One of the films I managed to catch was Vinnaithaandi Varuvaaya. I’ll be honest, when I walked out of the theatre, I was tired, a bit annoyed and just wanted to go home and sleep. Some of it has to do with the fact that the film started at about 10 45 PM, and by the time it ended I wanted to curl up in the nearest cosy corner and sleep forever.

But thinking about it now, it was a beautiful film in parts. It’s lyrical, soft, with genuinely funny moments. The story is jagged, with no smooth edges – but you don’t mind that – in fact, the film makes sense only because it never quite feels like a love story. There are barely any characters in the film other than the two main people, but they are so well etched that it doesn’t matter.

Suffice to say – it’s the story of a torrid relationship between a man (Simbu) and a woman (Trisha). Funnily enough, Trisha’s character works well because it is seen only through Simbu’s eyes. That is, there are no scenes when he’s not present, or does not have some way of knowing what happened. It’s a more mature way of dealing with multiple narratives, making it obvious that this is only one person’s view of the relationship.

You see Trisha (who is perhaps the individual who brings in confusion into the relationship) as a person who has her reasons for doing things, even if the reasons are not made apparent. She doesn’t feel like a black and white character, you feel a certain ambiguous empathy for her. Simbu on the other hand – may have finally learned not to overact in every scene. He’s fleetingly naive, optimistic but easily heartbroken.

By the way, isn’t it delightful when the heroine in a Tamil film isn’t a goddamn college student of some sort?

The last forty five minutes of the film drag on rather endlessly. It gets interesting for thirty seconds, but by then the dialogues are so long, you just want them to shut up. I don’t have an issue with films that move forward largely through dialogue, but unless they are well written, and don’t become monologues it doesn’t hold my interest.

Despite that though, it’s a lovely film with fantastic music. One of the best numbers is Aaromale.

PS – On that note, while there’s the whole film within a film angle, not much is made of it, and it’s not really used till the very end of the film.

That picture is from early mid-90s. I am not in it. Possibly somewhere in the periphery plotting world domination. But I loved Holi. Till the boys got hormonal. But I still like it. The sheer madness of it. Colours, mud, slush, what’s not to like. The last rowdy Holi I played was on the TISS campus, where it got very very muddy.

Anyhow, am sure you get enough of the happy Holi type songs. You know – bhang infused joyous declarations of love and revelry. Here’s a more melancholy one.

An utter favourite, and such a lovely thought – Who do I play Holi with, having been left alone by my beloved? Yes, very cheesy and dramatic, but gives you some deep sighs.

I went to my usual haunts in Bombay (or Mumbai – I really don’t give a damn what it is called anymore), and realized that most of them were actually rather close to the shore. Like this one small cafe near Bandra, where you nearly feel the dirty sea spray on your face. And when you lick your lips, you’re no longer sure if it’s the salt of the sea, the piss of a million people drained into the sea or your own sweat.

Is it something in your blood that craves the salty smell of sea soaked air? In Madras, the salt mingles with stale jasmine and fish. In Mumbai, it’s fish and stale shit. Either way, salt conquers all and invades your clothes and the crevices under your nails.

In strange ways, the seaside is democratic. Which is why perhaps I do find Madras and Bombay rather similar. You sit by the beach, all of you equals in some respect. Some driven off the sand more willingly by the cops than others. Some more respectable. But in the end, it costs very little to sit by the sea. Usually the mild cost of a pack of peanuts or something equally trivial.

Perhaps some places are better if they don’t move with time. UCH is a bit timeless that way. On an average you will struggle to see anyone under the age of 35 there. (Yes, I am 28, but I possibly look 35 anyway – and plus have always had a mildly ancient soul). The trendy crowd doesn’t really stick around in Connaught Place these days, having migrated en masse to the glitzy malls.

It’s the kind of place that works exceptionally well in the hot summers. The insides are a few shades darker and the air conditioner appears to provide that slightly sleep hum. The chaos of CP, right outside appears to melt into little puddles at the door.

I am still in awe of this place. The innocence of it so appealing that the kitsch stops being kitschy. It’s for these mildly unapparent reasons I love Delhi. In the winters, it alternates between being a moody cat that finds the insides of your bag appealing, and a bored dog – only interested in getting some sun. Either way, you need to flirt with the city to get it to like you. And we Delhi women like to flirt. It all works out.

PS – The food is not amazing. Just about above-average. But that never seems to matter.

In Mumbai for a few days next week, part of a last minute change in plans. Some people to meet, and some places to revisit. All very exciting. I’ll go eat some more to keep my excitement in control. Okay?

Meanwhile I’ll go catch up on sleep. I had a woman sat next to me on the flight talk to me about her persistent urinary tract infection for 2 hours, after which she spoke about her four grown, well-settled children for another 3 hours.

I must have the face of a sucker.

On that note, celebrating Binaca Geetmala and the rest, this wonderful song was the top number in 1981.

Does that say anything about me? I wish there was some more comprehensive list that could tell me what the top song was in the week that I was born. A bit like this.

What’s your song then? Does it offer any clues into the kind of person you turned out to be? In my case it’s quite obvious. I like men in drag.

In short, the daughter of an immigrant turns into a rabid anti-immigration politician. And then gets tired of the country she lives in and moves to another, because she’s looking for peace and contentment. (Of all the countries you can find peace and contentment in – if it is at all possible – she chooses the UK).

Australian former anti-immigration politician Pauline Hanson is selling up and heading to Britain, according to an interview with an Australian magazine.

She told Women’s Day that Australia was no longer a land of opportunity and she had “had enough” of living there.

Ms Hanson built a career on claims that Australia was being “swamped by Asians”

Oh oh. Does she know how many ‘Asians’ live in Britain?