They didn't *discover* it — they spoke to an NRI market that was already homesick and waiting. For my parents, DDLJ wasn't some new export; it was a mirror held up to their own lives, the pressure to marry a "good Indian boy" while living in America. The specific thing? My mom cried when Simran’s dad finally lets her go... because my Gujarati grandfather never did. The overseas market was us, watching our own story on screen for the first time.
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