Keeping up with the theme of love letters introduced last month, this month I return to SRK, nudged by his interview about London I read on an Indigo flight, and to celebrate his upcoming milestone birthday.

When my friend visited me during the summer, by happy coincidence, we went to many of the same places in the city – Hyde Park, Hampstead Heath and Daunt Books – without realising they were among his favourites too. I felt the familiar cheap thrill of validation at this revelation.

Incidentally, I have written to him in the past (I actually sent him a handwritten letter as a 15-year-old) and written about him in the past too, and often feel embarrassed after fangirling for a bit, but then I sit through a favourite movie and remember all the reasons I like him in the first place.

I have also wondered if he would have enjoyed the same adulation had he been a woman. Because men we find extraordinary are often everyday women we take for granted. However, in his case, I’ll make an exception. Having gone through many of his earlier interviews (I stopped actively consuming traditional TV media soon after college), he’s a remarkable individual – ahead of his time, original thinker, razor-sharp wit – and very much deserving of the stardom he has earned.

Now, with my frontal lobe developed, I’m also aware of his flaws, which include some poor creative choices in the last decade or so and ads he’d have done better to stay away from. But as a wise friend once put it, the amount of shit most people do in their lifetime makes them poor judges of others, let alone a walking, talking legend of a celebrity. Besides, not-so-impartially speaking, he has done his fair share of good work (and I’m not talking about enthralling us for decades), so the least we can do is extend him some grace in return.

I read in a magazine once that people love you when you are successful but hate you when you are successful for too long and want to take you down a peg or two. I admire SRK’s dignity in relentless scrutiny and how deftly he deals with his naysayers. Constructive criticism is one thing, but criticism borne out of jealousy, aggression or pure malice should be nipped in the bud where it belongs.

Speaking of constructive criticism, I finished watching a show called Derry Girls this week, and lo and behold, realised I didn’t have any. The show was perfection. As someone who has little patience with even OTT now and is tired of the trend of hiring big Hollywood names for subpar television, I was overjoyed with how effortlessly Erin, Claire, Michelle, James and Orla warmed their way into my heart along with the coolest Sister Michael (I was taken back to my own happy, pre-puberty days of convent education). It’s up there with Fleabag, which is the highest compliment I can think of for a TV show, and if I’m being honest with myself, one I enjoyed more. Visiting Derry and the mural inspired by the sitcom is on my bucket list now.

The show made me realise how funny female voices are, how refreshing their writing and perspectives, and how bereft culture would be without them. The Overton window in mainstream media that has slowly shifted towards hyper-masculine, reductive content in recent years could take several pages out of Sister Michael’s book, roll its eyes over rubbish productions and start referring to the omnipresent God as She for a change.

Despite the contradictions around celebrity culture, I think people, places and stories endure because they can spontaneously exude warmth, wit and well-being.

And well, it’s been one year of starting this blog, so it’s my own mini-milestone of sorts. What started as an academic requirement has been continued just because. It has let me write with a modicum of discipline, get to know some people better and have fun along the way. I’d also like to believe that the constraint of writing around London has helped fuel my creativity and strain my brain cells for ideas. This is my 25th post, which makes it a neat average of 2 posts per month or 1 per fortnight, a statistic I can live with and hopefully maintain.

So here’s to another year of London stories, landing on my feet and living the life of my choosing. Cheers and Happy Diwali!

SRK, Sister Michael and Silver Linings

Sweet November

Love Letter to London