Now once upon a movie time, Alexander the Great aka Sikandar battled it out with Porus. Humayun ruled with benevolence. An ear-studded Tipu Sultan took on the might of the British empire. Naseem Bano as Noor Jahan became the nation’s heart-throb, thanks to Pukar in which Shahenshah Jahangir’s sense of fair justice was put to test.

Hellcome back to sad sack land. Here every man, woman, child, insect, SUVs and jeeps are in a dilapidated state, as if they came into the scene terribly late. Perhaps they actually did in a bid to repeat the same ole stuff about mini-town gangsters who’re unredeemingly gruff, women who have to cope with circumstances which are incredibly rough, not to forget those extra-legal power wielders who constantly huff. Tough, very tough.

That musical, be-bop voice was unmistakable: “Come over, come over... we’ll talk... thoda khayenge piyenge...

Truly, madly, thankfully, newcomers — aka debutants or newbies — are God’s gift to journalism. Their smiles are as vast as the Indian ocean, their courteous manners rival those of your favourite nephew’s. And their handshakes are warmer than a thousand Pashminas.

Something’s seriously wrong with me. I’m whirring as excitedly as a ceiling fan on the prospect of catching a micro-glimpse of Tom Cruise when he hits the Mumbai asphalt on December 4.

You can either love it or loathe it — 3-D technology is ruling over world cinema, despite purists insisting that there’s nothing quite like spankingly luminous visuals.

There’s nothing more unnerving than to be told, “Lucky you, imagine you get paid to see the movies. What fun! And you must be going to all the parties, hobnobbing with Salman Khan, Katrina Kaif and all. Are they still secretly

No one celebrates the birthday of this phenomenon. Still, the fact is that movie multiplexes, in India, turned 14 this year.

Beauty spot waltzing over her cherry-lipsticked lips. That was enough to make me go knock-kneed. In a black lacey ensemble at Mumbai’s Filmistan studio, she was practising one of those hup-one-two-three-hup dance steps with Amitabh Bachchan.

It has wow factors galore: an antiquated airplane vrooming through sooty monster clouds, high wire acrobatic stunts, sword-fencing clatter, a pasta-plump diva’s aria shattering bulletproof glass and brain-boggling combats. All these are punctuated, of course, with those memorable exclamations like “Blistering Barnacles” and “Thundering typhoons”.