Radio Times

While driving on a lazy Sunday afternoon, when the traffic was tolerably less engaging, my wife and I were listening to the FM Radio, which was continuously belting out evergreen classic Hindi songs of a bygone era.  My mind was racing towards the golden times of the pre-FM Radio era; an era in which, Radio was the main source of entertainment for many of my generation.  I reminisce on the sweet memories of those times, which had been tucked away in some corner of my brain.

The Radio was an endless source of entertainment and information, in an era, much before the onslaught of Smart Televisions and High-speed Internet.  There was a clash of generations at home, vying for the limited Radio time!  While elders at home, were keen on listening to news broadcast or some other informative programmes such as panel discussions or the commentaries on current topics (e.g., Loksabha Sameekshe); however, the younger me (excuse me, folks, I was also young once:)) longed to tune into “Vividh Bharathi” on the MW (Medium Wave for the uninitiated) or “Radio Ceylon” on the SW (Short Wave, which is, AM / HF band).  Hearing the voice of Amin Sayani on Radio Ceylon was exciting; so was the fun in knowing, which Hindi film song was in the No.1 position that week or which song had been edged out of the top ten or twenty in the Binaca Geet Mala; this popular programme, was aired on for close to two decades, if I remember right.  We never missed listening to this programme, come what may.  The main topic of discussion among the inner circle of my friends’ group was the position of a particular Hindi song in Binaca Geet Mala that week!  

Cricket commentary on the Radio, excited all of us, irrespective of the generational gap (excepting elderly women in the family!).   Whenever there was Cricket commentary on, all other programmes on the Radio were rescheduled or cancelled.  We were so happy that the elderly and other Cricket-haters in the family were edged out of their Radio time; we, the Cricket lovers, had an upper hand over the entire Radio time for days on together; you see, those were the times of Test Cricket and not the instant Cricket, like one-dayers’ or twenty-twenty or IPL.

The ‘24x7’ programming concept was unknown, back then, in India (although some unfamiliar AM channels went on through the night, probably because of the time difference with those countries airing them).  None of the MW Radio stations were up before 6 AM in the morning (I am still fascinated by the Radio stations’ opening tune, which was later adopted by Doordarshan!) and were promptly shut down by 10 PM or so, after the final news bulletin of the day. 

After some years, when I was into my late teens, my interest in listening to Hindi film songs had started to flounder; something more fascinating had captured my imagination.  I had started enjoying listening to western pop music and rock music (compositions by ABBA, Boney-M, BeeGees, Brotherhood of Man, Beatles, Tina Charles, Donna Summer, Michael Jackson, etc., come to mind).  My favourite Radio station, then became, Radio Australia or Voice of America or BBC or Radio Kuwait or Radio Moscow, including so many unknown Radio stations that broadcast western popular music on AM band; incidentally, AIR, Bangalore also used to broadcast western music on Sundays between 12 noon and 12.30 PM, which aired my favourite western pop music based on the requests of the viewers.

How perspectives change!  My craze for western pop music those days, reminds me of the youngsters of the MTV generation, who endlessly watched the music videos on MTV or V channel, all times of the day and night.  The same glitzy, noisy videos which kept on repeating ad nausea, exasperated us no end; forgetting that, we too had created similar ruckus and irritated the elders of our generation, albeit, in a different era, with some bombarding western pop and rock music on Radio stations.  I can still hear my grandmother’s exasperated voice shouting from the kitchen asking me to stop the cacophonous blasphemy blaring on the Radio!

We had a huge Radio at home, named AMZEL.  The Radio was placed on a wooden stand, which was fixed to the wall, in the living room.  I think, this Radio brand was manufactured in collaboration with some US Company in the initial years.  This Radio was one of a kind; very few people had heard of this Radio brand, even then.  As a matter of interest, this Radio was manufactured by a factory named REMCO (Radio & Electrical Manufacturing Company), in which company my father worked as Accounts Controller.  This factory REMCO was later taken over by BHEL (Bharat Heavy Electricals Limited) and the manufacture of Radios and Transistors were abandoned; as the market demand for them had diminished. Even today, whenever I happen to pass the BHEL factory premises on the Mysore Road, memories of my late father envelop me and my eyes become moist; reminding me of the great times, I had with my dad.  This is a topic for another blog post.

