Of Rapes, New Year Resolutions and My Behavior

Last year was for experimentation. What did I experiment with? That's so last year. I forgot.

Well, this year, I'm thinking I'll keep it for working on my behavior and changing my life according to the whims of our politicians' kin, near and far. I have been hearing a lot of sensible advice coming in from stalwarts like the President's son himself, I think I need to pay some heed. I mean, after all, its the sons of Presidents, grandsons of MPs, maid servants of MLAs, and well whaddaya know sometimes, the politicians themselves who are the knowledge banks of this country. Anyway, I have decided I'm gonna listen to them.

Like all other intelligent people in this country, I came to the conclusion that it was the woman's fault. How dare she go sauntering out in the middle of the night when she was supposed to be holed up in her house, preferably hidden inside a cupboard, locked safely and the key hidden under her father/husband/driver's pillow. I have heard from responsible sources, that that's the safest place to hide all your things. Instead of that, she goes strutting around town. How dare she? I, for one, have emptied a cupboard in my house, Ala Harry Potter.

On the other hand, I read something about babies being molested. Well, lets just say, we'll get drawers under the cupboards.

So, then I got thinking what if I wanted to go out? Like, for indispensable reasons like say, some male member of my family urgently needs a laxative, I mean I can't ignore him, can I? I got thinking, and I called up the recently formed, "Society for the safety of women, painted/dented/plastered/tattooed/untattooed/cow worshipping....." Actually, the name took up half my telephone directory. For all those who don't know what a telephone directory means, It's the book that gets you the highest amount of money from your Raddiwala. For other explanations, try googling. Anyway, I called them up, and this is the conversation I had with them,

"Hello, is this the "Society for the safety of painted/plastered...""

"Actually, we like to call ourselves The Sissies"

"But that doesn't make sense"

"We are not here to make sense, we are here to safeguard"

"Okay..Listen I have a problem. One of the male members of my family has come down with a bad case of tummy telebellies. So I need to go out and buy some gelusil, can you please tell me the dress code?"

"Oh my god! Okay okay, the safety of males is our utmost priority. Wear a 20 yard saree"

"What? How shall I wear it?"

"Ask Mummy"

"But my Mummy wears a 6 yard saree!"

"Not your Mummy, silly! The Egyptian Mummy"

He hung up laughing. I think it was Austin Powers who answered the call.

So, I tied up my 20 yard saree after taking a crash course on "Fashion tips from Cleopatra's Corpse", and went jumping towards the medical shop. Are you picturing the sack race now? You'd better. It was 12 'o clock in the night, and I didn't have a male counterpart with me. Yet, I felt confident, I had listened to every insanely sensible soul in the country, even though I couldn't follow much of what Arnab Goswami was yelling, but still, there was a quiet confidence in me. The air was peaceful, the environment eerie, and in the horizon, I could predictably see a gang of rapists. I wanted to say hi to them, since you know there's nothing to provoke them anymore. I used my own amazing brain and gave some extra touches, wore my grandfather's MGR glasses on so that they won't be aroused by my eyes. They looked right out of a B-grade Bollywood movie, I just hopped on past. They were wickedly laughing, and suddenly they stopped. It was all silent again, the air was peaceful, the environment eerie, and in the horizon, I think I could hear somebody scream, "Bhooth! Bhooth!!" and then they all ran away. Well, so their advice does work, doesn't it? Lets all wear our Bandaid Mummy Sarees and pretend to be Bhooths to escape rape, molestation, eve-teasing, clear vision, and suntanning. What an ingenious idea! That ought to teach 'em a lesson.

Anyway, this story just took away from my original topic. My plans for the New Year. Like I said, this year I'm just gonna work on my behavior. Looks like, its working.

And my dog's diarrhoea? it can just wait.

DISCLAIMER:  Some may think I'm poking fun at one of the most heinous crimes in the recent past, some may think that I'm poking fun at all the misogynistic politicians of this country. Well, all I can say is if you are smart enough, you'll know which one is right.

Kab Tak Hai Jaan?

So people have raved and ranted about Jab tak hai Jaan. They watched, some laughed, some cried, some laughed hysterically at their own plight while some cried hard in despair. And I was the one who sat between them and was trying to teleport the hour hand on my watch. Can you blame me? I was sitting in the second row and looking at Shahrukh Khan's god-knows-when-you-last-brushed-me teeth staring down right at me. It was a tobacco stained nightmare.

