In the 15 adult years I’ve lived in Bumm-Bumm-Bhole-Land, I don’t remember how many times I must have told a rickshaw wala, “Juhu, near Amitabh Bachchan‘s bungalow”.

If you are going to Prithvi theatre, then you say, “Take it right from Amitabh Bachchan’s bungalow”. Or now, “Take it right from Amitabh Bachchan’s old bungalow”.

Even if all you are doing is going to the bank next to his house, or the apartment building on the other side of the road, or passing by towards Juhu Chowpatty, you look at the large wooden gate, and the security people outside, and speculate is he in, is he out. And on a Sunday, when there is a crowd outside the house, waiting for him to give his weekly salaam, you snigger a bit at the crazy fans, and feel superior to them.

And then yesterday, when I said to the rickshaw-wala, “Juhu, Amitabh Bachchan’s bungalow”, I really meant, “Juhu, Amitabh Bachchan’s bungalow” and I was so kicked about it, that I let the rickshaw-wala take me to the old house, and then said, “No, no, he doesn’t live here any more, I want to go to the new house.”

And I’m not even a crazy fan of Mr. Bachchan.