Sometime later, came the revolutionary Japanese brand Transistors and the fancifully designed ‘Two-in-Ones’; Transistor Radio and Tape Recorder combined into one unit, which took the Indian market by storm.  The huge funky Panasonic brand of ‘Two-in-one’ comes to mind, which used to be mandatorily carried by people returning from Dubai and selling or gifting them to our people.

Coming back to the AMZEL Radio, I think, may be, my father got an employee discount on purchase of this Radio.  This Radio which was purchased in the year 1963 or thereabouts, served our family faithfully till the year 1980; I think, this item was disposed of as junk (as we did not know, what else to do with it), although still in fairly good working condition.  Sometime in late sixties, my father brought home a much smaller and compact version of the REMCO brand Transistor, manufactured by the same factory REMCO.  This Transistor also lasted until early eighties, when it was junked.  The Transistor had microprocessor circuit and switched on immediately whereas the Radio had some in-built valves and took time to switch on; that was the only difference I could make out in their functioning; being a non-technical person.  The REMCO Transistor had an in-built aerial and was mainly used in our family, especially when the Cricket commentary was on.  We had a choice of Radio and a Transistor in our home, which brought down the friction with in the family.

The most popular Radio of that era was the Murphy Radio.  A cute baby holding a finger to his mouth, was the brand ambassador for the Murphy Radio, which was so very popular, those days.  Jogging my memory, is a huge hoarding, advertising for the Murphy Radio, on the Brigade Road in Bangalore; where a distributor for the brand had their main show room.

During those pre-FM, Radio era, if we loved a song and obsessed to listen to that particular song, we had to wait for days on end, to get another opportunity to listen to the song; much depended on the whims and fancies of the Radio stations on the repeat cycle of a particular song.  I would like to think, that the prolonged wait deepens the pining for the song and keeps them fresh and evergreen in our minds; unlike today when we can watch/listen to any song we wish on the YouTube and you can replay them any number of times (you see, I have realized that downloading a song is a total waste of time, effort and phone/computer memory).  So much water has flown, since then.  There is no longer the obsession or fun in listening to any composition of the present day, Hindi or otherwise. Technology has taken over our lives, we are less ready to appreciate and enjoy what makes us happy.

An order of ‘Vegetable Platter’

Life in Kuwait had its unique blend of myriad experiences; while some of my experiences were downright amusing, others were distinctly, distasteful.  There was an anecdote that made me clearly aware that we were outside India.  Normally, it felt like we were living within our own home country; considering, that there was a large expatriate population consisting mainly of Indians and a lesser mix of Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, and Filipinos.  Since we were staying in a part of the City that was predominantly populated with Indians, we never had a feeling that we were far away from India.  Further, the Bank I was working for, though Head Quartered in the Middle-East, had a large sprinkling of Indian employees; more so in the Audit Department, that I was part of.  Other than a few Arab and Lebanese nationals, all of my other colleagues were Indians.  Moreover, the predominantly Indian part of the City, where we had set up our residence, had popular Indian Restaurants (which included an Udupi Restaurant, a few Gujarati and Punjabi Restaurants; all of which, mostly served vegetarian fare).

I was (during the time of this anecdote) still new to the country, having lived there just for over a year.  My wife and I had been invited to attend a new year dinner party hosted by our Audit Department.  The dinner was mainly to celebrate the declaring of year-end bonus to all the staff of our Department.  The dinner was arranged in a nearby downtown Lebanese Restaurant (named Mais Al Ghanim) which had been in existence since 1957, or so; and was popular for its regal ambience and Lebanese cuisine.  Many of the middle-easterners flocked to this restaurant for the variety and quality of the choicest Arabic dishes, the restaurant had to offer.  As soon as we entered the Restaurant, we saw some of the loyal patrons smoking hookah, blowing multi-hued smoke through their mouth and nostrils; and there was a royal look about the Restaurant.  We were impressed with the choice of the Restaurant for our annual dinner.