Anyway don't ask me what happened in the beginning because I was deliberately ten minutes late to the theatre. Excuse me, if I thought that snacking was a better option than watching Shahrukh show off his first name on his army tag. So I take my overpriced popcorn and strut into the hall. Apparently it doesn't seem like I missed much, and also, I didn't catch much after that what with my constant involuntary eye rolling. I think I saw the ceiling more than the movie. All I remember in the first half is Shahrukh Khan aka Samar, give   guitar lessons without using his left hand. Chords?? Who the f needs them? I'm Shahrukh, I'm 25 and I can do anything! London, London, Dhandhan. Anyway the song sounded a lot like "Bulla ki Jaana" and before I could scream bloody plagiarism, my mummy reminded me that this song was also sung by Rabbi Shergill, Okay, so should I forgive him for that? She said ya, and went on to explain that "If Yash Chopra can mash up his own movies and come up with this Kayam Churn of a movie called Jab tak hai Jaan which not only took his Jaan and is in the process of taking ours, what is Rabbi's mistake? Bulla, Challa whatever! Shut up and Listen", she commanded. I wailed but then suddenly I saw Katrina (Meera, is it?) and Samar make a saudha of a lifetime, He'd teach her to sing Punjabi songs and she'd teach him english and I was suddenly engrossed in the suspense of a lifetime, Will they actually teach each other anything? will they discover wild secrets and try to blackmail each other? will they, wont they? After a half an hour of unwanted engagement ceremonies to royally forgotten Rogers, 50 yr birthday parties to 60 yr old Anupam Khers, suddenly planted bike rides to eloped mommy's and drunkard fat ass step daddy's house (Did anyone notice Kirron Kher's voice conveniently change to Neetu Kapoor's facade? Strange) while all the time listening to my mommy's comment, "Where's roger? Why isn't she going out with him? Roger Roger Roger!" in full hindi serial style. (I'm pretty sure even Roger's mother wasn't worried about Roger as much as my mother was ) After all this, I learn that all this bloody thing was a flash back and now this Samar is in the army and there is another character-in-hot-pants waiting to chew my brains out, Anushka Sharma as Yuck-heera. (I told you I missed the first part, go read Taran Adarsh's review if you are interested in the story. BTW, does anyone know how much Bollywood pays him to write all that crap?)

I think around this time, interval happened. Or was it later? My mind's just gone blank. I think its retrograde amnesia. I think its stuck at exactly ten minutes before watching that movie. Maybe I should ask somebody to pretend like the movie never happened. May be if I see my mother's face, that may trigger my memory.. Nah, I just saw her. Hey wait, there's a laptop in front of me, that reminds me of the screen, and voila! that reminds me of the movie, exactly the same way in which a backpack on a train reminded Samar with his unheralded X-ray vision to tell us the exact details of the bomb inside. Man, I remember everything now. If only, I had a male Katrina Kaif waiting for me.(If you are waiting for me and you look like Hritik Roshan, leave a comment below and wink, wink!) Okay, so this Meera is waiting for him, but before that, did I mention that there is a sugar-overdosed Akeera who goes to the Army to make a documentary about the "Man who cannot die, but can bore others to death" and get this, while the guy, Samar is busy deactivating the bomb upon which her lame documentary is based, she listens to the Ipod pointing her camera at some hillbillies who've come on the sets just to make it look fuller. Yeah, now I remember everything. She then sings some songs in her chaddies with her newly found Army buddies and makes a Discovery channel director cry after seeing this sorry ass documentary (I think she was worried about the future of the channel)
 and finally we get to know that the only reason she was in the movie, apart from obvious perks like enlightening us about the ingenious ways of Samar, the bombman+electrician
(Sorry, electronics genius!), was to make him come to London for a senseless reason so that he meets with the fateful accident which MAY (I'm stressing on may) make the movie come to an end. Apparently, not! Here comes another half an hour of kindergarten kisses, primary school love scenes and sad excuse of a Samar's kitchen. So, after going through all this and getting banged on the head by a tortured toddler in the backseat, I expect the story/drama/saga/charade  nothingness to be over in London, but No! this is a Yash Chopra movie, We have lots of money to spare and lots of taxes of evade so lets go back to Ladakh/Leh/wherever they have enough time to come up with a minimum of two ready-to-diffuse-bombs-for-Samar per day. So finally, this Katrina she comes to her senses, realises that people have to be sent home atleast now, and she heads to this bomb place and the bomb guy Samar retires and I doubt if they live happily ever after. I mean, with so many people cursing, I really don't know. Anyway, I ran out of the theatre as fast as I could.

