Shortly after Sajjan Singh Rangroot, I began learning Hindi. I posted a little Devanagari online—simply evidence that I was trying—and casting director Jobanpreet Singh saw it.

He contacted me and asked whether I spoke Hindi. I said I was learning. He replied that he was casting a film and asked if I would audition.

Of course I said yes. Then came the detail. He sent a paragraph of dialogue and, when I asked when he needed it, said: later that day.

In Britain I was used to three or four days, sometimes a week. At that point I had studied Hindi for only a few weeks or months. The opportunity had arrived well ahead of my readiness.

I flew to Canada for a week of filming at a remarkable studio complex in the middle of nowhere, with an entire period town built around us. It was also the first production to put me in a suite rather than a room: bedroom, kitchen, sofas and transport to and from set. For an actor still building his Indian career, it felt rather magnificent.

The day before filming, two new pages of Hindi dialogue arrived in my room. The material I had spent months learning had been replaced.

I woke Anil in Mumbai and worked with him on the phone for around twelve hours. We pushed as hard as we could, but my Hindi was not yet equal to a last-minute rewrite of that length. The dialogue was ultimately dubbed.

I was disappointed. Seven or eight years further into studying Hindi, I also understand the decision. Language contains rhythm, intention and cultural precision that cannot be faked merely by reproducing the sounds. I wanted the performance to survive; the production needed the dialogue to land.