The Filmy Factor

If you haven’t watched many movies during your growing-up years, whatever little you saw remains special, right? I’m sure this happens to you. There you are watching an old movie and suddenly - wham, you are transported back in time. Like food and scents, movies make sure something or the other jangles your memory cells. It could be anything. Like a movie on your sixteenth birthday. A movie after board exams is equally memorable. As is a movie with mushy ‘corner seat’ memories. 

As I rewind my cinematic reel, my first literal ROFL moment was while watching Jaane Bhi Do Yaron on our Beltek television. The story of two bumbling journalists from Beauty Photo Studio remains a memorable black comedy. The recent flyover collapse in Kolkatta was a reminder that when it comes to builder-babu nexus, little has changed. Who can forget the scene where a tipsy Om Puri drags the casket of a dead D’Mello, or when Om Puri mumbles in his Punjabi laced Hindi, “Oye Draupadi Teri Akele Ki Nahin Hain, Hum Sab Shareholders Hain”. Unlike the quintessential ‘dishoom dishoom’ culmination, JBDY climax was a classic Mahabharata and Ramayana cocktail with a dash of Akbar. Served with great comic book flair, “This is too much. Ye Akbar Kahan Se Aa Gaya?” was epic.

Then there was Masoom. Our parents probably heard, ‘Lakdi Ki Kaathi’ song and imagined that Masoom was perfect kiddy watch. Moreover, the little girl who played Naseer and Shabana’s youngest daughter was a family friend from Kanpur. Clueless about the infidelity angle, I hated Shabana for refusing to accept Jugal Hansraj. His blue eyes, a tapestry of torment and pools of grief made me miserable. When thick streaks began rolling down during ‘Tujhse Naraaj Nahi, Hairan Hoon Zindagi’ dad took me out for an ice cream. Downright silly, but for some reason I haven’t forgiven Shabana till date. Such was the Masoom impact that Shabana’s wronged wife act in Arth did nothing to salvage her image for a long time.

Silsila (1981) remains memorable for my first mother-daughter tiff. It was my birthday and instead of allowing me to celebrate with friends, mother insisted we watch a movie. Those days, my mother was a big fan of Rekha, while my righteous teen angst saw Rekha as a home breaker. In an interview to Stardust Rekha had said that she saw Jaya shed tears from the projection room during a love scene between Rekha and Amitabh during a trial show. Both Filmfare and Stardust were abuzz about how Yash Chopra had managed coup in bringing the two women together in the epic confrontation scene. It was also Bollywood's first foray into Netherlands and tulip gardens.

Growing up in a small town, there was a lot of talk in school about Dimple and Anil Kapoor making out in a stable in Jaanbaaz. When the VCR guy sneakily delivered the Jaanbaaz cassette, the print was poor and visuals sketchy. During the much hyped ‘Jaanejaana’ song, all I saw was Anil Kapoor winking at his pet horse, the horse grinning back and Dimple exposing her tantalizing long legs in a huge pile of hay stack. A step ahead from two flowers, the scene was pretty chaste, though sensuous given the times. Dimple brings me to Saagar where I sat happily sandwiched between school friends waiting for Dimple to drop that towel. Disappointment again, for we saw nothing except a glorious sunset.

Given that there was no getting away from tight home reigns, Qayamat Se Qyamat Tak remains etched for most of us in school and college. ‘Papa Kehte Hain’ was a rage – it had become a metaphor for our age and emotions. This was also a time when Udit Narayan and Alka Yagnik had created magic with their fresh vocals. While on our annual summer trip to Mussoorie, ‘Ghazab Ka Hai Din’ playing on the car stereo made me see the hills in a new light. So in Mussoorie, I unconsciously veered in Juhi’s Rashmi mode – two plaits, coy looks and chirpy talk. Needless to add that the boys on the Mall Road appeared in Aamir’s Raj mode – Akele Hain To Kya Gham Hai.

Then there was Mr India, which I remember for reasons other than Sridevi’s sky blue sari minus an underskirt. Those days, balcony in single screen theatres was expected to have decent crowd and the seats weren’t numbered. And yet, a group of boys were throwing peanuts over our heads. When a match stick landed in my lap, a big fight ensued. Dad called the manager, the screening was halted and louts evicted.

Moving one, there were others like Arth, Mirch Masaala, Bazaar, Golmaal and Khoobsoorat, but I don’t remember them for anything other than their cinematic appeal. As memories come flooding, one post won’t do justice to all the drama associated with films. Losing house keys during Amar Akbar Anthony, running to the loo (upset tummy) during Sharaabi and buying tickets in black for Karz remain memorable. Remember ‘paanch ka dus, dus ka tees’ touts promising corner seats? 

In today’s age of multiplex, we will perhaps remember movies for different reasons. It could be a bomb scare when the entire hall was evacuated. Not finding parking, getting stuck in the mother of all jams and missing the movie could be equally memorable. Ditto for being harassed by a traffic cop after movies.