The Menu consisted of largely non-vegetarian dishes, details of which, I did not bother to read nor even know.  The dinner gathering comprising families of my Audit Department colleagues; they were mostly non-vegetarians; excepting for three of us; my boss’s wife, my wife and self  One after the other, my colleagues and their families started ordering their choicest non-vegetarian dishes, having regard to their palettes.  We, the tiny vegetarian group, were just fidgeting with the Menu, unable to narrow down on the dishes to order.  My boss’s wife had some idea about a vegetarian dish named Baba Ghanoush which, she said, she had tried out earlier and tasted great.  Baba Ghanoush is basically eggplant blended up with lemon juice, sesame seeds, and a generous sprinkling of sea salt.  We went along with this choice, as we did not know much about the other vegetarian dishes (although, the details of ingredients were noted boldly in brackets, against each item in the Menu; however, the Menu did not specifically mention whether the dish was vegetarian or non-vegetarian).

It was the first time that we had savoured this dish, as an accompaniment along with Arabic bread (something similar to the Indian Phulka-roti); Baba Ghanoush tasted awesome.  In order to be safe, our colleagues advised us to just stick with this dish (Baba Ghanoush) and the ubiquitous, hummus; hummus is a vegetarian dish made with chickpeas, olive oil, sesame seeds, lemon juice and salt.  No food order is complete without hummus in any Arabic Restaurants in the Middle East.

Midway through the meal, my mind was in a whirl; how could I stay content with just Baba Ghanoush and hummus, while the rest of company were enjoying their choicest, tasty non veg food?  I had narrowed down on an item in the Menu named ‘Vegetable Platter’, which was without doubt a vegetarian fare.  Boldly in brackets, names of familiar veggies, like, tomatoes, carrots, capsicum, cabbage were clearly mentioned.  I discussed this with my vegetarian group and the other two, nodded.  We were, looking forward to a beautiful salad of fresh, finely cut aforementioned, vegetables, served in style with some dip.  I, promptly, summoned the Waiter and ordered the item.  Some of my colleagues were looking at me with mild amusement; I did not get what was the joke.  As usual, I was a little dim-witted.  I patently ignored their amused looks and waited for the order to be served.  After a while, the Waiter gingerly placed the ordered item on the table in front of me.  Many of my colleagues could not contain their merriment; their laughter echoed through the Restaurant.  In front of me was placed a large basket, containing complete and whole, un-cut vegetables in all its glory; shiny, wholesome vegetables stared at me; a large cabbage, a couple of huge tomatoes; a couple of huge capsicums; two or three large glowing carrots; each item of the veggie weighing about half a kilo.  I was flabbergasted.  I summoned the Waiter and asked him, what is the meaning of all this and how do we eat these?  He was unrepentant.  He calmly said, “Sir, this is the order you had requested, Vegetable Platter”.  Amidst the throes of laughter, one of my colleagues suggested we should take home the vegetable basket and prepare South Indian 'sambar' with the veggies.  We precisely did that for the subsequent few days!

Caffeine rush!

Coffee, traditionally has been served hot.  People all over, love to drink the hot beverage, savouring the aroma of the steaming, freshly ground coffee beans; with coffee beans sourced variedly from Africa to South America; to India.  Cold coffee, generally meant iced coffee and different recipes have been explored for people to savour and enjoy.

There was a time during my school days, when I used to love the cold coffee (or 'cooled' coffee, if you want to crunch the grammar); mind you, not the iced coffee variety, but simply the hot coffee preserved in a steel vessel for a few hours. Just to be clear, coffee meant the South Indian filter coffee added with milk and sugar.

School life then, to me meant, play in the school and more play outside the school hours.  Since attendance at the school was mandatory and some little home-work was unavoidable as part of the school life, I complied without demur.  What choice did we have?  As soon as the school was finished for the day, I ran home with my school-bag, dumped it in a corner; hastily changed my dress from the smelly khaki school uniform and was eager to rush out to play.  My playmates were waiting for my arrival from school. It was a mystery to me, how some of the boys had managed to arrive at the play field early, even before me.

Before I could hurry out of the house, mother shouts from the kitchen.

‘Hari, have your coffee before you go out to play’.

I run into the kitchen.  ‘Where is the coffee?’.

‘Wait a second, I will heat the coffee for you’.

I say, ‘No time for that.  Give me the cold coffee itself’.

‘What is the rush, your friends will wait.  Heavens are not going to descend.  Just wait for a few minutes, I will heat the coffee for you’.

