Diaries of a filmy buff

India is passionate about two things where the situation could be, do or die. Cricket and Movies. Politics may come as poor third, as it goes, 'Politics is the last resort for the scoundrels', law fearing so abiding, most, do not dare to cross the path. Their discussions remain restricted only to the coffee table.

But cricket is a religion and film going is a ritual. So we are holding the 1st rank in the world cricket, amongst 5 countries[ only]  which play and are the highest producer of movies only next to the population!

I was indoctrinated in the cult by my own mother. Herself a connoisseur of good things in life, she was an avid reader and a film buff to the core. Her mother, my grandma, too did not lag behind too much as far as the movies went because she could not read! 

It so happened once, that my two elder brothers were having school holiday and I was not, as we were in different schools. After the short recess both descended upon my school to take me to a movie as asked by my mother. I don't remember what excuse did they give to the class teacher but in next 10 minutes we were in a cinema hall where it was screening ' Do Aakhen Barah Haath' An immortal classic by V Shantaram. Apparently, my mother was of opinion that few good things in life can not be taught in schools, which you have to learn in open day today school, the world! And the bug took over me!

My brothers still laugh, almost falling out of their chairs about my shouting for the queen/heroine on the screen to run faster to save the life of her husband! It was 'Chandrasena' made in Madras, now Chennai, in the late fifties. Or was it 'Chandralekha?' I was only seven or eight then but the traits showed. How the magic of moving figures on the screen was going to shape up my life in future! And then the journey began!

In younger years my mother took us to the classics by late Raja Paranjape, in Marathi and by Bimal Roy, V. Shantaram and other stalwarts in Hindi. There is no point in listing them as they are innumerable.

My 1st adult movie, I did not go for, clandestinely. It was 'Gold-finger', first  James Bond movie [ ?, Maybe Dr No was the first in the series] immortalized by Sean Connery,[ Next best Bond was Pierce Brosnan, in between and afterwards, they were just filling the gaps]. My father took me. I may be, around 16 and was in the 1st year of college. Though much taller for my age, so had to wear full pants, but the face was devoid of any signs of adulthood. So the age showed. Doorkeeper refused to allow me in. Naturally. My father questioned but he was 'law-abiding Puneri' so did not budge. Neither did my father. The company, my father's friend was there too, barged into the manager's office. My father argued," If I don't have any objection for my son watching this film who are you to object? Good censorship starts at home and this is it. I want my son to watch this movie, I am with him !" The manager though was not aghast, he too was used to Puneri encounters, murmured something but in the end, I came back victorious. I did see 'Gold-Finger' in 'Pune' when I was not adult and that too with my father!

The deluge continued. Along with two of my dearest friends, in one summer vacation, I saw 40 movies! That was practically, movie a day. Whenever the one who, now is settled in Canada comes to India we reminisce the past, chuckle and head for the cinema hall nearby!

Not that I only went for junk like Waris, Main Sundar Hoon and so many others, but went for classy intuc movies also. Mr P. Nair, the then curator of Film Archives Pune, introduced me to the world-class cinema in the halls of film Institute. Remember watching many like, Bicycle Thief, Wages of Fear, Casa Blanca and others in so many different languages from India and abroad, along with him, who practically conducted ' Movie appreciating classes 'pre and post projection. Megha Dhake Tara, Chemmin, Shejari , oh so many classics I was lucky to get chance to watch. He is no more and many of his collection fell prey to the fire that engulfed Jayakar bungalow which housed the Film Archives, one of its kind in the entire world!

In the journey, you come across good ones as well as bad ones. It was mandatory for me to watch 'Bahubali 2'  as I had already committed the sin of watching 'Bahubali 1'. In Hindu philosophy, you have to pay for the sins you had committed in last birth in the running birth. I paid the price. Paid in hefty ticket fees and bought a headache. Not simple, it lasted for me for three days.  

But that's a small price to pay if you are a filmy buff. And I am and I am not ashamed of it!

