Yes, Sonam Kapoor is my wife. We engaged in conversation, married in dialogue; honeymooned in analogue. And she'll widow herself by shooting me tonight.

And the dance continues - right into carnal desires and Midsummer Nights of water fights and sexual sights of bites on the neck, like a certified check. You gotta take it nice and slow, like opening a Bordeaux; you gotta let it breathe. 

     And we do, forsaking the Coffee With talk show for reruns of The X Files and a mid-90s U.F.O. Scully was doing the driving, which she preferred. Mulder knew only two speeds: fast and faster. 

‘What do you think Mulder?’… Scully said.

‘I think we should sleep with the lights on Scully’… he replied.

     Perchance I was typing out the last of the love-scenes; had to be sensual and flirty more than rough and dirty – sex with no head is like a sandwich with no bread right? Yeah but not tonight.

     The answering machine takes down messages: ex-girlfriends, coach T, a friend who wants cocaine, the cat who lost the jugular vein, and the kid who never got laid but wants a blowjob on a dream train. And then there’s Rumi, who’s been dead for centuries; says there’s a field out there and I’ll meet you there, beyond rightdoings and wrongdoings.

     I’m an April fool for not droppin’ out at 14; I waited til’ I was 15; hit the mezzanine floor – the cesspool of bad dreams and H2SO4. But hey, Rumi’s callin’. It’s either the end of the world or the best damn block party since 1969.

But you gotta bring a date right?

Someone to navigate through the callings of fate. 

     And so I asked out Sonam Kapoor. And the diva says yes; she’s as sure as her dress, readying to impress with her freedom of the press.

‘You gotta engage me in conversation’… she says.

‘I can do better than that’… I reply… ‘I’ll marry you in conversation’.

Now we have a chance, like Butch n’ Sundance.

     She called me to her set - she was filming her next, and I arrived fashionably late. That’s her job; the very first page of How to be a movie-star for dummies.

Her manager Tina walks me inside.

     I’m expecting Diet Pepsi, lights, long-drawn confessions, breakdown, megaphones, cigarettes, salads, avocados, genuine leather, artificial weather, stationary, plug points, hair dryers, kohl, cocaine, Hip Hop, talc, novels, jeans, thongs, Aloe Vera plants, The Beatles, Mercedes Benz, and machine guns loaded with depleted Uranium shells. 

I sat in her trailer; mineral water and takin’ a piss. 

     Sonam walk in, dressed as a bride, but there’s no pride, in her eyes. Perchance she was baking in that 2 million carat dress. Her hands were warm, like really warm – someone’s forgotten to drink water. But we both know, it’s time to paint the fucking sky with as much silver as we can use.

The stars were shining on.

She lifts her pallet knife and starts work on our still-life. 

     We got into the back seat of her beemer and drove off, home. She’s chirpy, like a bird. Scary little creatures; minions of the Antichrist. But it’s better than movie stars showing up in Cashmere. Bet she’s got a collection of things that cater to the fairer sex, like pantyhose and garter belts.

I pulled out my Dictaphone and pushed in a cassette. 

‘You’re such a 90s boy’… she said… ‘Analogue guy’.

‘And you’re a digital girl’… I reply, as the Universe bent backwards for us.

That song from Delhi 6; did they really put a pigeon on your head?

Oh yeah. That was a real fucking pigeon on my head. I had to train with it.

(Laughs) You trained with a pigeon?

Well, yeah dude. It had to be comfortable on my bloody head and shoulders. 

Birds are scary.

No they’re not. (Laughs) What shit? Look at best, it was going to crap on me. I’m not scared of animals at all. I love them. (Fiddling) Animals and children, I get. And they get me. People, not so much. But I have a tendency to be liked by kids.

I loved that picture, Delhi 6. Had this primary text-book quality to it.

What do you mean?

There’s a moral to the story. Why’d you do it?

Well, Saawariyaa wasn’t released yet.  And Rakeysh Mehra has just made Rang De Basanti -which was such a great picture. We were fans. And I get this call saying, look, he wants to sit with you. So now I’m jumping. (Smiles) And so I met him. We got talking. And I kid you not, a few hours into the meeting we sort of fell in love with each other. He was auditioning a lot of girls for this one. (Laughs). But alright, the script has layers to it. There was the Ram-Leela in motion. The Ramayana. Great epic. And it’s very symbolic of things, the perfect husband, and the perfect wife sort of thing. The perfect king. And through the film, we ourselves became symbols. The characters of the film I mean. My character Bittu Sharma represented the youth of India. You know what I’m saying? Om Puri was the patriarch of the family. Picture the middle class. Abhishek’s (Bachchan) character Roshan was someone who was discovering India from within. Hence the name Roshan – he was shedding light on things. Delhi 6 WAS India. And I found something utterly liberating in Bittu Sharma as a character – she didn’t want to be another Bahu. She didn’t want to make Aachar with the other women in the family. (Laughs) If you revisit the picture, you’ll see she’s barely with the mother. She’s always with her father. 