‘No mom, give me cold coffee itself or else I am off, without drinking any coffee’, the ultimatum from me. Mother surrenders. 

‘Ok.  As you wish’.

My mother transfers the cold coffee in a steel tumbler and pushes it across towards me.  I gulp the coffee.  The cold coffee tastes great; there is a lingering sweet, after-taste.  You see, as young boys we did not drink Bournvita or Horlicks or any other nourishing (does it really nourish?) beverages those days.  We simply could not afford them, I presume; although I was not worried or bothered about what we drank.  Play was much more important!  

In those days, in my home, in order to save on milk and sugar (you see, sugar was generally available in Ration Shops; and small, insignificant quantities were allocated to each family; some of the families used to buy sugar in Retail, where the price was double the cost of rationed sugar) coffee used to be prepared by mixing the filtered coffee decoction with milk and sugar only once in the morning and again once in the evening.  If one happens to be late to attend the family coffee-drinking session, the already pre-mixed coffee used to be re-heated in a steel vessel on a kerosene stove.  The coffee tasted of kerosene smoke sometimes when the stove exhibited an yellow flame. 

Coming back to my school days’ story, after gulping the cold coffee, I hurry out to join my playmates, who had already commenced the game, without me.  I was made to wait until the game, which was already midway in progress, had finished.  I was more than determined that from the following day, I would join the game early on; and was firm on having only cold coffee in the evenings. In the mornings, I purposely got late to the family coffee-drinking session by lingering on the 'teeth-brushing' routine; so that I could have my coffee cold.  From that day on, my determination had stayed intact, as I was hooked on to cold coffee, for a long, long time, perhaps, until I enrolled in the Pre-University. In my younger mind, cold coffee tasted great; and was the only way to consume coffee.

Back to the present, when I was narrating this incident to my cousin, he told me that he too had liked his coffee cold during his younger days.  I was surprised; was this a universal phenomenon in young boys of my generation or was it confined to only boys within my family?

Would I, perhaps, care to drink my coffee cold, now?  No, thank you; I just happen to enjoy the steaming hot cup of filter coffee served straight from the gas stove!  The caffeine hit first thing in the morning is the drug that stimulates the bodily functions!

Eating out Bengaluru Ishtyle!

Eating out has almost become a way of life with most Bangaloreans in the present-day.  The notion that Hotels and Restaurants served unhygienic food prepared in a filthy kitchen by dirty cooks, is almost becoming passé.  Home food, however, has always been considered healthy, tasty and hygienic.  As I am a big fan of eating out, I may not agree with this hypothesis and hence, I feel that the truth (or taste), as usual, lies somewhere in-between!

My tryst with eating out takes me to my boyhood days when my dad regularly took me out to eat in small restaurants; the Hotelu (as these were commonly called in the local parlance) were very few and far between.  Hotels were generally meant to cater to bachelors or out-of-towners; men, living with their families hardly patronized these Hotels.  Some of these small Hotels (or even coffee-bars, as they were called) were well known for its tasty Dosa and Idli/Wada preparations.  The Darshini-style restaurants were still a long way off.  The Hotels, those days, had stinky kitchens, which looked more like bathrooms (we carefully avoided looking within); unbathed and shabbily dressed waiters serving us tasty (perhaps oil rich) Dosas and other items.  The general notion amongst us regular Hotel patrons was, dirtier the Hotel, tastier the food items!

The Idli/Wada items served with rich sambar tingled our taste buds.  The rich sambar that was prepared using onions (shallots were also used in some Hotels) was heavily dosed with a variety of spices.  Onions were a strict ‘no-no’ at home, forbidden by my grandmother, who generally had a large say in all matters concerning the Kitchen; so, eating this thick, spice-loaded onion sambar was like having a sneaky ‘affair’; with our taste buds dancing away with delight.  The unique blend of onion and potatoes with the gravy loaded with spices, gave a special taste to the Idli-sambar (dipped and mixed) that was consumed in large quantities by the Hotel’s discerning clientele (including self)! There were some hotels which were famous for their Dosas alone; Udupi Krishna Bhavan, Vidhyarthi Bhavan, New Modern Hotel come to mind, on the South side of Bangalore.   There was this Hotel named Modern Hotel in Gandhi Bazar Main Road which has been closed down a long time ago that was famous for its Khali Dosas.  There was a Hotel by name Gajendra Vilas in Chamarajpet, which served crispy chapattis and sago masala Dosa, that had an extra special taste to it.  They have closed down shutters since a long time ago.  The names of the Hotels that were spread across Bengaluru had common names such as Sri Rama Vilas, Krishna Bhavan, Venkateshwara Coffee Bar, etc.   We do not see such names now, perhaps out dated and out of style.

