The Silver Screen Of Our Golden Age

In the sixties and seventies, films were our biggest source of entertainment in Berhampur. SSVT ( the one without a balcony), Vijaya Talkies (pronounced as Bijoyo talkeez), Jyoti Talkies (with two extra arms jutting out from the balcony) and Utkal Talkies were haloed and revered landmarks of our town. That was where we had our rendezvous with stars, stories, exotic locales, melodious songs and melodrama. It was a complete package- a three hour escapism from the drudgery of our mundane middle-class existence.

A parallel sub-culture, the importance of films can be gauged from the fact that once in the late sixties, Khalikote college (Stanely’s Oxford of South Orissa) went on a flash strike. The reason? There was a steep hike in ticket rates by about 15 to 20 paisa which threatened to take the balcony tickets past Re.1/. The revolutionary students, stung by the injustice of it all, took to the streets and stalled the proposed hike earning tremendous respect from the commoners for their crusade against the profiteering bourgeois. Hail Oxford!

Cinema, during our times, was broadly categorized as:

Phameelee philm - which probably meant Helen and Bindu were either not part of the star cast or behaved within limits.
Adults philm - pilla mananko paeen bhalo noohey (which meant that Helen and Bindu had crossed their limits). There were very few films in this category though.
Story philim which invariably revolved around a social message (Guide, Mother India etc.) Story naheen kintu geeto bhalo or geeto bhalo nahin kintu Kaaasmir shooting achhi were its other variants.
Sauspence Philm – (Murder kiye karila? ) Jewel Thief, Wo Kaun Thee, Teesre Manzil, Dhoond etc.

Finally there was the Desho Bhakti philm. Haquekat, Upkaar belonged to this minority.

It was a cardinal sin to reach a film hall past the designated time. Everything from the posters and photographs displayed in the lobby, the slides, the trailers and the national anthem was observed minutely. Even the mandatory news reel, where Indira Gandhi would be busy inaugurating something or the other, removing Garibi from our lives, was lapped up with gusto. At times when Nehru would emerge from the aeroplane (udaa jahojo) and wave towards the crowds or Mahatma Gandhi would be shown walking briskly, en route to make salt, we would all clap. Paisa vasool even before the show begins!!

Just before the film starts there was, and still is, a mandatory certificate which is displayed. In it, among other details, is mentioned the number of reels. If it was 17 reels and above (as in the case of Purab aur Paschim/ Jhonny Mera Naam) it was immediately received with loud cheers, appreciative claps and whistles. If it was below 14 reels (as in the case of Anand, Mili, Ittefaq etc.) there would be boos from the audience and the invariable caustic remark - Shalla thakki della re.

Loud, vociferous, spontaneous and sincere audience participation was the order of the day in Berhampur of our times. If the heroine coyly hid behind trees while the hero was busy searching her elsewhere in the midst of a song, (a typical Dev Anand habit) there was always help at hand from the Berhumpurias. “ Gochoo Pochhe re achi, bulee kee dekh re” someone would invariably shout.

When the hero finally confronts the villain in the climax, he would get plenty of loud support from the good samaritans in the audience who would shout, “Maar shalla Ku maar, aaji police late aseebo.”

Since we were allowed to see one or maybe two films a month, choosing the right film was always a big issue. It was only by discussing it with others that I and Anil (my brother and mentor) could arrive at the right choice. Apart from peer advice there was that great forbidden literature called Filmfare, Picture Post and Screen, available to us only during our monthly visits to the barber shop. When I and Anil used to read it in the barber shop at Komapalli or Bijipur our eyes would pop out. “Why can’t we come to the barber shop every fortnight,” I whispered to Anil. Sssssh, he warned me, parents would come to know about our real motive.

The one great drawback with my love affair with films was that I was a cry-baby.

When brothers got separated in Kumbh ka melas or through a quirk of destiny as in Jhonny Mera Naam, Yadon Ki Baraat and later on Amar Akbar Anthony I cried.
When the villian would tie the hero’s mother to a pillar with a hunter in hand forcing her to sign the property documents, I cried.
When Manoj Kumar went deaf after Jaya Bhaduri got her voice back in Shor, I cried (Vijaya Talkies)
When Rishi Kapoor(Raju) lost his crush- his school teacher Simi (Mary) in Mera Naam Joker, I cried (Utkal talkies)
When Dev Anand failed to get Zeenat Aman back in Hare Rama Hare Krishna, I cired. (Jyoti talkies).
When Amitabh desperately shouted Bolo Anand Bolo, itnee dino sey main tumhari bak-bak sunta aya hoon, aaj tumhe bolna padega, in Anand. I cried.(Utkal talkies).

Yet, I ventured out bravely every month promising to myself and Anil that this time I would not cry.

35 years down the line nothing has changed.

I reckon some people are just not destined to grow up.