By the way, did I mention the protagonist of this movie? Its Sir Jesus. Why? Go and watch. I shouldn't be the only sufferer

WARNING: You may get a serious case of Inferiority complex after listening to the achievements of the characters. Just remember that you were dumb enough to pay almost 200 bucks to watch this movie, that ought to make you feel worse! Wait, I think that came out wrong.

The Remote Control Wars

I haven't been writing this blog for a long time now. Whenever I start to write, I feel like I have lost my mojo. But of late, I have started thinking that I never had any to begin with, so why fear?

As I sit amidst intolerable high pitched cracker sounds, I cannot help but write about our favorite pastime in this festive season. You guessed it right, watching TV. Not crackers. Whenever a clueless soul like me is thrown the Top 1 ice-breaker/awkward situation filler question, "What are your hobbies?", right from preschool interviews to psychiatric sessions for sadists, the only answer we can come up with is, "Watching TV", followed by a lengthy pause, before adding some non-existent uber cool sounding antic like piano, or playwriting or skiing or cooking (Usually it means that we watch TV shows based on these things). It is one of the purest forms of entertainment where physically you are where you want to be, lying dead on the huge sofa, but mentally in the farthest corners of the world, some incomprehensible places like the sets of a vampish house of a faceless, relationless, meaningless family of more than hundred people spanning at least five generations headed by a deathless Baa, or some, more understandable like the congruous belly of a blue whale.

Watching TV, though always has been the ultimate giver of joy, comes with its own set of obstacles, just like those that keep Yash Chopra's lovers apart. Things like idiotic relatives, untimely powercuts, useless examinations, and most importantly, irritating siblings always will try and separate us, me and the TV. Is it the same with you? When we were younger, my brother and I never watched the same programs. Thankfully, my parents were prudent enough to get cable TV since its inception (We felt cricket commentary is better than drab dinner conversations), so there was always the tussle between Star TV and MTV, before that MTV and cartoon network and so on. When I first started watching Roadies/Friends/even Full house, my brother used to call out to my mother and complain that I'm watching some "BAD" things on TV. Now whenever he watches the same shows, I just laugh at him while he ignores me royally. But we had our rules, the remote belonged to the person who takes it first immediately after coming back from school, and it belongs to them until the point when they put it down, even accidentally. Such stringent clauses had made me carry the remote to unsightly places ranging from my neighborhood grocery shop, to the toilet.

And I'm pretty sure we were not the only psycho siblings to behave that way. I had a friend who did not have a remote control, instead they had another creative system. They had placed a chair in front of the TV. Whoever sits on the chair first, gets to control the TV and the rest are doomed to watch whatever the power hungry chairperson is watching. Wicked, it was.

Today, as I sat next to my brother while watching one of our two TVs, I was reminded of how we used to fight all the time for such silly things. Nowadays, we usually watch the same channel, and today the remote was in his hand. Everything was peaceful till the time he tried to change the channel during the ad break, I commanded him not to. You see, the remote was with me before I went to get a glass of water. We have revised the rules these days, and hence, the remote still belonged to me. Some things don't change, no matter how many TVs you buy or how many cellphones you fiddle with while NOT watching it or how old you grow.

Happy Diwali Everyone! Hope this Diwali brings you enough entertainment programs to keep you hooked! :)

PS: And ya, please keep the noise down, I'm trying to watch something here.

Conversations that "Lift" you up

The lift is a weird place. You stay there not longer than, say 3 minutes, i.e if either the building has a lot of floors, or the lift is broken. Usually, its because of both. Anyway, it comes in between conversations. You are talking in the lobby, in the middle of the most animated conversation ever. You are telling your friend about the insanest thing you ever heard. You just finished saying, "You know what my childhood neighbour's aunt's brother......" and then suddenly here is the lift. It opens and there is usually atleast one person more than its maximum weight capacity, and yet the liftman graciously lets you and your friend in. Now, the cycle just breaks. And so you go, and start whispering into her ear "You know what my childhood neighbour's aunt's brother......" and then the aunty in front of you, turns back and gives you a look that suggests, "Can you see this rock of a baby I'm carrying? If I could, I'd just pound you with it." You know she is hormonal and all, so you just forget it, and start counting the number of floors still to go. 

