Not my Department


Have you ever bought a shiny new car, only to realise that you’ve been sold a repainted old clunker? You’ll understand how I feel.

I, a guy who rarely, if ever, hits a theatre to see a Hindi movie, was finally dragged to one. I settled down to watch Ram Gopal Varma’s supposed magnum opus, eagerly waiting to see what the man who gave us Satya would produce in partnership with Amitabh Bachchan himself.

It stank. Worse than Chennai’s Cooum at high noon, Bombay’s Mahim Creek at low tide or the Yamuna leaving New Delhi. It stank so much that a thought struck me – could there be anything worse than paying money to see this foul-smelling lump of cinematic excrement? Was there something better than a crappy review to describe what I’d just seen?

The answer to both questions, I figured, was ‘yes’. So, here’s my take, kindly published by The Unreal Times 


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