I know a man who works at Nariman Point, has a girlfriend at Andheri, and lives at Chembur. On the days he mixes business with pleasure, he has to catch three trains, four buses and two autos. The strain is starting to show. He talks wistfully of neighbourhood romances. Most of the time, love finds a way and a place. In town, you'll find it littering Marine Drive, or lurking behind fancily-shaped bushes at Hanging Gardens. In thesuburbs it's tucked into the nooks and crannies of Bandra Bandstand. Or trying to find a dark corner at Juhu Chowpatty. Love can climb mountains -- in Bombay it has to squeeze its way onto local trains in rush hour.

I have nothing but admiration for couples who carry out romances that span the two ends of town. Distance may make the heart grow fonder, but it's far more likely to make the relationship shorter. My theory is that the further apart you live, the sooner the relationship is likely to reach its sell-by date. Any romance that takes more than 27 minutes of commuting is doomed.

There's a direct distance-to-devotion ratio. Could any date be fun, when he's just arrived on a rush hour local, stood for 30 minutes in the rain to get an auto, and is wondering if the rain means the trains will stall on his way back? One friend has added "lives on the Central line" as one of her essentials in a man.

Of course there are always solutions. One is marriage. I know one young couple who totted up the cab farethey had spent in their courtship which stretched from Churchgate to Bhayander. They decided it was cheaper to get married, and they did.

Another couple decided to meet midway. But after several weeks of lurking in and around Shivaji Park, they gave up. Yet another couple divided up the commuting -- some days were town days and some were suburb days. The problem was they couldn't stop arguing over which end of town was better. A more drastic sort of solution is breaking up. As with everything, in town they do it differently.

I spent several fun years being a townie, and you have the word of a hostelite that this is a true story. The neighbour three doors from me began appearing in the morning with swollen eyes. A little coaxing brought forth a heartbreak story. The man she loved had suddenly announced that he had got admission into a course in America and it was all over. He didn't think long distance relationships worked.

Just when the eyes had got back to normal, he made a re-entry, announcing that hewas now leaving next semester and would be happy to pick up where he had left off since he had time -- could they meet for a drink? My response as Official Shoulder to Weep On was, "Fling the drink in his face." My defense is -- I never meant it. She did it in style. The Sea Lounge no less. The most expensive dishes on the menu: starter, soup, first, second and third course, and champagne to celebrate. When the champagne arrived she raised her glass in a toast and then emptied it over his head. While diners choked and waiters turned pale, she rose and waved goodbye. She made it to the door without a break in her stride -- and then ran for her life, convinced he was going to come after her with the bottle.

As I said, even breaking up, they do differently in the suburbs. I'll leave the last word to the friend who has kept a relationship alive for three years by travelling daily between Versova and Colaba. She called me the other day to ask if my fax was working, and arrived shortly afterward, a sheet of paperin hand. As she put it, "I'm damned if I'm travelling any more." The fax said goodbye. She was humming as she fed it into the machine.Venita Coelho is a scriptwriter and film-maker