I went to the library today. No, let me rephrase that. I went to the library today to get my membership renewed. I hear you ask me why that tiny added detail makes a difference, so here it is.
Every time I want to get anything done in this horribly bureaucratic, red-tape infested wormhole of an existence, I have to go through (*ugh*) paperwork. It's mind-numbing, pointless and disturbingly intrusive. If I ever have kids and one of them decides to take a desk job handing people forms, guess who's not getting anything out of my property.
Maybe I'm overreacting a wee bit. But I REALLY hate paperwork. I hate it more than guys on the evening metro hate showers. I want to issue a book every now and then. You are not a top-secret nuclear haz-mat storage facility. I do NOT need to tell you my graduating class in college.
The worst thing, however, is the part where I have to provide them with my unique signature. Embarrassingly enough, I didn't, until recently, have a real signature, so to say. I kept shuffling between two of them. I don't, therefore, like signing my name unless its necessary, like I'm-getting-a-free-lifetime-supply-of-doughnuts-with-every-signature necessary.
When it was my turn to sign the renewal documents, a flash of genius ran through my head. Maybe I didn't have to buckle under the pressures of the global paperwork mafia after all. Maybe there was a way to get out of it. All I had to do was tell them I couldn't read or write. Voila, no form filling, no paper signing, nada. Everything gets done for you.
I felt like the teenage kid who has discovered the secret folder in his school's computer lab that houses a host of First-Person-Shooter games. It was the perfect escape. I would never have to fill my forms again.
As I contemplated the potential of my scheme, it kept building up. If I could make the library do this for me, maybe it would be bigger than my issues. It would be symbolic of the people's right to choice, the common man's voice against the tyranny of his government. It would be a guiding light, freeing the general public of the shackles of mind-control legal propaganda. It would, indeed, be a giant F*** you to the fat-cat bureaucrat who munched samosas at his desk, making the aam-aadmi jump through hoops for the most mediocre requests. I would be a visionary, ushering in a new era of change, destroying the false democracy that kept us subdued like common mules. I would be the next Che Guevara, I'd ignite a revolution. There would be marches in my honor, MARCHES, I TELL YOU!
And then it hit me.
I was in a library, filling out a form to allow me to issue books. To read. And my plan to thwart the system involved not being able to read at all.
As I scornfully signed that sheet of paper, I could feel the receptionist grinning from behind her desk. I couldn't hear her, but I knew she was. She had to be.
So I know this is a bit late, but I didn't want to put up any spoilers before all of you'd seen the blessed movie. Yes, I'm that nice. Also, I'm lazy, but we'll not touch upon that for now. Stick with nice.
If you haven't seen Ra.One by now, do yourself a favor, gather up a few jobless, disposable friends with a little movie-cash to spare. I stress on the disposable part because I (Or this blog) don't take any responsibility for your social life lest your friends should ostracize you for making them watch this and you spend the rest of your life as a social outcast.
Seriously, though, go watch it.
I could write another post about the millions of errors and loopholes in the movie (they give Shah Rukh Khan a burial, then carry his ashes to the river. Grave-robbing?), but I'd rather tell you how Ra.One taught me to be a parent in the highly unlikely event that I meet a member of the opposite gender that would want to procreate with me.
So here it goes, the things Ra.One taught me to NOT do as a parent.
Bring your child to sexually indulgent parties: During the launch party for Ra.One, Shah Rukh and his wife decide to bring their ten (eight?) year old son to party filled with scantily clad women shaking their Badonkadonks to the tune of "The way that booty goin' pop pop pop". (Note: Actual lyrics from the song, no shit). Also, during this party we get to see a nice up-skirt view of the child's mother as she cavorts with about twenty men and practically makes sweet, dance-floor-love to her husband. Later in the movie, at the kid's birthday party, the robot-that-looks-like-the-kid's-dead-father engages in what can only be described as a passionate, indulgent, lip-locked, musical bumping-of-the-nasties with the kid's mother. I could point out that the mother in this scene is, in fact, another male robot, so basically what we witness at the kid's party is a simultaneous expression of violent infidelity and post-marriage robo-homosexuality, but the whole thing is messed up enough to begin with.
Let your child roam alone on the streets of London after you just got robbed: At one point in the movie, Shah Rukh Khan and his son (daughter? I don't know, can YOU tell?) get robbed at knife-point by a midget in a leather jacket. Once again, I could comment about how the English midget spoke flawless Hindi with perfect ease, but I'll reserve my comments. The point is, immediately after this occurs, Shah Rukh's gender-less lovechild verbally emasculates his father and storms off down the street. A regular father would make at least the smallest effort to try and stop his only child from walking down a mugging-midget infested London alley by their lonely selves, but not King-khan. No, he just stands his ground, proud as all glory, defending his actions with his head held high from the words of his ten-year-old child who is no longer there, and is probably getting touched in all the wrong places by pedo-midgets in some dark corner.
