Deconstructing A Movie Review: “Haunted”

Haunted posterTwo nights ago, my dreams were haunted by images of a crazed piano teacher trying to rape a moderately pretty woman. I didn’t understand what this meant until I realized it was a premonition of something far more horrifying. I went to see the movie “Haunted” at Inox and to my surprise, the story line was similar to my dreams. Okay, I just made that up. I did not dream any rape scenes. I was just trying to make this review a bit more interesting, because the movie has absolutely nothing to offer.

I won’t give any statutory spoiler alerts because you don’t need it. The movie’s storyline, plot, twists and turns can be predicted with pin-point accuracy after watching the first five minutes.

So, here’s the deal: In 1936, a sex-hungry piano teacher lusts after his student, who’s a moderately good-looking dame. He tries to rape her one fine day, and ends up getting hit by a candle-stand on the head and dies. (By the way, when he dies, he falls on her boobs and get a good look at them). So, this guy dies and comes back as a ghost and finishes what he started. He rapes the chick for a week (yeah, ghosts can rape women, apparently) and in humiliation, the girl kill herself. Then she becomes a ghost. But the fun is just starting – his ghost keeps raping her ghost in the house for 80 years. Yeah, its a lot of rape.

Eighty years later, the protagonist of the movie arrives in town to sell the house and realizes there are two ghosts in there, playing hanky-panky. He sees a photograph of the chick and falls in love with her (obviously) and decided to “set her spirit free”. Whatever that means.

So, get this, he goes back in time! Yeah, he goes back in time to 1936 and tries to prevent the girl from killing the pervert pianist. Instead, in a fantastically typical Bollywood twist, he fails to do so. Astonishing! Anyway, he decided to tackle the raping ghost himself and does all sorts of feats worthy of a Jason Bourne Award for Unbelievable Acts of Physical Endurance, seeks help from a church and finally a mosque, and kills the ghost. Yeah, he kills the ghost in the end.

How does he do it? Well, I think you should watch the movie for that. Why should I be the only one wasting money on such pristine crap?

Vikram Bhatt does a decent job in direction, Mahaakshay Chakraborty does not do justice to the direction. He looks as if he is about to fart all the time, he runs like a girl on dope and dances like a chimp on dope. Tia Bajpai has nice boobs and that’s just about all I can say about her acting skills.

The sound effects are good enough to keep you from falling asleep with timely crescendos and unnecessarily loud shrieks of a ghost getting raped. The movie which had a lot of hype before its release, claiming that its pushed Bollywoord’s horror genre to a new high, fails to live up to its expectations. Every one of the ten people in the huge (empty) movie hall were testament to this fact.

Its definitely worth a watch, if you have two-and-a-half hours to kill and are bored in life and need some good desi entertainment. Else, I’m surprised the movie is still in the theaters.

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The City Of No Goodbyes

Warning: This post contains language and description not suitable for minors. Please proceed only if you are above 18 years of age. MirrorCracked and it’s author do not take responsibility for the consequences of ignoring this legally-required warning.

Author’s Note: I wrote this a while back, for someone special, who appeared fleetingly into my life and left an indelible mark. This one’s for you, and no one else. I hate time, distance and all those other Physics 101 terms!

I could feel the stress coursing through my every muscle as I rode my bike back home through never-ending traffic, monstrous trucks belching black fumes of smoke right at my face and millions of people running around on the roads, darting in between the rushing cars and bikes and trucks without, it seemed, a care in the world. I had had enough. I was burnt out and I could feel it – with every breath and every heartbeat. My arms ached as I finally pushed the bike up the incline to my house and parked it beneath the awning. I stood back, stretched my back and burst out laughing.

There was a reason I laughed out that day. It wasn’t very profound; strange, rather. I knew I would quit my job. I had made my mind up on the ride back home and I had had enough of being a needle in a haystack. I had had enough of being a software developer in a country filled with so many software developers that someone had once that if you throw a stone into a crowd in India, you either hit a stray dog or a software developer. I had had enough. I was burnt out and I wanted out.

I took a long, hot shower and washed the grime off my body and stood there under the running water, leaning against the wall and contemplated what I’d do. It was seven in the evening on a Friday and I wanted to unwind. Making my decision, I put on a tee shirt and a pair of jeans and hailed a cab.

“Sports bar, Colaba,” I said and leaned back against the soft leather seats, feeling the air-conditioner blasting on my face and closed my eyes with a blissful smile on my face.

I saw her standing at the other end of the bar, nursing a beer and talking to a few friends. The sports bar in Colaba has a corner where people can play mock basketball and make fools of themselves, and I preferred the more mature game of billiards. A beer in my hand and some spare betting cash can go long way in making a good evening better. I had just won my third table in a row, when I noticed her standing there. She was wearing a white dress that came up to her knees, billowing around them, and I couldn’t help but notice her long legs and the pretty white shoes she wore. As I took my gaze up, I noticed her perfect body, the firm breasts, the slender neck, her heart-shaped mouth, her long lashes and her long straight hair that came up to her shoulders and did a poor job of hiding her smile – the smile that even from that distance, made me want to reciprocate.

It is said that we are all born with a sixth sense, and that we can actually sense someone’s gaze on us. Even in that crowded bar, even amidst the noise and the soccer cheers and the crazy yahoos, she sensed my gaze and turned to me. I stood there, leaning on my cue stick and holding the beer in my hand, and smiled at her. What happened next remains, to this day, my most memorable memory of the city that never sleeps.