Give me a moment.

(Laughs) why?

Because I got a feeling of being force fed from that picture. Free value education. Which is good. It’s the stuff that rock bands can get away with; megalomania. But you’ve stumped me good. Do you like being famous at all?

Sure I do. (Pauses) Every once in a while you have a go at yourself. Ask some difficult questions. ‘Why are we here?’ Those kind of questions. (Pauses) Maybe the goal is happiness. Maybe it’s to live life a certain way. Do things that please us. Some people choose to be conspicuous. Fame on the other hand, allows you to make an impact. And a hard one. You can change someone’s life by pulling your craft. I’m an actor. I do my job. I want to set trends. I want to use that to do good. Bring something good to someone else’s life. Isn’t that why you writers write? Or painters paint? Or people make films? Why we go to work basically. To be remembered. We want our name to go down in posterity. What else is there to do? Did you ever read Ayn Rand when you were younger?

Just The Fountainhead.

Everybody’s read The Fountainhead. It bullshit after 10 years.

(Laughs)

(Laughs) There’s a line that really got to me, from Atlas Shrugged. Which made a very strong impact on me. (Quotes) ‘Fransisco, what’s the most depraved type of human being? The man without purpose.’

I thought we do it to fill a void. 

Maybe we fill a void. But without purpose, we’re fucked. You need something to drive you, at a gut level. I don’t judge people who squander their life away. I’m saying I’d be lost without purpose. The idea of fame; is not forgetting yourself. It’s a great way to meet yourself. The contrast. Because you can’t act 24/7. I’m not in character right now.

Have you read a novella called ‘Into the Wild?’ The Christopher McCandless story.

I have, I have. Love it.

He writes “Happiness is only real when shared”. Using that logic, the more famous you are, the happier you can be…

…(Interrupting) Celebrity can be a lonely place. Sometimes, you prefer isolation.  But to be famous, and still connect, there’s an idea. You can’t think of your place in society as a morally higher ground. You can’t belittle someone else, the ones who don’t share your power, or place. Ideally fame brings opportunity. You’re not different or better, you’re only lucky. Pretty fucking simple. You’re just lucky. I’m sure there are prettier girls out there, who can act, who are better than I am. But I’m here. (Pauses, and lowers her voice) That’s my fortune. I was born in THIS family. I was discovered early. No doubt I worked very hard; but who doesn’t? It’s the meeting of luck and work. (Blushes a little like she often does). 

Go on a relative tangent with me.

Sure.

Keeping that novella in mind, mind you. (Smiles) Think about it, you bake a cake, smoke a doob, grab a boob, whatever, put it on Twitter. You’re now sharing your day with others. Does your celebrity ever help you come clean?

You mean say things you want to say to people but can’t? Ah. Honestly, I’ve pulled a lot of things. But you cannot help other people’s opinion about you. You can’t force these things. I’m an actor. I’d rather be spoken about. Being ignored isn’t good for my business. Then, I’m fucked. Grander scheme always. (Laughs). This is my job. I work so people can see my work. You’re a writer; you’re out there for them. Sure the world can be cruel. It can be jarring. Sometimes it makes me wonder, when you see cruelty: is that even possible. Can people be so ugly? 

The driver picks speed; our wheels rollin’ by.

     Sonam’s staring out the window, staring at a city that refuses to sleep. You’d need Propofol to knock it out. Never figured cities to be insomniacs. But they are. The town’s on dope, wide awake as BBC.

     The movie business is a Gulf Stream of bad dreams – arguments, settlements, indictment; enhancements in the breast area. But this one wears her celebrity like a sunscreen. I know now that she’s an inefficient liar’ that's her kryptonite. She will die if her life depends on it. She’s no bimbette or a love-struck Juliet, waiting on an Alpha Romeo; she’s all heart.

She turns to me and asks ‘Why me?’

‘Why not?’… I counter-question.

I mean sure she makes terrific copy.

     And sounds very standoffish when she says “that’s rubbish”, but then her heart’s unpublished. Wants to be a Spider Lily flower swaying many miles an hour; smelling like a baby shower, leaning like a watching tower. Wants to grab a hip, give it a slow kiss, smudge her own mascara and do it in the French Riviera to add to the hysteria of movie-star dating rituals.

Its megalomania vs. Wrestle Mania.

