But breakfast that day is a bit of a side dish. The enticing aroma of sausages fills the air but our main course is the movies, and his books. And as we peck at our muffins and sip our cappuccinos, Ismail can’t sit still. He moves like a little tornado—between our table outside to the phone inside the diner. New York, London, Paris: he keeps getting calls. Ismail doesn’t need an office: he is a movable office. There’s lots cooking all over the world and he has to make sure the fires beneath it all keep burning. He is already on to the second volume of his autobiography. The launch of the first My Passage from India, which brings him to India, will be followed by My American Dream. The cineaste has ingenious method: whenever inspiration strikes he dictates it into a tape and a friend tidies up a bit after him.