It was back at my place, at eleven in the night, when we first kissed. Her lips were on to mine in mid-sentence and there were no awkward pauses and no drum-roll as we drew closer, unbeknownst to each other. Her wet, tender lips were crushing against my rough ones, frantically trying to accomplish something in a savage battle for dominance, her tongue found mine with scary ease and wrestled savagely for the same unsettling prize. We were sitting on the couch, my hands in her hair, hers on my face and we kissed long and hard, and with no apparent end to the lip wrestling in sight, we groped for each other‘s clothes. I struggled out of my shirt, and she, out of her dress, while still kissing with a kind of otherworldly passion.

I managed to get out of my shirt and I fumbled with her brassiere. I unclasped it with one hand while fighting her panties with the other. Her hands found my trousers and forced them down. I broke contact with her lips and traced my way to her neck, still kissing and licking and sucking on the sweet, soft skin and she moaned with pleasure. She threw her head back and moaned louder as I cupped her breast with my hand and kissed her gently on the nipple. I could feel it harden in my mouth as I nibbled on them softly. She screamed in pure pleasure as I bit down hard and gripped my hair and tugged on them.

I entered her in one swift motion and she gasped. She looked into my eyes and I, into hers and we began a slow rhythmic dance of carnal proportions, with gasps, moans and screams. We picked up momentum and soon we were hurtling along the tunnel of desire at breakneck speed and burst through the clouds of mist and emerged into the bright sunlit skies of satisfaction. We lay back on the couch, thoroughly spent, sweating and exhausted. She nestled her head under my chin and I could smell her sweet shampoo mixed with my coarse deodorant. Her hands closed around mine and we fell asleep there, on the couch, just as midnight struck the sensual city.

“Let’s not say goodbye to each other,” she whispered as she went to sleep. “Ever.”

Two weeks later, when I had to leave Mumbai for the last time and move back to my home town, I called her. She never answered. To this day, I wondered whether if I had stayed back there, I would have had the chance to do something about this woman who had come into my life in a whirlwind of passion and shown me the best two weeks of my life, and disappeared without saying goodbye. I wondered about all the things that we had talked about and about all the things we didn’t. I most vividly remembered the nights of intense passion, where we would turn into animals and feast on each other until we were both thoroughly satisfied. I wondered if she missed me.

To this day, we haven’t said goodbye. Yet.

Objectum Sexuality!

I was browsing through the morning papers today, when Manju “Mango” Panicker pointed out something interesting to me. Please tell me why we live in such a fucked up world! Have a look at this! 😀

The first thing that went through my head when I read this was, “Ok, this is a joke, right?” Then, as I re-read it, I realized that it’s not a joke!  The woman is actually married to the goddamn Berlin Wall!!! 😀

So, when Regan brought down the wall, he killed her husband! Her husband divided a country! Her kids are probably going to be cute, little bricks! I wonder how they consummate their relationship every night! I started thinking if I ever had this sort of disease. I once found a pair of sneakers “sexy” and bought them. I once found a sexy shirt. Thats about it! But I have not married anyone or anything to date! This woman finds “slim things with horizontal lines” very sexy apparently! I have a striped shirt, maybe she’ll be interested!! 😀

Either that woman was too drunk to realize that she was marrying a frikking wall, or she really really needs a hard hit on the head! God save the world!! How come idiots like these get publicity, when decent, hard-working people like me (ahem!) don’t even get mentioned in the papers? Why is the world so twisted!? 😀

The newspaper that carried this article was Mid Day, a stupid tabloid that is hailed as the “future of reporting”! Yeah, right! Objectum Sexuality, it seems! Oh God! And I thought I was mad! 😀

Cover me up, Scotty!

OutlookIndia has always been a very conservatively-confused country. No, that didn’t sound right. Let me try that again. India has always been a country with conservatively-confused people in power. Yeah, that sounds about right. Don’t get me wrong – I’m a politically-neutral, wardrobe-indifferent, optically-challenged, mentally-blessed, verbally-strong guy – but some things that these politicians do just baffles me and makes me want to stand them in the middle of a crowd, strip them naked and laugh at them all day long, like Nelson in the Simpsons, “Haw! Haw!”

Every sport needs cheerleaders – not only to please the weary sportsmens’ eyes, but also to appease the gawkers and the single men (and certain women!) in the crowd. Indian politics is very insecure when it comes to scantily dressed cheerleaders waving away those frillies in the air and showing off their generously endowed ..er.. wardrobe! (Does that sound right!?)

They allow these lovely cheerleaders to flaunt themselves one day and the next, they are banned and are ordered to “Cover up or Pack up!” The next day, they’re back, doing what they do best! Isn’t this a bit insane? Sticking to a decision is the hardest thing any Indian politician can do, and especially when it comes to near-naked dancing beauties, I’m not surprised by the vacillation! 😀

After all, who wants to watch a game of football or cricket without the goddesses of ..er.. (F)rock dancing and cheering the home side on? No wonder they charge entertainment taxes on game tickets nowadays! 😀

I know a lot of people wouldn’t have an opinion on this issue, but I just had to get it out – can’t hold back political jokes anymore! We’ve crossed the line! 🙂

Haw! Haw!