Let your son play self-aware, homicidal video-games: When you encounter a video-game that tries to make you hurt yourself and nearly destroys its immediate environment during the initial testing phase, is there a better next move than to let your only child try it out? If Shah Rukh Khan is to be believed, no, there isn't. So after Ra.One makes Shah Rukh's stereo-typically Asian (and slightly race-offensive) best friend cut his own hand during a video-game test run, he just willy-nilly let's his son try the game out wearing the exact same gear. This, after the all-powerful antagonist in the game start displaying functions not programmed into it and (very obviously) appears to have a nasty, destructive, self-awareness. Win-win for everyone. Except, y'know, the potentially murdered gender-less child.
Do the nasty-nasty with a robot-look-alike of your recently-passed husband: You know what they say, life moves on. KareenaKapoor, however, gives new meaning to the words "Faster than the speed of light". In the few short weeks immediately following her husband's death and discovering G.One, the robotic, photoshopped, blue-eyed version of her south indian husband, she went from awkward touching to reluctant boob-grabbing to conscious eye-f***ing to moonlight hugging to hot, sweet love-making on the dance floor at their kid's birthday. Now, call me old-fashioned, but I think you need to give the dead man some respect. I mean, yeah, he was a racially offensive South-Indian nerd who ate spaghetti and curd (yes, you read that right) with his hands while insulting several races, regions and religions at the same time, but he did provide for your family, buy you two very luxurious houses and provide you sweet loving for at least ten years. Somehow, going to town on his robot-twin that can't tell the difference between the sensations involved in intercourse and para-gliding without the relevant programming seems a bit too..err....liberal. Add to this the fact that this entire process happened right in front of the little kid, and you have a recipe for success that is bound to turn any kid into the next Charles Manson.
Encourage foul-language: I'm not one to be preachy about cursing, I grew up in Delhi. If what you're saying does not insult some body's mother or sister in some way, it isn't a legitimate sentence. All I'm saying is, we don't need parents rewarding us every time we curse. During the movie, the ten year old gender-less love child uses the words S***, f*** and ass-wipe to his heart's contentment without any kind of objection from either of his parents. Toward the end of the movie, he happily makes humorous use of the word "Condom". The concept of sexual contraception is perfectly healthy to instill into your children, but there is a certain manner in which it is to be done. Of course, this is what finally catches KareenaKapoor's attention (not the s***s and f***s, no) and, just when you think she's about to lay the back of her hand on her son/daughter's face, she grabs her child and engages in a fierce tickling session. I know, awesome parenting win, again.
Encouraging Satan Worship: Every time the boy-girl plays any video-game, he/she plays under the player name of Lucifer. A saner parent would probably discourage their child from enveloping their identity in that of Satan before he was cast to hell, but Shah Rukh Khan conveniently lets it all slide. In fact, he encourages his son to continuously use the same user-name every time he plays. Of course, this eventually pisses God off and the kid is hunted down by an immortal game-bot because of that name, but that's another story.
Inappropriate touching: You already read about the slightly uncomfortable boob-grabbing sequence between Shah Rukh and Kareena. This would be scarring enough for the child, but a little too easy for the makers of this fine cinematic venture. In the final battle between ArjunRampal and Shah Rukh Khan, G.One is guided by the child (yes, the child) to get down on one knee and ferociously grab on to ArjunRampal's crotch. To add the crescendo to this masterpiece, you can notice a hint of a smile on Shah Rukh's face as his hand violently cups ArjunRampal's robotic nads. Of course, given everything the kid's been through, being a little bi-curious at the tender age of ten is probably the best thing that could've happened to him. In my honest opinion, things could only have gotten worse for the rest of his life. Necrophilia, sado-masochism, erotic-asphyxiation and prostitution are some of the avenues I predict that kid will explore through the rest of his life. The world is his oyster.
While you're reading this, bear in mind that Shah Rukh Khan, in his own words, MADE THIS MOVIE FOR HIS CHILDREN. Yes, this post-marital homosexuality filled, cursed-riddled sex-fest was made almost exclusively for his own children to watch. I guess it just goes to show that King Khan is as much of a model father in real life as he is in his Stereotypically Mallu on screen-avatar.
This was even better than the time Shah Rukh in "KabhiAlvida Na Kehna" taught me how to be an all-out family man.