I sat through, missed almost everything, and spent the time conjecturing and surmising, and catching Aishwarya in her brief but effective debut. To a largely English/Hindi speaker like me, Iruvar was a lot of sound and fury, signifying very little. But it left a residual regret, of not being able to understand, to only connect.

So when last week, a serious film-goer friend called to ask if I’d go see Sivaji with her, and would ‘my translator’ please come as well, I leapt at it. Getting past the hype to the real thing? Totally.

The Sivaji publicity bandwagon was like nothing else, having begun its drum rolls months before the release. I have preserved an SMS from an industry watcher , which goes like this: “Breaking news from South India... Car parking and cycle stand fee collection for Sivaji found to be more than the box office collection of Jhoom Barabar Jhoom...”

Whatever. But there is no doubt that Sivaji mania has taken over traditional North Indian bastions: theatres which have never run South Indian movies are sweeping aside the Yashraj clunker in favour of the AVM juggernaut, minus subtitles.

I’ve seen Shankar’s films before (Jeans, Hindustani), so I know what to expect. Or so I think. Nothing prepares me for the growing roar from below (we are upstairs, in the sparsely filled balcony, at tony Priya in South Delhi). Rajni Makes An Entry. And the crowd goes berserk.

For the next three hours and twenty minutes, he proves why he is so huge: he smiles, frowns, laughs, cries, sings, dances. Every once in a while he intones, “Cool.” And everytime he does so, there are cheers and whistles and claps.

... contd.