Authors Filmy bachpan

this one is from ANANT IT goes as: MY FILMY BACHPAN Cinema is a very powerful medium. It not only provides us an escape from the humdrum of life, but also conditions us to understand the reality of the society we live in; it reflects and imitates society and life but at times, life imitates cinema itself. I have been watching cinema since my very childhood. And, like every one of you, the summer holidays were our favorite part of the year for doing all those innocent ‘badmaashi and khuraphaat’. In fact, my love for movies started in one of the summer holidays when I was 4-5 years. The earliest I remember is watching a movie called 'Jagriti'- it came to our colony (yes, that was what it was called- a cluster of govt. flats). I think it was a part of Information & Broadcasting Ministry’s way of making us Indian patriotic and they used to send this van for this. Every evening, the van will go from one colony to another and once they reached there, there was a loud roar from all of us kids. Some kids would even follow the van to see where it would finally stop. The news would spread around like wildfire and within no time, kids like me would be ready to watch the movie and fight for that first row seat- nearest to the screen. By 7 PM, they will put out a folding white 16 mm paper-screen and a noisy projector to boot and we children will sit on the ground and watch the movie and would be transcended to another world. The world of cinema. We laughed at cruel Asit Sen’s moving paunch while he slept and Mohan Choti’s antics and cried when hero’s mother came on the screen; every time, at the same spot. Without fail. And Masterji Abhi Bhattacharya's ‘Aao bachchon tumhe dikhayen jhanki Hindustaan ki’, 'De di humey azaadi bina khadag bina dhaal’, 'Chalo chalen maa, sapno ke gaaon mein’ and so many other songs I still remember with their tunes etched on my little heart. BTW, were those kind of Masterji in films only? I don't think so. I saw ‘Jagriti’ at least 12 times because it seems I & B Ministry had only one film and like Richard Attenborogh’s ‘Gandhi’, they would show this movie at any and every place and occasion. Year after year. Subsequently, in summer holidays itself, some private entrepreneur brought a larger cloth-screen and more than 7-8 movies were shown in a week. The local central park was covered with tents and every evening a new fare was for us. The ticket was 4 and 8 Annas for a ground seat- which was quite a lot, and we would try to get in free. Somehow; by going along with some auntyji, by sneaking in unseen, by giving some khota-sikka or some such trick. The gatekeeper would ask auntyji if the child was her’s and before she would reply, we would run and mill with the crowd inside. At times, we would lift the tent and get in free. Or, we would even sit outside and listen to the sound track till we would find an opportunity to get inside- free, of course. Even after the intermission. The year was 1960 and I was 4 years old- and don’t you start calculating my age! I think after that, I became a full-fledged cine-buff and I am still crazy about cinema. I have seen cinema at oddest places and Delhites, would you believe, where there is Bhikaji Cama Place now, there was a tent-wala cinema hall (hall?) called, Raj Talkies. (Talkies- can you believe this name?). Once again, it was a temporary tented cinema hall. The legs of the wooden chairs were tied to each other by sutlee-rope (to avoid people taking the chair away to a place near the screen) and in the noon show, one could see a million stars in the sky- yes, the tent had million holes and sunlight would come thru it. The ticket was 10 Annas to 1-1/4 Rupees. After the school, we would steal some money and use our pass valid for DTU- yes, it was called DTU and not DTC then- bus to see the movie The other cinema halls that we used to love- in fact 3 of them were - Race Course, Palam and Defence. Race Course being Air Force area and the cinema Hall was primarily for the entertainment of defence personnel; we civilians were allowed only to make the whole thing viable. So come noon show- first day, first show, we would be standing outside the gate with a burly Air Force Gateman stopping us, as the area is protected one. At 10 minutes to 3 PM, the gate would be opened and we the cine-buffs would race with our shoes or chappals in our hands for at least 500 meters till we reach the ticket window. And there was a lot of dhakkam-dhukka there. I saw many a