The week in review

The week went pretty well. I had a near death experience. Yes, you guessed it. I nearly got dragged to a screening of "Kambakht Ishq".

The technique was stealth, as usual. The missus, who was Sun Tzu in an earlier life, manouevered us to the multiplex on the pretext of eating at the food court in Inorbit Mall (claim to fame - more people hanging around than at Churchgate Station on Monday morning). We 'accidentally' happened to find ourselves outside the box office where the missus suddenly got a brilliant idea

"Hey! How about watching 'Kambakht Ishq'?

My older son, Vyaas, who is such a yes man when it comes to the powers that be that he could walk into the Congress Party without question, immediately said 'yes'. He is also an Akshay Kumar fan. In fact, when we went to Goa earlier this year, he insisted on going to Anjuna beach (a crappier beach than which I have yet to see, and I have seen all the beaches in Bombay) because Akshay Kumar has a bungalow there.

But the younger son and I are made of sterner stuff. And luckily, there was a Harry Potter playing on another screen at almost the same time.

"Oh, look. Harry Potter!" I exclaimed, theatrically, whereupon younger son, promptly taking his cue said

"Wow! Annie, please can we watch Harry Potter?"

And thus, saved from a fate one would not wish upon one's enemies, Gautham and I toddled off to watch Harry Potter and the Half Blood prince.

Gautham was in his element.

"Half blood? What's the other half? Petrol?"

Petrol? Why Petrol? But his thought processes are difficult to fathom. And when I tried explaining that Half Blood usually means mixed parentage and blah blah, he had already vanished to the popcorn stall. Kids. You can give them a complete force-fed meal with the usual 'my stomach is bursting' protestations and twenty seconds later they will ask for popcorn.

The movie started the usual Harry Potter way, which is 'way over my head'. Gautham, who seemed to have heard the story from someone, kept telling me what was happening.

Somewhere halfway through the movie, I found him snoring gently, asleep on my shoulder. I watched on for a while and before I knew what was happening, I had crashed out myself.

I am thus unable to report if the movie had sustaining dramatic interest. When the lights came on at last, a kindly usher woke us up and we shuffled out of the movie theater satisfied which, as you all know, is the mark of good cinema.

The missus and Vyaas, on the other hand, were not so lucky. You could see from the wild, hunted look in their eyes that they had recently had their blood curdled.

"Nice movie?" I asked.

Silence. Perhaps they didn't hear that.

"Nice movie?" I repeated

"Can we go home please?" asked the missus, in a strained voice, indicating that the subject was closed for discussion.

And even now, several days after the viewing, we do no talk about it.

If Voldemort is the wizard whose name must not be spoken, Kambakht ishq is the movie about which None Shall Speak.

Have a great Sunday.