     But when her time comes, she won’t just R.I.P; she’ll rest in our stories. These pages will show, and the world it will know, she was here once.

Do you suffer from compassion fatigue?

(Thinks) My mom says this a lot, but I’ve concluded this myself: I have the Gautama Buddha Complex.

(Laughs) What?

Really. Okay I’ve made that up. And I know I’ll get a lot of shit for saying this. But whatever. Who cares? (Smiles) Ah, you know how Siddhārtha was in a gilded cage and he saw the real world after stepping out? He had never seen the world. He was a stranger to harsher reality. And when confronted by it, he became all the more sensitive to it. I’ve been protected my entire life. When I see the world through - say the glass of my car, I see it with wonder and compassion. (Looks out the window and talks) There’s no filter. I relate to Siddhārtha. I never knew that people could be so amazing. How they could have so little and yet be so happy. How much they give, to others, in times of need. It reminds me of how lucky I am. Even in this industry, people have had difficult lives, difficult childhoods. And see how they’ve risen. The glass is always half-full. Do I deserve my luck? (Leaning forward and asking genuinely) Does that make sense? (Smiles)

(Smiling) Yes it does dearie. I'm glad you're this optimistic. Any asshole can see how bad things are. (Abruptly after a poignant pause) Hey, you know when your Coffee with Karan adverts came on, I thought you’d show up in a Papa was a Rolling Stone T-shirt.

(Laughs loudly) Why? No Mark Jacobs is the way to go. (Giggles beautifully). I really liked the Spring-Summer collection. Fashion is art. And I believe that. But you know; I try to avoid doing things with my dad. I get nervous doing things around him. And then I talk rubbish. (Chuckles). (After a short pause) There’s not much that grows under a Banyan tree.

You use ‘Rubbish’ the way Sting uses ‘Fashion’.

(Laughs) I do? He does?

Yes. (Pauses) Is celebrity your inheritance? 

Ah. (Pauses) My mum’s brought me up very differently. You have to understand, they didn’t want this for me. Really. But I think my upbringing got in their way. Double edged sword. It was ‘Do what you want to do with your life’. (Smiles) It wasn’t an inheritance. I had to go snatch it. Hold it by the scruff, and take it. I auditioned my ass off for Sanjay Leela Bhansali. My father didn’t launch me, or produce a picture for me. Sure, it’s easier for me to get my way around in this industry. They respect my father. He’s worked very hard for 30 some years. I do enjoy his success. And there’s a lot of goodwill out there which lets me get away with things. But it wasn’t an inheritance as much. No. I wouldn’t say that.

Do people prefer artifice?

Yes, yes. (Raising her voice) Especially here in India. But no one has a choice; we see so much grief around us. Not us. (Pointing at herself and me) But we’re not even 1%. We surrounded by ugliness. Such ugliness, in everything. When people go to the movies they want to see things that are larger than life. Something exotic to take their mind off things. Remember, when they go to the cinema, they’re paying 200 rupees for a ticket. People lead hard lives. You can’t give them hard shit all the time.

Fits perfectly in the pantheons of the movies, or art, or Rock N’ Roll and its juvenilia. But isn't it unseemly in real life?

Sometimes, yes. But it’s a global thing. People get to leave their difficult life and go into the cinema. Going to the movies is such a big thing in some places. They're going to the movies, to see wonder. That’s the larger picture. Everything is that much beautiful. (Waving her hands as her eyes light up)Everything is cinematic. They get to forget their troubles for a while. (Takes a moment and smiles – I’m remembering black and white films. And Sonam's never looked this beautiful all evening)

Are you a trouble magnet?

I’m actually a very good girl. (Laughs) But trouble seems to find me. People don’t understand a lot of the things I say. Maybe I’m not articulate enough. Tina do you think I’m a trouble magnet? (Talking to her manager. Tina nods “Yes”) How can you say that? (Jokingly snaps at Tina). What do you think?

I think you’re a Trouble Electromagnet. Finish this sentence for me would you?

Okay.

Your Greatest Hits include…

Getting my tongue pierced.

(Laughs) Go on.

A fuckin' Chinese symbol for a tattoo; does it get cornier? Getting my belly pierced. Getting 6 holes in each ear. Black lipstick. Terrible fashion moment. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking. Trying to build a school in Pune.

What? (Laughs)

I tried (Laughing). Didn’t work out very well. I was 16. I once elbowed a girl at a Basketball match in school. That was so mean. 

That was awesome. Very cool.

No. Not cool. I think it’s mean. I was one of those annoying kids who’d rather fail than cheat. You know what I’m saying? It seemed immoral to me; a crime. A violation or some sort. I HAVE to be honest. Maybe it’s an inherent flaw in me. Even now. I can’t lie. Which is why I come off the way I do. It’s easier for me to avoid questions entirely than lie. I’d rather say things out loud. Some people keep them inside, and it turns into something else.

