Full House.

This is an absolutely irresistible not-intended-to-be tag about one’s dream family that this person unassumingly started and this other person gleefully appropriated.

Disclaimer: Being the product of a semi-nuclear family that left me to my own resources most of the time, my dream family is huge, chaotic and filled with mad characters. Literally. So this is a long list. Also, in order to not make it repetitive, I’m trying very hard not to name people who have already featured in the two earlier editions, all of whom I would have wanted to include, but such is life. It works on a first-come-first-serve basis. So here are the people I would like to have in my (make-believe) family:

Frank Sinatra and Gerald Durrell would be my grandfathers. One would sing divinely and bring with him all the glamour of old Hollywood, the other would travel the world and bring with him all the animals he could find (along with a wickedly brilliant sense of humour). Perfect granddaddies.

Edith Nesbit would be the grandmother who still remembered what it was like to be a child, and would therefore encourage all my dangerous explorations and listen to all my eager explanations. And since Agatha Christie’s already taken, I’ll go with the replica. Ariadne Oliver would be the crazy grandmomma who leaves apple cores and other things here and there, mumbles to herself, and swears profusely, all because she's thinking up a fabulous detective novel in her head.

My large family would have five uncles. I’ve always wanted five uncles. To begin with, Adrian Monk. An ingenious obsessive-compulsive detective is always a welcome addition to the family.

Secondly, Paul Gauguin. He’d be mysterious artist-uncle in far-off Tahiti who’d send me beautifully illustrated letters once in a while. I’d have no idea of what he looked like and would only vaguely be aware of his existence, but he’d leave me all his paintings in his will and I’d love them too much to sell them.

Also, Ralph Fiennes. As the English Patient. As the obscure uncle, the GHM who made a living of exploring Africa for the National Geographic Society with a copy of Herodotus in his hand. Throw in a tragic love story, and he’s the stuff fairytales are made of. He’d be exactly the type of uncle I’d be half in love with without knowing anything about him; he’d only be about as close as a fictional character in a book, which is of course what he is, so no problems there.

Vincent Van Gogh as the mad uncle whom the family doesn’t much like to talk about. He’d be the quietest one at meals and he’d go off on his own to explore the countryside, but he’d be one heck of an uncle to have.

Lastly, Guru Dutt. He’d also be the one the family would have liked to ignore, only his intensity would make it difficult to. He’d tell me his plans for his latest films, and I’d listen sympathetically after locking away the liquor cupboard during his brooding fits.

What a lot of black sheep uncles I’d have. We’d be a family renowned for tortured geniuses in the male line, I think.

To make up for it, Jane Austen would be my aunt. She’d be this quiet, meek, shabby thing, mostly disregarded by everyone. We’d all wonder why she spent all her time in her room, but she’d be writing us into a novel all along. I’d sometimes wonder if she had a love of the absurd when she got that peculiar glint in her eye during certain family conversations.

Four Brothers I’d have. Chandler Bing and Jimmy Page as elder brothers.

If nothing else, I’d imbibe sarcasm and good music during my growing years.

Now the younger brothers. Number One, Calvin. It’s pretty obvious why, really.

Number Two, Artemis Fowl. He’d mostly disregard me as a sister, but not every family has a criminal mastermind to boast of, so I’d put up with his (mostly) supercilious attitude towards life in general, provided I got to share his adventures.

If I had to have a sister, it would be an elder one, and it would be Jaye Tyler from Wonderfalls. I'd run away to her red trailer when all my mad uncles and sarcastic brothers got me down. Only, she'd be madder. And more sarcastic. Oh well.

My father would be Thom Yorke. He’d sing me bizarrely beautiful songs and talk to me about random things, from conspiracy theories to marine life. I’d sometimes wonder how his mind worked, but mostly I’d just listen to his band jam.

The mother was the toughest choice. Can I have Bridget Jones, please? She’d be a really fun mother. I’d never, ever, ever, be rebuked for getting myself into ridiculous

situations because she’d just pout and wave a been-there-done-that hand at me. If not Bridget Jones, I want Woody Allen as mommy. You heard that right. As mommy.

The boys-next-door would be these two:

Observe, and drool. It would be a very complex love triangle, and I think I’d eventually fall for Cillian Murphy, but James McAvoy would have me swaying for a bit there. See why I love this tag? It is conducive to a lot of fantasizing.

The family dog would have to be Dogbert. I'd love a megalomaniac for a dog. He'd also give me important management advice, or whatever it is he usually imparts.

And lastly, there are a few people I would like to claim kinship to. It doesn’t matter where they feature in the family tree; they just have to be there – Raja Ravi Verma, Ibn Batuta, Willy Wonka, and whoever invented the kathi roll.

That is all. There seem to be too many men in my family here. I wonder why.