian descent, a man she hardly knew but cannot forget, due to a letter he had written to her, asking her to seek him out. Without a work permit, desperation drives her to work at a massage parlour, where she offers both standard massages and "happy endings". Torn between schisms, Mumbai becomes the alien yet strangely familiar backdrop for Ruth's quest. She struggles to find her independence and space as she is sucked deeper into the labyrinth of the city's underbelly. She also dates a drug addict Prashant (Prashant Prakash), who is simultaneously her saviour and tormentor. A city that feeds on her misery, a love that eludes her. In what is possibly also seen as a commentary on the cult of godmen in India, her father is shown to be a follower of one such religious cult. This film also shows her fighting back in vain against the shrinking feeling, as the world grows around her larger and larger everyday. While trying to make the ends meet by working at the seedy massage parlour, Ruth also contacts multiple people to get help in finding her father, like some officials and also few members of the cult. She is popular among few of the clientele, who are her daily. She becomes friends with one of them (Nazaruddin shah), who sees her only as a professional and unaware of the shady business going around. As the film proceeds, her druggie boyfriend falls indebt to another drug dealer who takes her money as payback and asks her to pay the rest through 'Happy Endings'. Ruth somehow manages to escape from him. In the meantime, in order to find her dad, she obliges to give some private services in return for the favour from an official. But before she does it, her boyfriend interrupts and hits her and she then breaks-up with him. She finally finds her dad's whereabouts through a cult member that her dad is going with a different name from his actual and that he is now staying at Versova. By bribing the staff at a post office, Ruth somehow manages to find his address. As she walks out, it is shown that someone is clicking her pictures secretly. The next day she visits her dad to find he is not at home. As she looks around she finds her childhood picture with her mum and sis but not even one picture of her dad. As she looks through the pictures she finds a box full of her latest pictures, the ones that were secretly clicked and to her shock she also finds her dad's picture on an ID hanging nearby and flees in horror. She walks around in shock all day and when she goes back to the massage parlour, her only good client found out about her secret services and confronts her by asking if she is not ashamed. Ruth stays at the parlour that night and procures a revolver pistol from the drug dealer, she fooled earlier. As the next day starts, her regular morning client Luke visits and she strikes a conversation asking him why he insists on getting services from her and as he mumbles to answer she throws the hot oil on his back. It is then revealed to our shock that Luke is her dad and he knows she is his daughter from the start and he is visiting her daily as he loves her. He also reveals that he married her mom, as he loves her step-sister Emily, the same way he loves Ruth. It is him who got Emily pregnant and her mother is aware of it and still did not get her aborted, which is why Emily committed suicide. To our horror, her dad keeps saying that he loves her as she walks out of the room. The film ends with Ruth hanging up her yellow boots, and quitting her job at the massage parlour and also presumably leaving the country to go back to Britain; her quest having come to a shocking end.
They met a troop of long-haired, strong-scented Sansis withbaskets of lizards and other unclean food on their backs, their leandogs sniffing at their heels. These people kept their own side ofthe road', moving at a quick, furtive jog-trot, and all othercastes gave them ample room; for the Sansi is deep pollution. Behindthem, walking wide and stiffly across the strong shadows, the memoryof his leg-irons still on him, strode one newly released fromthe jail; his full stomach and shiny skin to prove that theGovernment fed its prisoners better than most honest men could feed themselves. Kim knew that walk well, and made broad jest of itas they passed. Then an Akali, a wild-eyed, wild-haired Sikhdevotee in the blue-checked clothes of his faith, withpolished-steel quoits glistening on the cone of his tall blue turban,stalked past, returning from a visit to one of the independent SikhStates, where he had been singing the ancient glories of the Khalsato College-trained princelings in top-boots and white-cordbreeches. Kim was careful not to irritate that man; for the Akali's temperis short and his arm quick. Here and there they met or wereovertaken by the gaily dressed crowds of whole villages turning out tosome local fair; the women, with their babes on their