What is it about India and its ‘cutout culture’? Sports stars, matinee idols, sultry sirens, revolutionary icons, you name it, we have it decorating our windows, our walls, our glass shields. But is this mere fandom or a glimpse into our souls? And what’s with the garish colours, the heaving, over-ripe tones? A simpler explanation is that they reflect our heroes, our protests, our puerile passions. But are they also, as the poet said, a post-it of our ineffectual rages against the slow dying of the light?