477 Narayan Peth Pune 30

When I climbed up the stone steps of 477 Narayan Peth in Pune, maybe one and a half in numbers, after saying goodbye to Panchmarhi for good, it was 1957 and I was 4 and half years old. Owned by my grandmother from my mother's side it was definitely not a grandiose structure but had its own homely charm. It was rumoured that it had carried on since the times of Peshwas, I doubted, squarely doubted but never tabled my findings, maybe for not wanting to puncture their vacuous pride of phoney greatness, but if it was true then it showed. No design in the architecture even for the formality, storeys were raised, as and when required and more important when the money was available. So the ground floor did not have any semblance with the first and hind part was totally aloof from the front. 2nd floor looked like a distant cousin of ground but definitely step-sibling of 1st floor. Total 3 floors in all, ground plus two, but none was like the other. The number of rooms with their dimensions too was as if, at the cross with each other. Some floors had bigger halls while some had match stick box-like dinghy rooms where sunlight hardly made its presence felt. Out of 15 or 16 rooms, only 2 were with grandeur but the rest were not more than a stable. One on the top floor was decorated with glass bells in different hues hung upside down from the ceiling to use them as oil lanterns. During family or any other religious functions, they were lit using either pure ghee or vegetable oil lamps, as electricity had not come till then According to my mother as far as she remembered, from her age of 7 or so, 477 always had electricity from way back in the 30s, only after Mumbai when all the other cities and towns in province were years away from the new development and were still in the dark. If you ask about 'Tube Light', it made its ugly bright appearance much much later, for the common man may be in the early 60s.
The practice of keeping the tenants on rentals was a done thing. Investing thousands to build one's own house was considered colossal waste,  in cement and mortar. When with a paltry sum of, from Rs 10 only to maximum Rs 40 per month as rent, one could fetch a good house on rent in different 'Peths', why bother to own the house, was the thinking! On Deccan  Gymkhana  beyond the river, bungalows or part were sub-rented at a reasonable cost, though definitely more than the city side, but still affordable for the middle class families with a sole earning member working in government, as he used to get "House Rent Allowance"
Though umpteen such houses were available on rent, many of them in the posh area of western Pune why did my mother choose 477 Narayan, I always wondered till I stayed there, up to 1975, maybe she was having her own reasons.
My grandmother, her mother, maybe, was the strongest one. My grandmother was a woman of substance, solid substance. Though widowed in her early thirties, with 5 children to feed, one stepson and four her own she carried on stoically fighting on every front gracefully. She was absolutely illiterate but her grasp on the situation and the judgement of a person was on the spot, comparable to any of today's MBAs. She helped every one of her relatives by sheer hard work. She was the pillar of strength while managing weddings in the house. She literally used to toil knowing it fully well, 'Because she can not help monetarily, she has to help physically'. She was enthusiasm personified. Years after when my wife along with her friends reached 477 at 10.30 PM, she served all of them 3-course meal within minutes even though she was in her 80s then. She was a master cook in making traditional Marathi dishes, and I would blame her for my dislike for Puran Poli, no, no, no, she used to make excellent Puran Polis but because of variety of reasons, monitory paucity being one, she used to make Puran Polis for every other occasion from Padava, Dashera, Diwali to mundane Mondays in Shravan months. We got so fed up with Puran Polis that vowed never to eat them again!  
Younger years in 477 were absolutely wonderful. I came to know that I have an elder sister, along with uncles, aunts, cousins way too late. As all the relatives from my mother's side stayed under one roof but with separate kitchens, it always was a huge family circus with all the colours thrown in. We used to celebrate all the festivals like Diwali, Rangpanchami [ Holi] and family outings for movies, one-day trips, picnics together. It was really nothing but all the fun.
Later years in 477 turned out to be very painful for me. I spent my formative years in 477, I came off age in 477, which in itself was a very lonely affair, as in the given, prevalent social scenario in the class residing in 477 and alike, the subject was a taboo and was never discussed openly. It was taken for granted that the knowledge about sex comes automatically, to the boys. Not that I faced any grave problems but it was not less than traumatic. I started writing, around the same time. Got many prizes in local magazines for my short stories and poems.
Being extra sensitive, for a boy, I was to face so many things, in later years.
I happened to know another face of my father during the stay in 477 and it was not at all pleasant. In the truest sense, I could not develop any type of relationship with my father, healthy or otherwise during my formative years, because he was never around. Neither my mother was of any help as she was engulfed in her own grievances. Out of the 55 in my class only 3 had working mothers, she was one of them. So she really did not have the time to be there for our needs as she had to handle the household work, the meagre finances, her job singlehandedly. Maybe the ties there too did not develop strong so I was very eager to get away from 477 ASAP.
A point came when I was so desperate about the situation that I tried to end life. Maybe I was destined to face much more in coming years so I was saved but the scars of life in 477 remained throughout life.

Chennai , new introduction.

