After years of marginal representation in West, India is now part of the mainstream dialogue. “Slumdog Millionaire” has earned acclaim in America, “White Tiger” received the prestigious Man Booker prize in Britain and is being made into a film and India is now visible in every facet of mass market American culture. Every major bookstore now has a table heaped with “South Asian literature” and a recent issue of Vogue magazine features a spread of Indian model Lakshmi Menon appearing in designer dresses on the streets of Goa.

For all the enthusiasm in the West for all things India, these creations are facing mixed reviews, if not harsh criticism, on the subcontinent.

Many Indians remain uncomfortable with how outsiders have, for better or for worse, been defining their for the world. Particularly distressing and offensive, many believe, is the glamorizations of poverty and the focus on depravity. Why are Westerners so intensely drawn to movies like “Slumdog” and books like “White Tiger”, which focus on the wretchedness of the poor?

Putting aside the question of how realistically “Slumdog” director Danny Boyle portrayed the abject poverty of the streets of Mumbai, why is there such a pornographic hunger in the West for this depiction of poverty? Why is it that movies about middle- or upper-class Indians don’t create such enthusiastic fervor? Why is the Western world so wildly supportive of anything that represents the raw savagery of India?

These movies and books must offer Westerners a release from guilt; they are addicted to the compassion that they feel for the characters in these books and movies. A ticket to a movie offers an opportunity to feel the joy of empathy with the less fortunate and balance out the unpleasant dissonance of living in plenty while others across the globe suffer in squalor. The compassion Westerners feel serves as an emotional balm for their distress.

“Slumdog” satisfied an aesthetic dimension as well, by representing poverty in a hyper stylized, vibrantly colorful way, and allowed viewers to feel that they were seeing the beauty in poverty.

The media circus surrounding recent horrific events in the life in child actor Rubina Ali, who portrays a slum dweller in the movie and is famously back on the streets, are also a result of the intense fascination with Indian poverty. Feeding this desire are the ubiquitous news stories of her father allegedly attempting to “sell” her and the intensely personal video of the vicious physical fight between her mother and stepmother plastered all over mainstream blogs and news outlets. The media knows that there is a ravenous appetite for these stories and images, created by the desire to feel this at-your-fingertips empathy.

“The Darjeeling Limited”, another recent movie based in India created by a Westerner - though with American characters - self consciously approaches the idea that India offers Westerners a kind of emotional balm. The film plays on the almost abstract notion that India can serves as an instant cure for spiritual emptiness. The characters acknowledge this and buy a ticket to India, and then a ticket on the Darjeeling Limited train, ready to embark on an “authentic” Indian journey in search of a spiritually enriching experience – much like those who rushed to see “Slumdog” or read “White Tiger.”

The West’s easy access to this spiritual balm, thanks to its consumerist culture, may seem offensive to many as well. While Indians remain immersed in reality, Westerners can buy what they want, return it at their whim, and can always escape completely whenever they want to. Not surprisingly, Indians are loath to being portrayed by Westerners who are a world away.

While Westerners celebrate the success of these films and books and relatively well off Indians put forth their critiques, the reality is that a large number of people in India desperately need help.

Despite its steep economic growth, India has failed to provide so many of its citizens with even running water, electricity, and sewage processing. Where does the responsibility lie? Do movies like “Slumdog” actually motivate people to act charitably, and do their producers assume any responsibility to do so? Do the privileged have a responsibility to help the needy, and has the “Slumdog” phenomenon helped or hindered this responsibility?

Will the emotional balm of watching the film persuade people to act? Will the spotlight impel more Indians to help their countrymen?

In the end, the Western audience is still looking for a way to understand and represent India and its poverty. The pendulum swings between the dehumanizing “otherness” of representing poverty through a gaze of pity and the celebratory but potentially neglectful view of exalting the beauty and dignity of the impoverished. A truly compassionate viewpoint cannot be reduced to one or the other.