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What a week it’s been for B-Town. The events transpiring (do I really need to go into details of the SRK-Kunder fracas and the emotional aftermath here, after all ‘Slapgate’ was trending on Twitter for a very long while, only if you were on Mars could you not have been aware of how India’s loved-up superhero lost his cool like us mere mortals, beginning of this week) had all the trappings of a Bollywood pot boiler, as if scripted, not real time.

Drama, action, estrangement, tears, a peace-brokering brother, the good wife, loyal friends… and a true blue kiss-n-makeup ending, dyed-in-wool, Bollywood ishtyle. Bringing to mind KJo’s immortal line, the subconscious hankering that every good Indian soul (and film script) aspires to — it’s all about lovin’ your family. Really. And to put a finish on it, the mandatory great Indian song and dance at movie’s end, by happy coincidence, the Riteish-Genelia wedding sangeet festivities (serendipitously, orchestrated by KJo! Did the Gods have a plan?) that brought required grand finale merriment to the inclusive, OTT behemoth that is our boisterous Bollywood family script. Could KJo have written it any better? I don’t see how, ‘Slapgate’ was already a such a movie, complete with PR machinery, in the form of Twitter and social networking sites that fanned both curiosity and momentum, leading to the glorious please-all emotional conclusion that had subjects and fans reach for their kerchiefs.

The message — all families fight, resolving friction is what as in Kunder’s tweet at the end of all the drama, makes bonds stronger. SRK’s post had a more bittersweet echo though: he confessed to feeling as if he were the ‘source and author of a Shakespearean farce’, albeit ‘without the poetry and prose’. Which makes us wonder about Part II — The Sequel, i.e. what comes after, in real life, as on reel (sequels are so trending now!), when one has had time to reflect, instead of reacting to stem spiralling bad publicity in impulsive, if emotional patch-ups.

Whilst on the topic of inclusive, warts-’n-all families, there was plenty of scope at the recent Jaipur Lit fest too. This family was so inclusive, it had global faces and voices and opinions, and why should it be upstaged by this week’s happenings, it wasn’t short on the drama quotient either — the hovering presence-in-absentia, like Banco’s Ghost (let’s hear it for Shakespeare, and not just from Shah Rukh, he does have a way with words) was Rushdie’s. And yet, it managed, in the manner of all happy family endings, to get it right despite the drama. A fest is also about atmosphere and I truly enjoyed this one — Pushkari chai served in matkas, steaming welcome-hot in the freezing cold, world accents and colour, so much colour, in the rafters, on the ramparts, the hallmark of vibrant Rajasthan.

This fest was also about meeting mothers and talking work-life dualities — I met three journalists with toddlers under five, left at home, while they covered Tiger Mom Amy Chua, grateful for the opportunity. And apart from that kinship, I also revelled in the proximity of authors I had wanted to meet someday, being reach-up-and-speak close; me, blasé about celebrity proximity most times, thrilling at this window to connect so closely to the source: writing, books, and then, in some inexplicable, through debate and discussion, all-in-the-mind way — family.