It was not as if an alien from the unknown frontiers was visiting the unknown territory for the first time, Chennai hardly requires an introduction, nor it was that I was visiting Chennai for the first time when it moulted from Madras into present-day pleasant metro-polis, Chennai.

The change was very very apparent as I had visited, the Then Madras, now Chennai, more than two and half decades last and more than three and half decades ago, when visited for the first. Change is so palpable that I almost fell in love with the city.

The first impression this time around, that mind made was of cleanliness. Coming from a city like Mumbai where ultra poshness goes hand in hand with absolute filth and having faint memories of all-pervading stench from Cooum added by Buckingham canal running through the very heart of the city during the first visit, this was like a shock. Roamed all over the city, took various streets, been through many suburbs but everything looked very neat and tidy flavoured with cleanliness. The shanties and slums were conspicuous by their absence. Even the river Adyar[u] seemed very clean though it is supposed to be polluted.No doubt why it was awarded the title of the best city in India in 2014 by India today and even today it boasts to be one of the ten best cosmopolitan cities in the world! 

In 1982-83 when I visited the city for the first time, 'Lungi' still prevailed as common attire for men and typical 9 yard silk sari worn around in Tamilian fashion for women. Lungis were adjusted by menfolk so frequently mid-street that I sort of became paranoid about anybody touching his, to adjust it. They used to loosen it around the waist, shake it 3-4 times, re-wear by tightening around the waist, once done, came the last, very shocking part, at least for me, then, they used to fold it midway, exposing hairy thick or thin legs, not a sight to fathom, to tuck in folds! Women with thick jasmine bands or any other seasonal flower in their jet black well-oiled tufts were to the core, Tamil beauties! Surprisingly not any more. The man wearing traditional Lungi/ Veshti hardly came by, if by any chance we could spot one, invariably he used to be in his seventies or above. Tamilian ladies, perhaps, have left their nine-yard saris only for either the weddings or extremely religious occasions. In a stay of 5 days, I did not see any lady wearing the traditional attire though maybe, in her 70s or above. Six-yard sari, even a Punjabi dress, [salwar- kameez with dupatta ], like any other lass or woman from other parts of India is the common dress code now. That's the arrival in the mainstream.

Another pleasant surprise was signboards in Devnagari !. No, not everywhere but at a few places where they should be, like IT, Excise departments. The organizations run by the local government or corporation still aver to use Devnagari, but the common man on the street, very loyal to his culture and language, at least does not blacken them! Though a most tourist frequented city why it is still averse to other languages eludes me no end! Common man [ Like taxi driver, Rikshawwala, doorman] on street though proclaims that he knows English, my experience is otherwise. He does not know anything beyond Tamil, which could be detrimental to him or is it, they are still thriving without it, aren't they? For me, I always feel bad about not learning any of the South Indian and/or the Modern European languages. For me, it's always more the merrier!

As I had already visited the city twice before as a tourist, did not bother to visit any of the so-called tourists' attractions but visited memorials erected for C N Anna Durai and Late Hon. Smt. Jayalalitha. The hold she has over the Tamil mind even after her death is phenomenal. The place was thronged by the devotees. I do not understand anything about Tamil politics, but it [ hold ] had to be because of the changes she has brought about in the common man's life, Chennai being the glaring example!

What I envied about Chennai the most, was it's Metro. By 2018, it will have operational Metro network of 45 km including an underground stretch of more than 8-10 km [ which was inaugurated when we were around, on 14th May,], that runs through, beneath the heart of the city, to be precise Chennai central Station. And in my city? Every hurdle is being erected by the ones who are not bothered about a common man who suffers the most or who are not going to use it because of their own opulence!

Today's Chennai is like how a mega-polis should be. Though thickly populated, though having every stratum on an economical basis, though having many many urban problems, it's still calm quiet and extremely safe city for, from toddlers to grown-ups and from girls to women! Can we say the same about our city?

P.S: This is my personal column to express what I feel from within. I don't intend to belittle or shame anybody deliberately or intentionally. Even then if someone feels hurt, I am extremely apologetic to him or anything in general.  

I,Me,My,Mine

Panchmarhi was [and still is] absolutely divine place because much of Gujju consumerism is years away from it, still! And there is a reason for it. All the spots in Panchmarhi are situated far away from the maddening crowd so to devour the real beauty of the nature one has to be literally on his own feet to reach the place, walking. No direct motor-able road so that, you move your heavy posterior just to have a glimpse, eat khakra from the wrinkled paper and throw it away when the task is finished, is not a done thing. It can not be. One has to walk miles to reach fairy pool, now named as Apsara Vihar. Same for Chhota Mahadeo, Gupt Mahadeo or Jata Shankar. Naturally all happy go lucky, merrymaking crowd gets out, actually like in cricket, 'OUT'!