hips,walking behind the men, the older boys prancing on sticks ofsugar-cane, dragging rude brass models of locomotives such as they sell fora halfpenny, or flashing the sun into the eyes of their bettersfrom cheap toy mirrors. One could see at a glance what each hadbought; and if there were any doubt it needed only to watch thewives comparing, brown arm against brown arm, the newly purchaseddull glass bracelets that come from the North-West. Thesemerry-makers stepped slowly, calling one to the other and stopping tohaggle with sweetmeat-sellers, or to make a prayer before one ofthe wayside shrines - sometimes Hindu, sometimes Mussalman - whichthe low-caste of both creeds share with beautiful impartiality. Asolid line of blue, rising and falling like the back of a caterpillarin haste, would swing up through the quivering dust and trot pastto a chorus of quick cackling. That was a gang of changars - thewomen who have taken all the embankments of all the Northernrailways under their charge - a flat-footed, big-bosomed,strong-limbed, blue-petticoated clan of earth-carriers, hurrying north on newsof a job, and wasting no time by the road. They belong to thecaste whose men do not count, and they walked with squared elbows, swinging hips, and heads on high, as suits women who carryheavy weights. A little later a marriage procession would strike intothe Grand Trunk with music and shoutings, and a smell of marigoldand jasmine stronger even than the reek of the dust. One could seethe bride's litter, a blur of red and tinsel, staggering throughthe haze, while the bridegroom's bewreathed pony turned aside tosnatch a mouthful from a passing fodder-cart. Then Kim would jointhe Kentish-fire of good wishes and bad jokes, wishing the couplea hundred sons and no daughters, as the saying is. Still more interesting and more to be shouted over it was when astrolling juggler with some half-trained monkeys, or a panting, feeblebear, or a woman who tied goats' horns to her feet, and with thesedanced on a slack-rope, set the horses to shying and the women toshrill, long-drawn quavers of amazement.
He rose and stalked to the cart. Kim would have given his earsto come too, but the lama did not invite him; and the few wordshe caught were in an unknown tongue, for they spoke some commonspeech of the mountains. The woman seemed to ask questions which thelama turned over in his mind before answering. Now and again heheard the singsong cadence of a Chinese quotation. It was astrange picture that Kim watched between drooped eyelids. The lama,very straight and erect, the deep folds of his yellow clothingslashed with black in the light of the parao fires precisely as aknotted tree-trunk is slashed with the shadows of the low sun, addresseda tinsel and lacquered ruth which burned like a many-colouredjewel in the same uncertain light. The patterns on the gold-worked curtains ran up and down, melting and reforming as the foldsshook and quivered to the night wind; and when the talk grew moreearnest the jewelled forefinger snapped out little sparks of lightbetween the embroideries. Behind the cart was a wall of uncertaindarkness speckled with little flames and alive with half-caught formsand faces and shadows. The voices of early evening had settled downto one soothing hum whose deepest note was the steady chumping ofthe bullocks above their chopped straw, and whose highest wasthe tinkle of a Bengali dancing-girl's sitar. Most men had eatenand pulled deep at their gurgling, grunting hookahs, which infull blast sound like bull-frogs.
The back veranda of the shop was built out over the sheerhillside, and they looked down into their neighbours' chimney-pots, as isthe custom of Simla. But even more than the purely Persian mealcooked by Lurgan Sahib with his own hands, the shop fascinated Kim.The Lahore Museum was larger, but here were more wonders -ghost- daggers and prayer-wheels from Tibet; turquoise and rawamber necklaces; green jade bangles; curiously packed incense-sticksin jars crusted over with raw garnets; the devil-masks ofovernight and a wall full of peacock-blue draperies; gilt figures ofBuddha, and little portable lacquer altars; Russian samovars with turquoises on the lid; egg-shell china sets in quaintoctagonal cane boxes; yellow ivory crucifixes - from Japan of all placesin the world, so Lurgan Sahib said; carpets in dusty bales,smelling atrociously, pushed back behind torn and rotten screens of geometrical work; Persian water-jugs for the hands aftermeals; dull copper incense-burners neither Chinese nor Persian,with friezes of fantastic devils running round them; tarnishedsilver belts that knotted like raw hide; hairpins of jade, ivory,and plasma; arms of all sorts and kinds, and a thousand otheroddments were cased, or piled, or merely thrown into the room, leavinga clear space only round the rickety deal table, where LurganSahib worked. 2b1af7f3a8