movies sitting in the front row. The cinema hall is still working, though my wife prefers the PVRs for their superior air-conditioning, sound and projection. Palam was another one. It is still there, I suppose. There also, we had to wait for the gates to open and then as we used to stand in the line to get tickets, one man will come and put a stamp on our palms; you show the stamp and then only ONE ticket will be sold to you. As many people wanted more than one ticket for their friends also, outsiders would come and jostle in the line. But, look at the ingenuity of Indian brain- as soon as the stamp was put, one guy would put some spit on it and transfer the stamp on another guy from outside the queue. Ab toh ticket dena hi padega! Many a days, we would walk into racecourse where races were held quite regularly. We could see from a distance, all those film stars and beautiful and decked up women. When cricket season was on- we used to get the glimpse of cricketers like Pataudi and Nariman Contractor- of course, in those days, for entertainment, Pataudi used to play cricket instead of killing blackbucks. We would go and take their autographs. And throw the papers away later for fear of being caught by gharwalas. And yes, polo was also our favorite. We used to see Maharaja of Jaipur and Maharani Gayatri Devi and many a famous personalities we couldn’t even recognize, chukkar after chukkar. Those magnificent horses and those elegant horse-riders. It was really awesome, as the X-Gen says it now. In the night, we would put our charpoys outside in the ‘ground’ and enjoy the long meetings with our friends. In the worst days of summer, we would sprinkle some water on the bed/durries and by the time we used to come back to sleep- the bed was cool as a cucumber. No fridge, no a/c- only ice block from the nearby paan-wala for making sharbat and lassi. My father used to smoke ‘Panama’ cigarettes and many a times, while bringing the pack of ciggies, I would put one in my mouth and try to bring out those imaginary ‘chchallas’ (Rings) that only Pran could do with effortless ease. And how we loved to hate him! Next day morning, we would get up by 4.30 AM and go for walks and games to Lodi Garden. Lodi Garden was a heaven for us kids- unlike what it is now for lovers- and we have played a lot of chchupan-chchupaai, kho, and langdi-taang there. The ubiquitous signs like sonu-loves-monu were there even then and all those hearts with a piercing arrow etched on the top of the tombs were visible even from a distance to the lovers. I think we Indians have learnt to declare our love by defacing our historic legacy from our childhood itself and ‘Kilroy was here’ is a just copycat. Two months of summer holidays would finish in a blink and predictably, in the last few days, we would try to find someone from whom we would 'copy’ our homework. And predictably, the teacher would ask on the first day itself, contrary to our wishes, to deposit the homework copies, and predictably, I would end up saying ki ‘Sirji, meri kaapi meri chchoti bahan ne phaad di’ And predictably, I was made to stand on the bench for the whole period. And equally predictably, in the next one too. That was also the start of my introduction to Hollywood; the first three movies I saw were ‘Ben-Hur’, ‘The Ten Commandments’ and ‘Guns of Navrrone’. I didn’t understand a single word of what they were saying but the chariot race between Charlton Heston and ganja Yul Brynner and the parting of (Red) sea are still fresh in my memory. This continued till one day, my father, who didn't even know in which class I was studying, predicted to my mother the profession I will most probably take up in my life- no, you can’t even guess it- selling chchole by the roadside! (not Sholay, stupid!). ‘Padta-likhta toh hai nahi. Bada hokar saala chchole hi bechega sadak par’ were his exact words of Bhavishyavaani. To prove him right, that day itself, I went with my friend and saw ‘Phir Wohi Dil Laaya Hoon’. Again. Joy Mukherjee and Ash Parekh and O P Nayyar’s music ‘Banda Parvar Thaam Lo Jigar’ ‘Aanchal Mein Saja Lena Kaliyaan’ transported me to another world, that I can never forget. That day, when I reached home, my father did what all Indian parents believe to be the God-ordained duty and divine rights bestowed upon them- you guessed it right this time- he beat me Black & Blue. That definitely was the end of Black & White movie era. At least for me. You see, I had a filmy bachpan. Filmy, very filmy. INDEED