Real man or no real man, I’m this close to being done with Bashar Momin.
I get the filmi, in fact, I like the filmi but filmi doesn’t mean trashy. It doesn’t mean blackmail, emotional or otherwise. And it certainly doesn’t mean rape.
Week after week I’ve come here trying to spice up these reviews as much for your reading pleasure as for my own sanity. I assure you my intellectual calibre is far higher than enjoying the likes of Bashar Momin but like a bad Bollywood film it became a guilty pleasure. Alas, all guilty pleasures leave you with a profound sense of guilt, but they should never leave you with disgust, and so before I torture myself further I’m going to need some time to reconsider my own thoughts. Mull over them, if you will.
Emotional atyachar, blackmail, fear-mongering, rape or at least attempts to undermine the victim in matters of agency (whatever those might be), and copious amounts of subdued violence have left me in revolt. Yes, Zanjabeel Asim and Syed Ali Raza Usman you have baaghi on your hands. I revolt! I revolt! I revolt!
Till (and if) we meet again.
Rab Rakha and Shaba Khair
RB (Tweet me!)
