Scent of a Woman.

Frank: Where's Daphne? Let's get her down here.

Charlie: She's in the back.

Frank: The tail's in the tail. Ha. Oh, but I still smell her. Women, what could you say? Who made 'em? God must have been a fucking genius. The hair. They say that the hair is everything, you know? Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls, just wanted to go to sleep forever? Or lips, and when they touched yours were like the first swallow of wine you just crossed the desert. Legs, I don't care if they're Greek columns or second-hands Steinways, what's between them: passport to heaven. I need a drink. (pause: he drinks his whisky) Yes, Mr. Simms, there's only two syllables in this whole wide world worth hearing: pussy. Are you listening to me, son? I'm giving out pearls here.

Charlie: I guess you really like women.

Frank: Above all things. A very, very distant second is a Ferrari. Charlie, give me your hand. This is just the start of your education, son.

The Start of an Education- Written by Bo Goldman, from a screenplay by Ruggero Maccari & Dino Risi, from a novel by Giovanni Arpino

I have this thing for films- almost everything about them actually. Like watching most movies and am the type likes almost every film I sit through- albeit the length and the quality of the duration varies. Dialogues (monologues), scenes, posters, catch phrases ("Ninotchka- Don't pronounce it- see it!)- every thing. You can say that I am afflicted by a particularly strong case of Matinee Mania. And the best part is that over the years I have perfected the art of procuring movie tickets. I don't remember a single incident wherein I went to watch a flick at a hall and got turned away from the box office - first day first show, every thing- no exceptions.

Saw a couple of films over the last few days. I think Salaam Namaste is fun. Even though the end is quite quite crappy. I had a minor snigger forming at the end, which vanished as soon as I saw the derisory look on my female friend's face. Never mind the rip off on 9 months, but there is always that Bollywood seasoning, which almost always seems to work- for me, I may add. Javed Jaffri is really cool, and the next day at work, everyone seemed to repeating the word "exactly"- not quite exactly the way he said it, and definately not to similar effect, but yes, it had that effect, even on cynical old traders.

Iqbal is really nice. Its effect on me was similar to that on reading The Village by the Sea. You know that every thing is going to work out at the end, but can't help feeling lousy in between. Never trust these arty type directors. Always wanting to break a few hearts for the sake of an extra star rating. Never mind the box office. But yes, Iqbal was nice.

I really don't like sneaky people. Creeping out of nowhere and posting comments on my page and getting me all worked up. Consider this-

"You dance well Mr.Dasgupta...next time, hold your partner tight."- Anonymous.

The first part is like saying God is great. Obvious. Anyone who's been around me can tell that. Unfortunately, most people who know about this page have never seen me dancing. They're not real people- most of them are from an old lady's dream. The next bit is quite a giveaway. I think I know who is Anonymous. But I am bugged- What's "next time"? What does this refer to?

I have half a mind to pick up the phone and ask the Suspect direct, but unfortunately I don't have her number- deleted as per an ancient ritual which requires you to erase all contact details of women you know little of, but for some reason end up sending obnoxious messages under the influence of alcohol at weird hours. However, I always have this feeling that I am going to run into her very soon, unintentionally and completely unprepared. We have to meet- we are not real. We are characters out of an old lady's dream, and we have to have to meet when she is on her death-bed. But you know, I wish that she'd call instead of leaving these missives on this page. Because of the extremely brief period of time I knew and in spite of the long time that has passed ever since, not a single day passes when I don't think of her. By the way, Ms. Suspect- this time around you got the Ellipsis right.

I hate forwards- can't stand them at all. (Please note that I am using the word hate here- an emotion I rarely am under the influence of) And I refuse to maintain any form of contacts with people who send me mails which say- please forward this message to 10 other people within the next 57 seconds or else your left ball will shrink to the size of a raisin. Or some such thing. It is easy dealing with such types- just block them out. But it is tougher dealing with people (mostly well meaning) who send forwards about everything under the sun. Forwards are so impersonal that I never ever bother to read them. If the subject line reads FW... I find it hard not to press the delete key. Sometimes with great resolve I manage to read, but then it is only because I want to read something, anything from the sender. But those are rare.