I remember, once, i was cribbing to this friend of mine about there being nothing on TV. To which he answered with considerable amount of stage surprise, “Nothing? Why, there are so many, many programmes on TV. Check the newspaper, no…lot’s of shows!” While he obviously was trying to be funny, his attempt at humour sort of reflected the TV’s attempt at entertaining. They both made the same phhhhhut sound common to all incidents of falling flat. This was back in college, when there was plenty of time to do nothing at all, and television hadn’t quite become synonymous with socializing. A time when cable TV was more democratic, before Shah Rukh came with his big fat nose and sweerpy grin and evangelized rerun redemption – DTH, a world where you actually got to SEE the final season of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. instead of reading about Rachael’s and Ross’s much anxitipated (read anxiously anticipated) on-for-good-fingers-crossed getting back together. Star World and my previously mentioned friend shared the same pathetic sense of humour (i remember mentioning something like that also!). Rremember how they went right back to season one with the skinny Chandler and a plumper waitress Rachael the day after a much older Monica proposed to a quite bulky Chandler in the candle lit room – an anticlimax. Argh..drove me nuts!
Today all that has changed. TV time is a much cherished time. I watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S lord-knows-which-season for the lord-knows-whichth-time and I laugh like a child on a merry ground (and come off feeling all vomity and empty headed, also). Drew Carey and his bunch of funny men are precious long lost friends and yadayada, you get the gushing, don’t you. But there are still some things that still make me wonder* (I remember a time when *That used to be something good). One of them is Amir Khan’s new assets. I thought he’d be above the kind of display of cleavage that gets the wrong kind of tongue-lolling.
What IS he trying to do? Upstage Asin? Poor girl, has to run and all in the desert to get Her assets some attention. By the way, methinks that romancing in the desert is the new maramchuttipremam, the famous romancing around the trees. Guess it’s the film industry’s way of coping with global warming and deforestation. “Sorry meydem, no trees to peep behind from and bat eyelashes. So please, remove clothes and run in desert, no! Pliss cooperate, na!” So back to Amir’s unsightly man silicon implants. I guess it’s a turn on for some. I wonder how many girls have woken up one unfine day to find that their sweet boyfriends have turned into a roll-of-sock-jock after this Ghajini. Then there’s that horrible slow-mo swagger, displaying that one acre of razor-happy disagreeableness, which hundred lifetimes of penance will not wash away. And the sad plight of that lone button hanging on for dear life to the buttonhole Will get a person zillion years in purgatory. Remind me to start an SMS campaign and picket against it.
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