Ash, Penelope or Meg? Who 'Canne(s)' my heart beat for?

I have a big heart, I know. And every other bevy of beauties I meet, also tell me so. Generous to the point of being a philanthropist. A philanderer even. It's a good feeling to be loving and giving. But try fitting in the affections/fondness/liking for, or what you will, into one humongous heart... And suddenly you'll find it smaller than a suburban apartment in the boondocks of Mumbai city.Crying out loud for extra FSI (female space index?) space to fit in an extra belle. Yes sir, when it comes to women, the heart can fit in only one. At a time that is (but never tell them that). Which is why I am being faced with rather a tough 'un this Cannes. Who scores a ten in my heart-chart this year? As the 'magnificence' of the glitziest film fest in Europe is dwarfed by the glam of some of the most beautiful women in the world. And out of them, the three beauties of the fest being my personal favourites; it is a tough call to make. Okay, so I normally gush about Ash; insist that Meg is my favourite Hollywood nutmeg and swear that Penelope has the 'Cruz' controls to my heart (Toms notwithstanding). But it is always in separate contexts, in separate comparisons. Never in the same breath ever. And now the powers-that-be at Cannes have put me in a little bit of a 'multiple choice' test quiz, with only one answer to give. It made me break out into little beads of sweat that Sally of 'When Harry Met Sally' would've looked rather disapprovingly at. Sorry Sal. Going into a little flashback (call it buying time), let me elaborate on my adoration of the three women who make my heart runneth over with the love of human blindness. Meg, it was love at first sight with. When I saw the Spielberg Sci Fi flick, 'Innerspace'. And 'When Harry Met Sally', 'Addicted To Love', 'You Got Mail','French Kiss' and 'Sleepless In Seattle' made me spend many a sleepless night dreaming about the pretty girl with the funny downturned smile. She became the girl I sought in every female I met. Bright, funny, sunny disposition, cute and intelligent. Meg was the dreamboat I wanted to 'get mail from' every time I wanted to coast the 'City Of Angels' with a Sally. So much so that I even began ordering (nut)Meg flavoured coffee at every Starbucks or Planet M Barista I ever sipped caffeine at. But sigh. Meg never really got to know how this star-journo and fellow scorpion felt for her, so far from her shores. Maybe I ought to switch to celebrity journalism in Hollywood next. Who knows, I could even pen the script of Ryan's next blockbuster, which I will aptly name 'Meg-alO-maniac'. What say? Penelope Cruz's stunningly svelte, tropical beauty strummed the guitar strings in my heart like no southern serenade ever could. Her dark black eyes and the cascade of black hair reminiscent of why great poets like Byron wrote poetry in the first place. And when I saw 'Woman On Top', I actually debated with my colleagues about why the 'Missionary Position' was not half as exciting, my chauvinistic orientation notwithstanding. Penelope became my favourite on-screen seductress. The siren to my wings, the Dryad to my woods and the Echo to my Narcissus. By far the favourite star to brighten up the deepest corners of my dil vil. I was sure that I was in ishq vishq with this bewitching beauty, who simply had to be from Cadiz (I hope and assume, based on Byron's poem of course). But it was once more a distant, silent adoration, not to incur the wrath of every Tom, Dick and Cruisy you know. Then of course, Ash. Our very own, brilliant, radiant, giggly, amazing beautiful Ash. At least one of the beauties, by virtue of my magic pen (now IBM) I knew well. And Indian stars and celebs were my forte after all. Especially the lovely Rai lass, whose first ever filmi interview was done by 'yours truly'. And one who was quite likely to catch my neck and play the Bandra Strangler, dare I say that any of the other two at Cannes were my preference over the Indian beauty. It was a big fix alright. What does a man with single cardiac storage space do when asked to pick a winner. Out of his three most favoured women at the Cannes and the cannots? Nothing. Lips zipped. Any words or choice tantamount to suicide of course. Now I know why Michael Keaton cloned himself into several roles in 'Multiplicity'. At least he could make several choices. As for me, all I ask for is a bigger heart. Higher Cost Of Living we 'Canne' manage, can't we?