The entire area was under the control of Military so the village Panchmarhi was there but only for the namesake. It was on the other side of the river and one has to cross a smallish bridge on 'Ranee Kund' A lone cinema theatre 'Pearl was in Military area and used to screen popular Hindi flicks for the military men. The night of the viewing was an event in itself. Open trucks in dark green colour used to ferry us from our houses, many a time on such occasions be it a cinema outing, 15th August parade or flag hoisting on 26th Jan. Being on higher rank our family travelled to a cinema hall in Red-coloured car, the model I forget but the 1st movie that I saw in my lifetime, I still distinctly remember, was ' Tilottama'.  The moving frames of hero singing a song for the heroine in an ornate boat, decorated with lots of flowers still linger, sometimes, rest of the details are erased, naturally. Oh, so many memories, I myself even sometimes wonder, how for a lad of just 4 or 5, some still at a younger age, so many things left their vivid impressions, that still could be relived again and again!

I with my wife visited Panchmarhi 30 years after we left it but I could take her to all the places which I was remembering like lines on my palms!

I was enrolled in Preprimary, nowadays called as KG, in Laxmi Balak Mandir just opposite Nana Classes in Sadashiv Peth Pune, after we left Panchmarhi. Quite a distance from my home in Narayan Peth. But many times I repeated my 'Zaria' feat, that is running away from the school to reach home, again at the age of 5 or so.  So Mrs Phansalkar was appointed for the task. She used to carry 3 or 4 like-minded kids in a wheelbarrow type, 4 wheeled pushcart, that was enclosed, almost like a cage. I was a NAUGHTY child no doubt, in spite of all these watertight arrangements I still used to run away from school to reach home to play! One impression of those days is still alive in the back corners of the mind. In a lane between Sadashiv Peth Houd and Umbrya Ganapati Chowk in the by lane on the left side there lived eunuchs. Particularly one eunuch, no he did do anything to me, nor did he come within 100 meters distance from me, I was the one who was curious and used to observe him keenly. I never understood in those days, why he used to wear spik n span clean white male dhoti in the morning though with a neatly tied bun on the top and used to be in complete female attire as the dusk descended. Many years later I read about the clan and still don't know what I feel about them even now, sympathy mostly!

Without knowing the 'A' of Marathi and speaking fluent Hindi, in early years in Pune, we were treated like animals exhibited in the zoo. All the aunts from both the sides used to harass us by making us recite the verses we knew in Hindi. One that was based on me I still distinctly remember.

                              'Nanga Dhadanga, Dhobika ladka

                               Thalibhar Mithaee Chura Churakay Khayee'

I must have recited it ad nauceum.  In those days a toy named 'Toka' was very popular. I was rotund and with full cheeks so I was forced to sit in the pose of 'Toka' in front of every visitor. Legs folded at the knees, hands kept on them with head resting on them in a tilted way, with eyes opened well rounded, exposing your entire iris [Like Ramaya in Bahubali] When I realized the game I started demanding a bribe, which I happily used to get.
She did not teach us anything, never ventured near the school hall, even though she resided in the same premises of school with her only daughter. But she carried a distinct pleasant aura around her that was almost palpable and amounted to simplicity adorned with piousness. Years after when I passed out my secondary board, I came to know that she was the widow of Mr Narayan Apte accomplice of Mr Nathuram Godse. But she always wore her 'Mangalsutra and other married woman's adornments according to the last wish of her executed husband, till her last! Today I feel we were deliberately enrolled in such schools and I am still proud to be a part of them. Gandhism never died, true, but Godse philosophy too Congress could never kill!

I,Me,My,Mine

I think we probably were in 7th grade or so when we were introduced to terms I, Me My, Mine by our English teacher Mr Lanke. Actually, though we had English as a subject from 5th grade, he was the one who made foundations of English grammar solid by getting it mugged from us in a lyrical pattern. So the whole class used to recite after him,'I, Me, My, Mine, He, She, It, They, Them, Their, Theirs' and we automatically learnt it by heart. He had some different rhythm for, He, She, His Her etc, unfortunately. that I don't remember like the first one. 

I, Me, My Mine. In fact, they encompass the whole world. If you omit these, is anything left?

How long I remember being me? 