Then in the next floor, enters Manager uncle. And you thank your stars, because pregnant/slightly overweight aunty leaves. You again start in the same style, "You know whaaaaaaaaaaaaat". But wait, Manager uncle has to stop you midway. See his crony who is stuck to his butt has propped up to hear the great Manager's 007 type escapades around the world. So the hero in spotlight starts, "You know my fyavorite place is the Switzerland cow shed. I stayed there once when I had gone onsite for an assignment. My god! The weather, the cows, the smell. Just so amazing. And, also the treehouse they accaamadated me in my recent visit to the States." You cringe your nose at the "Larn English Ascent in 20 days" style of speaking, as the Headweight in shining armor, goes on with his story. "You asking me about India? Myan, I don't know much. I hyaven't stepped outside Bangalore" You are just about to lose it when another floor arrives. Manager boy doesn't get down, and this time a group of freshers arrive.

Now you just can't control and you have to tell her the story. You are crammed between three fat bench boys and two in-the-making-Bipasha's when you decide to try again "You knowwwww". That's when the freshers realise they didn't mark their attendance. All hell breaks loose. They remove their collective phones from their pockets and start calling up their friends asking them to mark proxy. Then the whole lift starts dancing to the tunes of "Chikni Chameli", "Sheela ki Jawani", "Burfi Murfi" and a paraphrenalia of shrill songs when suddenly they realise they called each other up. Ahem. So again, Madness. They start using the lift buttons as their personal mobile phones and tap every button on the board. Exactly at this moment, the first drop of tear just starts to drip down your left eye, but thankfully the liftman throws them out. You feel the atmosphere thinning. And yet, you have two more floors to go.

Well, this unfortunate floor also hosts the cafeteria and hence, there is another large stuffed-to-the-throat crew arriving, and you almost gasp for breath in the midst of the overbearing aromas, and with the last of the will that you can muster you just blurt out, "You know what my childhood neighbour's aunt's brother eloped with my milkman". Now, everybody just stops and looks at you because they obviously only heard, "Elope with my milkman", and they just stare and stare, and that's when you realise your friend got out of the lift two floors ago.

Now, for me the ordeal ended with this. But wait, it gets worse if you are a guy.

Two and a half movies - Mine!

Its been a long time. I need to make fun of somebody or something just to make me feel better. Its not that big a problem. I just watched Raaz 3 recently and Boy! Wasn't it scary!. For Bollywood's future. If Hindi cinema goes the same way, soon A grade movies will be B grade, C grade will be D grade and let me go ahead and recite the alphabet for you. I have never watched a horror movie in my life. I used to get scared listening to Aahat's theme music, and I was literally ROFLing in Raaz 3 initially. After a point, I simply wanted to ROF so that I could avoid watching Bipasha basu's awful dance moves. Who choreographed the movie? Usain Bolt's personal trainer?? And What's with Emraan Hashmi doing Karate with a ghost?? It was really scary.

A week passed, I forgot and forgave the movie like I always do. I'm a saint. Then came Barfi. Every damn ant was praising it on FB. Barfi is the best movie ever. Barfi is magical and shit like that. I thought what the hell and went to watch it. So, I was sitting in the theatre with my ultra large tub of overpriced damp popcorn on my lap, waiting to be blown away just like my fashionably chubby schoolmate Lakku Lakshmibai gasped on FB. It blew me away, she said. I figured it would literally take a lot to blow her away, and I'd be relatively easy. Oh! I was excited. Maybe it'd be another Dil Chahta Hai. I had waited ten years. Ten long years. I needed to be blown away. Please Bollywood, I thought. The movie started. And it ended. And I was right there. I just can't point out what's wrong with the movie. Yes Ranbir has acted well, Priyanka not so much, and Ileana looks like a dream. But can we make a movie out of a hundred perfect moments? Hmmm, Don't think so. I already know who's carrying home this year overrated filmfare award for best actor Male. Its Bipasha Basu for Raaz 3. So better luck next time, Ranbir.

Anyway, in the long hiatus I had taken from blogging, I made a short film. Since I make fun of every movie I watch, I give you guys the pleasure of ripping my movie apart. Go ahead.

PS: Pleease be kind, Please, please, I beg you..I'm crying, I swear

The Vacation that wasn't

It all started with an inception.

