Yes, I will confess. I did it. I succumbed to the lure, the hype, the overkill and dragged a not so reluctant brat and a very very reluctant husband to see Om Shanti Om. And I will live to regret it. Yes I will, and no, its not only because of the part when Arjun Ramphal sees the ghost of the dead Shantipriya and Bindu exclaims theatrically, "Maine Baby ko kaha that make up mat utarna," and the husband passing me a loaded glance and a chuckle, which had me shamefacedly reaching for the wet wipes. Its not even about the insider jokes, the spoofing on Bollywood which finally gets to you after ten minutes into the film when you start hunting high and low for a storyline, since you are well past the stage of the Police Academy school of film making and need some sort of a narrative or at least interesting cinematography to hold your attention visually. Is it me, or is there anyone else out there who also hated it. Saawariya was out of the question. Blue sets and Sanjay Leela Bhansali get my goat. In fact he has always got my goat since Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam. If truth be told, his are the only films hubby and I have walked out on, and the hubby is a hardfisted paisa vasool thug who waits till credits roll everytime. Therefore we chose OSO. It seemed like it would be a fun movie. The costumes were fun. The heroine was pretty. The man had gone and carved six packs into his abdomen and made his face even more rubbery (PS: Did anyone notice a marked resemblance to Mick Jagger creeping in, nose aside?)
But the level of the film was that of a college spoof. In every department. Ugghhh. I cant even enjoy the one film I see over half a year in a theatre without ruining it with my criticism. What can I say. The brat slept through half of it, and didnt awake even to dance to Dard e disco. And this was the brat who didnt get off the aisles dancing in Partner. Farah, you've given a hit, now give us some sensibly funny films. This is college level stuff. And Shah Rukh, you've proved enough that you can take a dig or two at yourself and the industry and get away with it, now give us some more of them fluffy stuff with K Jo, or the misty eyed variety like Swades. Or some good sci fi. God knows we could do with some good Indian sci-fi.
We had friends over for lunch and dinner twice in the week. We rarely have friends over. Correction. We never have friends over. This despite me being the most gregarious, over the top, loud, stuff your face till you pass out kind of person. I grew up in an open house. You know the kind where guests drop in at any odd time and expect a seven course meal with homemade dessert thrown in. Thats the kind of man the father was. Thankfully for him, the mother is a great cook. My husband sadly hasnt inherited this luck and must have on certainty the presence of the cook on the day guests have been invited over or at least the takeaway numbers of the good restaurants in the vicinity. Secondly, one lives with other people who dont take kindly to having their routine disturbed. Since a vacant house happened, we have been living it up. Some good friends with their own brats of the same size as the brat so a good time was had by all. Long disused hostessing skills were put to the test, and thank the lord, these were friends, or would have been hauled over the skewers for lack of graciousness. I am the sort of hostess who scrubs and spit polishes the house till the guests arrive, and then collapses in a heap on the sofa and expects to be handed a Breezer and the chakna, while the guests help themselves to food and drink. I call it informality. Others might call it laziness. I know it is not laziness, just a predisposition to whack myself out of shape obsessing about white flowers over yellow flowers, tableware being all coordinated, table mats and coasters being part of the same colour family and other such nitty gritties that I am sure no one even notices. The husband kindly told me to take out the paper plates left over from the Ganpati festival and the thermocol glasses, rather than obsess over fingerprints on the crystal, seeing that I had taken down the damn cut glass thingies and kept them back up like one thousand times. Ofcourse, I continued obssessing. A compromise was reached with the kids being the main reason proferred and ordinary glassware used.
Here is the bedroom. All spruced up. Spit and polish. Ah the wonderful feeling of extreme tiredness in every muscle that comes from intensive cleaning. Its almost addictive. I think I am becoming my mother. Gah. And for some strange reason I forgot to click the dining table, it was never perfectly set according to me. Hope you had a great weekend too!