Compared to you I’m like the AntiChrist.

Why? Did you cheat in school?

Awe, you’re so cute.

What are your Greatest Hits like?

Tried to kill my teacher with a bomb, set a hill of fire… shall I go on?

(Laughs) No.

(Laughs) Do girls in skirts hate wind?

Not if you’re Marilyn Monroe. Did you see that Marilyn Monroe moment on Coffee with Karan?

I did, yeah.

That was fun. (Pauses) Actually, I think girls in skirts LOVE wind. Gives you an excuse to be coy. A cinematic moment in real life.

Can you handle a compliment?

Absolutely not.

Great. Let's give you one. I saw the Coffee with Karan interview – moments of pure megalomania. I enjoyed it, because you gave the world a big kiss.

STOP MR. KATE.

(Laughs) The 90s saw some crazy stuff too; Zoo TV for example.

I remember that. U2. Love that band. You want to listen to some U2 right now?

(Laughs) Rockstars emerging from 40 foot lemons. Do you think it’s important not to be profound always? And yes, we could play U2.

Yes. Yes. One needs to have fun. What is the point of life otherwise? Please have fun. God. (In a frustrated tone) No one should take themselves too seriously. I love my clothes. I love being beautiful and fashionable. I love all of that. But at the same time, I can talk to you about deep philosophy. I can also be a bimbo and ask stupid questions. What’s wrong in asking questions? We need that duality don’t we? 

And there we were, bequeathing care; spreading just our wings.  I did check her out though, in the back seat of her BMW: Tods, skinny jeans, black leather belt, crop top, black formal jacket, and a Dolce & Gabbana sling bag.

‘Hey. Mind if I open your bag?’… I ask.

‘Are you serious?’… she says, looking something horrified.

Not really.

She’s an ol’ sport.

What’s inside Sonam Kapoor’s slim bag?

     Nothing extraordinary; a girl’s a girl: wallet, prescription glasses (she’s blind as a bat), hand cream, deodorant, wet-wipes, sunglasses, perfume, tampons, peppermint, mouthwash, lipstick, lip-balm, Shiv-Chalisa, Hanuman-Chalisa, Rudraksh, and her ipod.

‘I can’t believe I just opened my bag for you Ashish’

‘I am me afterall’… I say, smiling.

‘Isn’t Me & You by Barry Louis the most romantic song ever?’… she smiles back.

‘I wouldn’t know’… I say.

‘Can I play it for you?’

‘Sure thing’… I say, as she leans back and connects her ipod to the Beemer.

Nice little ditty.

‘What’s on your ipod Sonam?’

‘Dark Horse, Happy, Radioactive by Imagine Dragons, some John Legend, Beyoncé, Bastille, Avicii.’

‘And what’s your favorite pop song these days?’

‘Ah, maybe Counting Stars by One Republic’… she goofs.

Midnight now.

And we’re still listening to love songs.

     Common friends were tenderly remembered. ‘Jitsu, my Jitsu’… she said, remembering Jitesh Pillai. He on the other hand had come down with the fucking Bubonic plague, and was freezing at a film trial. 

‘I’m fucked’... he texts... ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck’; illustrating the power and versatility of the word.

But we sat there wistfully thinking, of movies and the sweetness of life.

‘I wanted to date Flea from the Chili Peppers’… she said.

‘Liv Tyler’… I reply.

But my headache’s ascending.

     Sonam asked someone to bring her medicine box; and hands me some pain-killers, which I unwittingly chew; leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

‘That wouldn’t happen if you took your tablets like normal people’… she mothers me with a bottle of water.

Old habits die hard.

     I won’t write about how we said goodbye – that’s my perfect memory of her; of a girl whose public image is so different from her private reality.  But parked outside her house we realized that the generation was sitting at the same venue, starring at the same menu.

     Jitesh once told me that the price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it; he read that somewhere. What had I exchanged for Sonam Kapoor? Nothing. I guess everything.

Meanwhile, the rest of the world was out there.

And it was waiting on us.

     Of all the things that people say about her, most of them got it all wrong; Sonam’s the antithesis of Bollywood Bimbettes; takes simple pleasures in simple things; knows well the devil is God on booze; sex, drugs, the burning of your fuse.

‘What is this?’… I say.

‘I donno’… she replies.

     Perchance it’s the polar opposite of serendipity, ‘cause we manufactured our moments. ‘Zemplanity’, I think it’s called. And though life is seldom as sweet as a John Cusack movie, something told me paths that cross once, cross again. There’s a little Patti Smith.