"Sorry, there are only paapads, sour cream and carrots,“ she forwarded the plate of hors d'oeuvres to go with the Siberia-sized pegs of scotch on the rocks. “Could I add some water?“ I spluttered on gulping the scotch stronger than Samson and Hercules put together. “You can switch to wine,“ she suggested. “No, no this is fine, just some water,“ I husked on that scalding summer evening, striving to sound cooler than the purring air-conditioner in their ocean-fronted apartment on Bandra, Carter Road.

A conversation had been fixed a week before the premiere of Geeta Mera Naam directed for some puzzling reason by Sadhana Shivdasani. Quite mysteriously, her mentor-director-husband R K Nayyar had handed over the reins. Maybe Nayyar wasn't in the rosebud of health, maybe she just wished to call the shots. Whatever. Right at that moment, though, Nayyar was discursive and laughed, “I don't envy you your job of seeing awful films week after week. It's remarkable that you've retained your sanity. I like your reviews.“ “Thank you,“ I shone, a glow-worm in the evening darkness, desperately hungry for compliments.

Interjected Sadhana, “Come on R K. Our films aren't awful at all. You guys are so cynical.“ “Yes, yes Mrs, if you say so,“ Nayyar helped himself to another scotch in the fraction of five minutes. “Geeta Mera Naam is good, very good.“ His eyes liquidy by now, shifted towards me, “Mrs has done a marvellous job. I didn't know she had a talent for action scenes. Marvellous, quite marvellous.“

I took care to be uptight. I had to pretend that I was no fan-chhokra-boy of the actress who was introduced in her big Bollywood break with Love In Simla. Culled from Pygmalion, the story presented her as a plain Jane who blossoms into a pretty princess of hearts. Durga Khote, playing her grandmum, threw Jane's pair of spectacles away, huffing, “You can do without these.“ Stupidly, I've longed to chuck my specs away ever since, but what worked for Sadhana doesn't work for daft impressionables like me. Never.

In retrospect, it's foolish to develop a crush on movie heroines. Or is it admiration for the characters they enact, infallibly welling over with the sharbat of human kindness? Confession: heroine-crazy I was. Sadhana was meant for adoration. Oh that fringe tickling her forehead, oh those madeira eyes, oh those rose petal lips, oof that clear-as-a-bell voice, lots of oohs-'n'aahs there.

And Sadhana could be equally hypnotic in black-and-white: rowing a shikara in Ek Musafir Ek Haseena, bossy in a swimsuit in Budtameez, and as a ghost she could induce serious goose bumps sashaying through the spooky environs of Woh Kaun Thi. Eastman Colour gave her another dimension: impeccably cosmeticised in Mera Saaya, Arzoo, Waqt, and Mere Mehboob ­ kahin nazar na lage - in which her eyes glimpsed through a veil enticed the smitten Rajendra Kumar jump through hell and hoops.

Sadhana was my enchantress among the trinity of heroines of the swinging '60s. Asha Parekh was too squeaky-sweet to be true, Saira Banu was too much of a porcelain poppet. By contrast, the Love in Simla princess was real, strolled along the Marine Drive during the early morning hours, and watched The Guns of Navarone, Jerry Lewis comedies and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers at the same weekend noon shows that I did.

Summoning up all my courage, finally, I'd marched up to her at the Regal's soda fountain to launch into a panegyric, “I really loved you in Love in Simla, Parakh,Woh Kaun Thi...Inteqam toh too good, Ek Phool Do Maali mein bhi...blah..blah..blah.“ She wasn't hearing a word. I persisted, she relented, smiled, handed me a packet of crisps, “Thank you bacha. Enjoy the chips“ What me, a bacha? And I didn't even like potato chips. Crush over.

Repressing that Regal encounter, in the line of professional duty, I felt strange. Here I was chez Sadhana, guzzling whisky and scooping sour cream on paapads. R K Nayyar and I were flying high as kites, immune to Sadhana's attempts for a sensible conversation on her go at film direction. Nayyar broke into song, the Madan Mohan gem “Lag jaa gale“. Sadhana said, “R K enough is enough,“ and removed the crystal glass from my hand. Reminded she, “I told you to have wine, didn't I?“ “Yes, wii....ineshhh,“ I slurred.

The enchantress called for a taxi, instructed the driver to get me home safe-and-sound, “Call me when you reach home...bacha.“ Bacha protested, “No prrrr.oblemshh.“ “Problem toh hai,“ she said correctly. “Go now and take care.“

Today, I wish the Love in Simla princess had taken far more care of herself. I wish she hadn't isolated herself. I wish I could have interviewed her sensibly that evening. Couldn't help it. A schoolboy crush, and the bold and beautiful Sadhana can happen only once in a lifetime.