I vividly recall the first time I met Ram Gopal Varma, in his overdesign-ed and uber-cool Mumbai office, a cross between an underworld den and an acid nightmare. I had spent the last two days feverishly preparing questions -- this was the man who made films like Satya and Company (in the picture), for heaven's sake -- and asking fellow worshippers to email in their queries.

Mopping sweat in his waiting room, I was told by a more experienced scribe that Varma is an annoying and hard interview, and always clams up when talking about his heroines. But why would one ask him about heroines at all, I wondered before I was ushered in. My 20 minute slot lasted just under two hours; and we didn't really talk chicks.

After the initial starry-eyed impact wore off -- though I still occasionally text investment banker buddies on Thursday afternoons: 'Sigh. Long day. Sitting at the Taj with Katrina. What up with you?' Heh! -- which it does pretty quick, truth be told, you realise that Lester Bangs was disconcertingly right.

The veteran journalist character (played superbly by Philip Seymour Hoffman) in Cameron Crowe's Almost Famous spoke about how people in the business will be nice to you because they expect to have flattering things written about them, because they expect you to make them look good.

This also led to the obvious (though, in my case, belated) realisation that there is valid reasoning for critics to stay just so, comfortably distinct from the familiar interview crowd.

The latter journo needs to be always friendly, mining contacts to seek exclusive conversations and smiling affably at the stars, while the critic has to work the axe when he must. Straddling the fence -- my day job -- is purely suicidal. Like in our movies, the movie biz works diametrically unlike the Corleone clan: It's not business, it's personal.

Text: Raja Sen | Design: Uday Kuckian

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