I was born in Panchmarhi, a beautiful hill station situated in Satpura ranges in today's Madhya Pradesh. In those days it was known as Central Province Central India [CP, CI] to a middle class Marathi couple having an illustrious background. My father's family-owned lands in acres and practically were landlords. Albeit in a different way because my grandfather was a double graduate in that era and was a well-revered figure in the province. My mother came from a family of Diwan Bahadurs where her paternal uncle was BE from Manchester and father was Mamaletdar in British Raj. Unfortunately due to the turns of the events both families had to see bad days because my maternal grandfather died when my mother was seven or around while due to land reforms my father became penniless within no time and we became lower-middle family with just existence.

It's really surprising though I was born in Military Hospital I never had a birth certificate. So whatever birth date was put while seeking admission in primary school stuck with me. It did bother me, but slowly, maybe years after, I made truss with the fact and got over the sense of injustice.

Even though we stayed in Panchmarhi till I was five or so, my memories of my birthplace were[are] very distinct. So much so that, I, in coming years could always visualize the entire topography vividly with details to the last. Our bungalow was situated on the edge of a valley which was densely forested. Visit by the leopard , even striped tiger was a frequent event and stories about somebody caught, always circulated. Our sweeper, I still remember her name, Dhania too was the victim. The bedroom situated on the farthest end of the bungalow, many a time was visited by the serpentine guests and I remember my mother recoiling with fear taking me and my brother, senior to me by 2 years under her umbrage in the front hall waiting for my father to return from his work in the military offices. Another frequent visitor from the jungle was a spider, the species was so big that it could have easily measured up to the size of a closed fist. 'Makdi' was feared for another reason because even a casual touch by it used to give a severe allergic reaction. Eruptions used to be so big that if on the face, they gave disfiguring scars lasting for a long time. I remember visiting a daughter in law from the next bungalow who had to face the ordeal. Her face I still remember was no less than ghastly.

I was a naughty child and though always heard all the stories above, did not fear to venture out on my own. I never liked clothes on my torso [ even today I like to be as near as possible to the mother nature] but as the paths were rough and had a lot of thorny bushes along sides, shoes were must. So once, sans any clothes, even for shame, but with shoes, on to protect feet from biting thorns I had ventured out without telling anybody to have a dip in a small rivulet about a mile and a half from the house, known as 'Zaria'. And of course, there erupted big havoc.' Benurwar's son is missing' was the chant, mostly fearing, whether the boy is taken away by a wild cat or fell off the steep edge in the valley. Totally unaware of the drama that went on for hours I returned home fresh after a nice dip in the water in my birthday suit! Now I don't remember the faces of my parents, but one thing is sure that I was neither scolded nor reprimanded nor had few spanks on my posterior but got a tight hug from both, with tears flowing freely from the eyes.!

I and my brother hardly spoke Marathi, which I find intriguing. Maybe because my father came from the same adjoining area he might be more conversant in Hindi. But it was sure that till the age of 5 for me and 7 for my brother we never spoke Marathi!

Being in military services many daily chores were taken care of by the attendants allotted by the army. So we had Nimbuji who used to bring his buffaloes in the front yards and Benurwars used to get more than dairy fresh milk because he used to milk them in front of us in our own utensils. Lukewarm frothy milk was no less than divine. We had it until we left the place.

I and my brother had personal attendants to look after us. Mine was Halaku while my brother's was Michael. Being Christian Michael was more erudite while Halaku, as the name suggested, came from lower caste so was more submissive but definitely more caring and loving than Michael! Of course, even being high-class Brahman my father, never bothered about such class and caste discrepancies and so I used to happily roam all over Panchmarhi on Halaku's broad shoulders. No ritual of a bath after climbing down from his shoulders. Really my father was way ahead of times in many respects. Religion was only one minuscule from them.

Surrounded by small hillocks and big mountains from all the sides Panchmarhi was more than picturesque. Sitting on the steps taking one to the main hall of the bungalow, was the spot for endless games. Dhoop Gargh was visible while sitting on the steps. on the left hand while bang opposite in front, towards Northwest, was Chaurya Gargh. Dhoop Gargh was nearer and more visible and some sadhus used to reside there.in tents or were they caves ?. The kerosene lanterns they used to light in the evening and night used to be visible from our bungalow and it was game to count them. It was a sight to watch when they swayed on the loft of air but looked eerie if you thought how in the first place, they hanged from nowhere?

To Be Continued As I ME MY MINE