Arriving on a secluded set east of Mumbai, I was asked if I could ride a horse. Of course, I said, although I couldn't. Looking satisfied, an assistant director pointed me toward an unexpected prize: In less than four months in Bollywood, I had won my own trailer.

Freshly dressed and powdered by my personal attendant, I curled up on a window seat like a queen. The Indian star, Vivek Oberoi, strolled by. Oberoi was dating the popular Indian actress Aishwarya Rai, the star of "Bride and Prejudice" and described by Julia Roberts herself, as the press reports put it, as the most beautiful woman in the world.

Oberoi was friendly but tough. I later watched him dive from an on-set crash, squirm on the ground with a dislocated shoulder and reset it there, in the dust, by himself, while the directors went over the footage.

That afternoon, I was summoned to the set and bounced, thigh to thigh, with Oberoi in a horse-drawn carriage. I chatted easily with him and with the British actress I was standing in for, an award-winning horsewoman but uneasy about riding so far from home. Giggling, she described the audition for her role, where the director asked her not for a monologue, or even acting, but a series of Spanish soap opera-esque poses: sadness, jealousy, anger. "What's my motivation?" wasn't important, as long as her tears were pretty.

Step 4: Conflict and resolution
Just as a future of personal trailers stretched ahead, I became involved in an "All About Eve" struggle against a contender for my slender role. The innocent smile was no less a threat than the quiet, assured and sudden arrival. His name, I learned, was Rajkumal.

My very own stunt double, and he was a man. A slight young Indian man with a long, tangled, orange-blond wig pulled too close around his eyes. He had stubble on his chin, hairy legs under his skirt and heavy pancake makeup on his face and arms. I was quietly outraged. But he certainly could ride a horse. He could saddle it, too.

Rajkumal, the horse trainer, had been called because the assistant director didn't like the way I answered "Yyyyyessss" when asked about my riding. Rule to remember: When breaking into Bollywood, always speak with confidence, even when lying.

In the end, we split the job; Rajkumal handled the galloping carriage and I did the softer stuff. Because the wardrobe staff wasn't prepared for stunt doubles having doubles, we had to share a single sweaty pair of shoes.

I came to hate my little encounters with Rajkumal, the two of us in matching dresses, hopping around, with the cast and crew watching. "His value is going up, yes?" one actor said slyly. I should have kicked him. Anyway, I still got paid.

Step 5: Roll credits
"Kisna" hasn't made it to upstate New York yet, so I haven't seen it. If you go, you won't see my name in the credits, but look for me in the following scenes: a song sequence, where a horse-drawn carriage rolls across the horizon at sunset, with the heroine standing up, a silhouette of wind-rippled scarf and hair (I stuck my bosom out as best I could); the scene where the hero and heroine are hiding under a pile of leaves; the scene where the hero gallops through a forest, the heroine clasping his waist; and the scene where the hero and heroine in their carriage try to outrun bandits on the open range.

If you can't see the girl's face, it's probably me. Unless it's a certain hairy-legged man.

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