Bleddy Love: A brainless bore

“I’m going to New York tomorrow,” announced mom grandly one evening, giving her family the impression that she was indeed making good on her desire to go back to the U.S. to buy underwire brassieres for herself and dainty sandals for her six-year-old.

Before the family thrust a shopping list at her, mom clarified that she was going to be in New York vicariously. “I’m only going to watch the movie, guys,” she said.

The next day, while the rest of Bangalore seemingly commuted to work, mom and five other ladies from our housing complex hopped into taxis to drive an hour away to the closest multiplex to catch a 10:15 a.m. show.

“This feels so decadent,” thought mom guiltily, watching people with grim faces and ID badges waiting on the road to board a bus or fighting their way through traffic. “Who goes to watch a movie at 10 in the morning?”

Apparently, the students at the college down the street from the multiplex did, for the ticket counters were packed with boys and girls who had skipped classes.

New York was sold out thanks to these truants, so the ladies were left with little choice than to watch a parallel-running show instead. “Only 60 bucks, ya. So cheap!” they justified, as they groped for their seats in the darkened theater to watch Kambakkht Ishq.

Less than two minutes into the movie, mom distanced herself from her brain. As Akshay Kumar strutted on screen in snug pants, she wondered where exactly his mass appeal lay. Was it in his voice that sounds like he swallowed a frog, or in the perma-leer on his face when he looks at women? Could the attraction lie in his bulging biceps or in his golden, hairless chest?

For the amount he makes per film, the man even mispronounced Denise Richards’ name, after sharing screen time with her. Clearly, his attention, while she sat on his lap and rubbed herself against him, was elsewhere.

The movie had as many holes as a sea sponge has, and mom sat through the entire film with a tub of popcorn in her hands, periodically popping kernels into her mouth every time she yawned.

135 excruciating minutes later, she streamed out of the hall behind the teeny-bopper crowd, praying that the men in the audience - little more than boys really – would treat women far more respectfully that the hero-molester does. (The hero gropes and assaults the heroine in a group song in Venice and she predictably falls in love with him by the end of the film.)

“Well, I didn’t go to New York. I went to L.A. instead,” announced mom when she returned home, referring to the city Kambakkht Ishq is shot in.

“Are you going to New York next week?” the children asked a little too eagerly.

"Why?" sniffed mom suspiciously.

"No, these chocolate doughnuts you got us from the mall are nice, but next time get glazed ones," they replied, licking their sticky fingers.

For now, mom has elected to stay home. She has yet to recover from the sight of Amrita Arora's pockmarked cleavage, which was on ample display throughout the film.