The idea was simple. A vacation, My mother and me. Seemed uncomplicated, didn't overplan, went to the same place we always go. My aunt's house, in Hassan, the great Devegowda's home turf.

Everything seemed simple, we packed our bags, hurtled into a Volvo, just in the nick of time. It all seemed so perfect. Even the three hours of watching an intolerable Puneet Rajkumar movie, didn't spoil my spirit. I was looking out of the window, with a smile on my face thinking of the my relaxed days in the huge expanse of their garden,

"Too much dust not there, I hope, construction and all happening know", my mom remarked. "Aiyo, Garden only not there now. So sad!" (Transliterating)

Oh shit, they tore down their garden! One down! hmm.. but still, I could lay down in one of their rooms and write away the story that's been haunting me for one whole week, I thought. Ahh! Peace, here I come.

We reached Hassan in three hours straight. I started recollecting the shady past when we used to travel for more than four and a half hours in the damn jatka gaadi type buses.  An auto dropped us to the place that'd be my getaway this quarter. I put down my bags and ran into the loo. When I was doing my business, I heard the sound of approaching anklets. I remembered the scene from the movie Chandramukhi when the ghost/heroine walks wearing anklets and scares the shit out of people. (Oh you didn't get scared? Don't overact now.) I laughed at my stupidity as I lifted the mug and poured the water, when I heard ambiguous noises, like gagagoogoo and other unmentionables. Oh! It must be Chintu, I thought. My eighteen month nephew, who I had gloriously forgotten in all my excitement. I hadn't seen him in six months. I jumped up and opened the door.

Too bad I didn't know, when I opened that door, I closed one more. The door to my peace.

Gagagoogoo continued the whole next day, coupled with, "thop thop thop thop thop", which literally means soap. The kid plays with thop the whole day, and expects you to play thop-thop with him. To put it lightly, I went mad. I told my mom that we were leaving the next day. And here I am, typing away on my laptop, at HOME, when I was supposed to be relaxing in my aunt's lawn!

Kids! I hate them.

I always thought I could tolerate kids, atleast others' kids, since they'd leave eventually. But I was the guest here, so I did the right thing. You know there's a saying, "Fish and guests stink in three days", but here it was the opposite, one of our hosts, my nephew started stinking in one hour, soosoosoosoo, he shouted, as he poured away on the carpet. That was the breaking point. I made it clear to my mom, I couldn't tolerate it a minute longer and dragged her off to a movie.

I came back to my cousin proudly narrating a story of how Chintu bit the dog's ear. I needed a good night's sleep to get over it.

I woke up the next day, today, that is, to Chintu's bangs on my loo door. I was sleepwalking till then. I avoided thinking of the next five hours we were going to spend there. My mom and I decided to go for a walk, and obviously Chintu had to join,to prevent him from creating a mini ruckus. He went inside the room, and came back looking like Junior Rajinikanth. He wore his yellow tweety cap, and multicolored sunglasses, and I couldn't help but laugh. I imagined the walk to be another looming catastrophe what with Rowdy Rathore-in-the-making accompanying us, but he just baffled me. He walked without making one small sound. Poor thing, I thought I was too hard on him. I bought him a "thop" to make up for all my nastiness. He was happier than, I think, even Aishwarya Rai was when she won that Miss World title of hers. All for a small Vim Bar.

But that didn't change anything on the peace front. It was too little, too late. I couldn't read anything, leave alone write. Chintu won in the end. He had his vacation in his own home, at my cost. He even used me as a bed to have his afternoon nap. I have tears in my eyes as I write this. God knows when I'll take my next vacation..Orei Chintu, enduku!

Lesson to be learnt: Approaching anklets always mean impending horror. How many B-grade horror movies have you watched! Still, you don't seem to understand. I guess my story will teach you a lesson.

So the next time, you hear the chiming chal chal chal of anklets, run far far away. It may be a Mohini Bhootha, Worse! It may be your eighteen month old nephew!

PS: If my cousin reads this, I will be dead. Please pray for my safety

Bol Bachchan - A horrifically tragic movie

Do not watch this movie. Period.

I implore you, I plead you, I warn you. Hell, I beg you in the name of humanity.

Okay, if you say your brain is slowly degenerating due to which you'll ignore my warning and still you want to watch it, Please read this tragic story before you go ahead.


