Names make news. Last week these names made this news:
Even India's Prime Minister Nehru was dragged into the international to-do over the "business relationship" between Italian Film Director Roberto Rossellini and his connecting-suite neighbor in Bombay's Taj Mahal Hotel, high-caste Siren Sonoli Das Gupta, 27, wife of an Indian movie director. A delegation from the family of doe-eyed Sonali, mother of two sons, called on Nehru with the obvious purpose of persuading him to rid Sonali of Rossellini, 51. They hinted that Rossellini claimed to be a pal of Nehru's. Neutralist Nehru took sides instanter. "That rascal!" cried he. "Does he say I'm his friend? I barely met him. He's no friend of mine!" Somebody suggested that the family should have hired a gang of goondas (goons) to thrash the rascal. "Why didn't you?" snapped Nehru.
After a futile two-day effort to renew his visa in New Delhi, Romeo Rossellini, inexplicably driving around in a car belonging to the husband of his girl friend, managed a Bombay getaway only after a member of India's Parliament asked him pointblank: "Are you sleeping with Sonali?" The hesitant answer: "No." Brother and sister, sort of? "I wouldn't say that, either."
In their judgment of Sonali's misbehavior, many Indians could find less than no excuse for it.* Sonali sneaked out of the hotel once during the week to see a movie. The film: Anastasia, starring Oscar-winning Cinemactress In grid Bergman Rossellini. Ingrid, in Paris, kept determinedly calm about the Indian uproar. Roberto, however, came closest to unburdening himself when he told some of New Delhi's staunchest citizens: "I have fallen in love with India. I intend to become an Indian citizen and not return to Italy." The week's developments were perhaps best summed up by Hollywood Pundit Sheilah Graham: "I'm inclined to believe that there is trouble in [Ingrid's] marriage with Rossellini."
When Publisher William Randolph Hearst at 88 shuffled off his editorial coil, his most fabulous legacy was his California barony-on-the-Pacific (375 sq. mi. in its heyday) known as San Simeon. Through the 14 Hearst newspapers last week, W.R.H.'s sundry heirs and the Hearst Corp.—good taxpayers all—announced that the 120-acre heart of their splendiferous white elephant, worth some $50,000 a year to California in taxes, had been given to the State of California. A condition of the gift, which includes a Moorish castle: it will be dedicated as a "historical monument," and a memorial to Hearst and his mother Phoebe. California was no shortsighted beneficiary. Its State Park department is even now plotting rubberneck tours at $1 a head.
Word came from the Antarctic that the 18 U.S. explorers hibernating at the South Pole have averaged a weight loss of 15 Ibs. per man. Biggest loser: Paul A. Siple (TIME, Dec. 31), scientific boss of the polar party, down to 217 Ibs. from his normal 250. All of the pole sitters are in good health and spirits despite such inconveniences as a recent temperature of 100.4° below zero—a record low.