The next station is Leicester Square." The moment you hear that announcement on a London tube, you can be sure that half the passengers in your carriage are about to hop off. And if it were a Friday or Saturday evening, you could perhaps even count the few left, in the tiny seconds before another pack of commuters rushed in. Packed escalators, crowds waiting to cross busy roads, all jostling shoulder-to-shoulder to the circular hub known as Leicester Square. Where the many half-price theatre ticket windows seem to draw as long a queue as the Ben&Jerry ice-cream store. The small garden with Sir Charles Spencer Chaplin's statue is full of people. And the huge electronic board of the Warner Village movie hall competes with the Odeon and several other multiplexes, which have transformed LS as London's foremost entertainment district. An apt place for honouring the comic genius of Charlie Chaplin who was born in London in April 1889. Peter Symmons, the history professor who gave up his job to become a guide -- and a very well informed and friendly one at that -- had in particular suggested the Prince Charles Cinema. Thronged by students, the PCC is known for its cheap tickets. Some shows run for as less as two pounds. The offer was too good to resist and in a rush of childhood nostalgia, a friend and I decided to watch The Sound of Music one Friday evening. We had never watched it on the big screen and the added attraction was the sing-a-long karaoke option. It was only on reaching the counter that we realised that the tickets cost more on weekends and our jaunt to Salzburg with Maria was priced four times more than we had expected. But what caught our eyes was nonetheless interesting. A trip to the loo revealed women changing into habits, a la Maria, the film's central character. It was some sort of fancy dress, where some spirited girls were unwilling to make any compromises in experiencing the 1965 classic. The five men outside the Odeon, where the recent Hollywood hit, U-571, was being screened, were unwilling to budge. 'United States of Propaganda'; 'Do not watch this movie', read two of their placards. A software professional amongst them patiently told interested passers-by how the film was distorting World War II history by giving credit to Americans for something the British had done. Though director Jonathan Mostow remembers the British contribution in the credits at the end of the film. The bone of contention? The capture of the Enigma machine, a top secret Nazi radio coding device that was used by Hitler's U-boats to launch a devastating attack on the Allied forces at sea. While the film shows a daring mission by the US navy, the British were the real heroes of the Enigma code-breaking operation. And it was this that the five youngsters outside the Odeon were protesting. "It is our duty as the English to tell others the truth," said the software programmer. "Who knows, I may just end up being beaten up -- but I would have at least informed some ignorant people." He had just about finished saying this when four girls in front raised their fists: "Up with the English, Up with the English." Obviously, he had driven his point home. Arundhati Roy was tearing through one of the many lanes that lead to Leicester Square. Two steps behind her was husband Pradeep Krishen. My long-legged friend was not going to miss this photo op with the attractive Booker Prize winner. He dashed after the couple and returned 20 minutes later. He had managed to catch up with Roy's film-maker husband. Roy, we learnt, had stopped by in London after an appearance at the Cannes film festival where she was a juror. She was rushing because she was late for her appointment at the Vidal Sassoon salon. Also wandering around LS was Nadeem Khan, the accused in the Gulshan Kumar murder case. The Indian government is awaiting his extradition. The composer has been living in London for the past three years. Over large chunks of Kentucky Fried Chicken, Khan explained how he was made a pawn in the conspiracy. He said his fans believed in his innocence. "It is the support of my fans that has sustained me so far. Till date, I have not had to spend a single pound from my pocket -- my fans have helped me get on with my life here," he said. Though he was nostalgic about Bombay, Khan thought it was not safe for him to return to India yet. He has resumed scoring music, and he has quite a few films on hand, he told us. With the many pubs around Leicester Square doing double business over weekends, there was nothing unusual about British Prime Minister Tony Blair's son Euan being around them. How many youngsters actually wait till they are 18 before buying booze for an end-of-exam celebration? Blair's 16-year-old son was found drunk by the police. He tried to obscure his identity, without much success. A few days later when Blair appeared on BBC's Question Time, he briefed the British people about the awesome responsibility of bringing up teenage children. The Blairs have kept their children away from the public eye. Of course, the media attention on the youngest Blair, Leo's birth in May covered all lost ground. His first pictures in the British press were shot by Paul and the late Linda McCartney's daughter, but The Daily Telegraph cartoon was the whackiest of the lot. It showed Leo sitting in mama Cherie's lap, thinking: 'I hope they don't take me to the Dome!' However hard Leo's father tries, the doom spelt by the loss-making Millennium Dome at Greenwich has often proved a far more daunting curse than Tory leader William Hague. Archana Masih spent three months in London as a British Chevening scholar. Tell us what you think of this diary
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