…talks a lot. And it is a good thing. A few months ago, my nephew, the budding film maker, made me walk through the streets of old Madurai city, as part of recci for his script. We randomly rambled around one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world, feeling a little awed by its imposing history and complex cultural subtext. Then suddenly, we arrived at the site of some personal history. It was the street where his parents were married 31 years ago. Never before have I felt the weight of three decades as heavily as I did that day, because I wasn’t able to locate the wedding hall. There were a couple of them, neither carrying the name that is on my sister’s wedding card. We asked the guards and they scratched their heads. I called my mom, who also was not able to recall which end of the street the hall was. 31 years were long enough to change things around even in a forgotten little street in a city where changes happen very slowly. 31 years a