Insult Upon Injury

Fellow denizens of Bangalore, especially those hailing from the 'Gulf's Own Country' will join me in mourning, as I tell them of the gastronomic disaster that has struck Little Home - the Mallu mess in Koramangala.

Mysterious menace or malicious malady has made misanthropic maniacs of the men at the mess and mercilessly marred their once marvellous menu.

For the anti-alliterate amongst you, let me get to the point.
Little Home, has banned beef.

Gone forever, that beautiful beef roast.
Gone forever, that brilliant beef fry.

An unsuspecting victim was I,
accompanied by three mallus staunch (and stout).
As they mumbled for meen,
I ordered beef, my stomach growling out.

But a shake of an oiled head
greeted my humble request.

He couldn't really turn red,
but his epidermis tried its best.

"No beef", he said,
another shake of the head.
"No beef", he said,
as my appetite fled.

"Why?" I enquired,
my brow one big furrow.
"Because of something said
by some North Indian fellow."

In shock and awe, were my companions and I.
"North Indian" I said, "well technically, so am I."
But it made no difference. Nay, not a whit.
Another bit of Bangalore, ruined by some complete twit.


Curse at the Golden Flower

Okay. Okay. so it's supposed to be 'Curse of the Golden Flower'. Or 'Man cheng jin dai huang jin jia' for those of you who are sticklers for detail.

The point is not whether you say "fly lice" or I say "fried rice".

The point, is that this film is crap.
Utter, total, irredeemable fecal matter.

Oh it's impressive crap, to be sure. But then so is what you find floating in the rest room at a truck stop. I mean it's awe-inspiring to think that any one human being, could be filled with so much shit.

It's immaculately art directed.
(Though I have doubts about the historical accuracy of some of the costumes.)

It's a visual spectacle.
(Though that's not always a good thing.)

It has a cast of ten thousand extras.
(And funnily enough, the scenes with the extras, are the only redeeming feature.)

It has a script with holes wide enough to drive a Mack truck through.
(Which will probably then be found parked outside the afore-mentioned truck stop.)

I sat through and finished this paen to pain, only because I'd begun it, and felt compelled to see the thing through. (Sort of like a root canal).

This, is what happens when the wife pushes off for Sunday evening dinner with her folks, and I decide not to tag along. It's all karmic. Or quantum. Or something.

If you missed the original release in 2006, and the video release thereafter, count your lucky fortune cookies, and don't lose any sleep. It'll put you right off your kung pao chicken.