Is "dard-e-disco" that inscrutable condition wherein one's limbs remain paralysed and one sees in one's head missiles being shot from a thousand splendid guns the morning after a night of heavy drinking and dancing? That Shah Rukh had better watch out.
I'm beginning to miss being able to be funny without five shots of vodka down my throat. I've become a weekend alcoholic, or have I said this like, seven hundred and nine times before? My sense of humour is ablaze with a glass in hand. And only then. Dear Lord, give me fodder for funny in my life. [Lily, c'mere. :-p]
In Behrampore, young Inayat settled for five rupees to show us around the tomb of his forefathers, the nawabs of Murshidabad. Like this one. His ancestors left such testaments to opulence and technological foresight as the Hazar Duari Palace, whose marvellously progressive architecture has to be seen to be appreciated. Inayat's brother ferries tourists across town in his rickshaw, while Inayat sells his unlived glorious past with rehearsed precision as a guide at the burial ground of his famous forefathers.
In a macabre way, there's always a lot to laugh about. In a macabre way.