If you are planning to laugh your guts out while watching Bol Bachchan, please carry a good joke book, or download a jokes app into your phone and keep reading it without paying heed to the horror unfolding on screen. No, you wont?  I'm telling you the movie will only make you cringe, make you wanna tighten your fists so hard that a clot will form in your nerve which will travel to your temples and explode there, your ears will resound and cause a shrieking headache. It took  twelve hours and a nutritious meal to rid myself of this ordeal. I do not want anyone else to undergo the same. Survivor's guilt, I'm helping you.

And so here I am, I will revisit the horror only to help someone in need. I know there are many hopeful victims, with stars in their eyes, and a smile on their innocent faces as they turn the newspaper and think, "3 and a half stars?..Hmmm, let me book tickets". This is for all of you.

The farce* starts with Asin delivering a dialogue, and the in the next minute you get to know that she is an art director for some benaami movie, upon which you start thinking, "Why the fuck was an art director delivering a dialogue??" Let me tell you, please stop thinking at this moment. I didn't do it, and look where I am! Anyway, the farce* continues, it takes more than fifteen minutes to actually make a layman and an einstein both wonder if its going to be a tragedy or an emotional drama or an action farce, but not even in the dark corners of your mind does the word comedy loom, and lo!

So coming back to the point, Muslim brother-sister duo, Abhishek and Asin end up in Ranakpur, and due to some unfathomably ridiculous circumstances have to pretend that they are Hindu, and in a stroke of genius, TV actor Krishna who should take my sincere advice should give up (over) acting altogether, tells squirrel brained Ajay Devgan that Abhishek's name is Abhishek Bachchan, and hence, the title. By the way, the farce unfolds with a farcical title track which seems like all three actors are having seizures in sherwanis and are stuck at "Bol Bachchan bol bachchan bol bachchan...".

It continues, you lose track of the number of Judwaa bhais and moms and doodhwalas, that you almost miss the entry of Prachi Desai in some weird pajamas, but five minutes later, you realise that the only reason she is in the movie is to promote the same weird pajamas, and try to make it a fashion statement, as your next seat waali says, "Wow! Don't her pajamas look good". I don't think she has as much screen time, as much blog-time I have given her. So, lets keep her aside.

The villain is a bloody fool, trying to kidnap Devgan's sis Prachi for no apparent reason. He can kill her at any goddamn time, for all we care. But no, he has to call up Ajay and inform him like a good bollywood villain always does and speed off in a new volvo bus. But behold, Ajay and Abhishek overtake him in a jiffy, take a U-turn and miraculously an engineering marvel in the form of a triangular nameplate appears, which is angled exactly to cause the jeep to slide in a trajectory that hits the glass of the bus, not high so that the jeep flies off never to be seen, not too low that it crunches below the bus wheels, but exactly at the centre of the glass. My god! If only the engineer had studied his heights and dimensions chapter properly, he wouldn't have to be assisting such shit movies.

All I can say is, Poor movie hall. I mean to play this movie, over and over again. Its just not fair, which in Ajay's world mean "Kaala". The movie hall would, if the movie hall could, shrink itself into oblivion like a black hole, and spew out this movie instead of absorbing it, with such force that it would travel miles and miles faster than the speed of light in the underground web of gutters and bathroom pipes and flush out with the greatest speed ever from the smelly confines of Rohit Shetty's potty, at the exact moment during which he crouches on it. And using the same physics of the jeep-bus collision, he is also propelled into Mars or any other speck on the universe that supports absolutely NO movie making infrastructure. Dude Rohit, just get lost. First Golmaal 1,2, 3 and now this? Die, Man, DIE!!

I have left out major horrendous details like the way Ajay Devgan says, "A brother in need is a sister indeed" and a gay Abhishek saying "Nadhindhinna". That Nadhindina, it still makes me shudder. Its for your own good, trust me. You want the details??!! You can't handle the details!

Mere Pitaji kaha kehte hai, "Don't desire something you haven't earned". I didn't listen to him and jumped like a jackass when I got free tickets to watch this movie. Now, I can't go back and erase the past, can I?

But as Abhishek Bachchan puts it, which may have been added as an afterthought for making this lame excuse of a movie, "Galti ki nahi jaati hai, but ho jaati hai!"

PS: It seems like Rohit wants the phrase "Bol Bachchan" to become a hot phrase. He keeps shoving it in our faces. Rohit, do you say "Inki Pinky Ponky, father had a donkey??" No?? Then even we won't say Bol Bachchan kardiya, its more embarrassing.

*FARCE= MOVIE