With the mushrooming of Darshini-style restaurants in Bangalore that caters to a large number of growing patrons (literally vying with each other to have a go at any new offering or trying out newer outlets), it is abundantly clear that the restaurant business is here to stay for a long time to come.   Bengaluru, in my mind has the best restaurants and Hotels and can compete in terms of taste and variety, with any such eateries anywhere across the country or even the world (countries only that I have visited!). This being the case in point, I can confidently say that eating out is the best thing that has happened to us, Bangaloreans!

The Lord of Learning – Revisit to happier times

We make our way down the main street of Gandhi Bazar on the eve of Ganesh Chaturthi; the familiar sights and sounds, especially the chatter of the people breezily wading through the mad crowds, evoke deep-rooted memories of another era.  Our family was staying at a house in the vicinity some decades ago.  This was the quintessential Bengaluru that has been associated in my mind with its quaint beauty and simplicity of the happier times that I am talking about.  The time was when Ganesh Chaturthi, the popular festival of the South, was celebrated with great pomp and gaiety, amidst my abiding faith in Lord Ganesh, that had characterized my mind as a young boy in the seventies.

The procuring of Ganesh idol by the devout on the eve of the festival day was a big source of excitement.  The first and foremost activity was visiting the different stalls put up by small time Retailers, in order to enquire and settle on the correct market price for the chosen size of the Ganesh idol.   The next activity was to find a Ganesh idol that sported a particular kind of ‘tilak’ that was acceptable to the category of the sub-sect of the devout.  I was told to look for a Ganesh idol that sported an “exclamation” (!) symbol painted in black, on its forehead.   Most of the Ganesh idols exhibited in the stalls had three white horizontal bars on its forehead; which was the most common and popular ‘tilak’ among the devout; but I was told that this form of ‘tilak’ on the idol did not meet with our family’s sub-sect parameters.  I did remember that some of the more enterprising vendors had offered to make some minor alterations to the ‘tilak’ on the forehead of the Ganesh idol instantly from a differently designed ‘tilak’ to the one that we had requested.  The style of the ‘tilak’ was a non-issue to the Idol vendors; but to the devout, like us, it mattered very persuasively.  Buying the Ganesh idol with many other required pooja items and cavorting home was like competing in a marathon; with rain gods, usually playing spoilsport (it invariably rained in Bengaluru; the festival normally arriving at the end of monsoon season).

As the day of the festival dawned, having an oil bath early in the morning and donning new clothes stitched for the occasion (ready-made garments were not very popular back then) was indeed, a great excitement.  After the elaborate Ganesh pooja was over, the sumptuous lunch at home was a huge affair; especially, as the meal was embellished with the soft chewy jaggery and coconut dessert packed inside the fried flour shell (the treat was called kadabu in kannada or modak in Hindi/Marati).  Ganesh Chaturthi was incomplete without this sweet dessert; it was believed that Lord Ganesh loved this sweet treat tremendously.  Lord Ganesh had a mouse as his vehicle. If you notice closely, the picture of the mouse is depicted at the bottom of every Ganesh idol.  How can any human being (Ganesh being three-fourth human) ride on a tiny mouse; wouldn’t the mouse get crushed underneath!  This thought was a source of amusement to younger self.   As the story goes, watching from the skies the Moon also did have a moment of humungous merriment at the spectacle of Lord Ganesh, riding on a tiny mouse with his swollen belly and a huge elephant trunk, fall off from his tiny vehicle (the mouse) while roaming around gleefully after having a hearty meal; this sight, was a source of uncontrolled mirth to the Moon.   The story continues that Lord Ganesh became hugely angry with the merry laughter of the Moon and placed a ‘curse’ on the Moon; and due to this irreversible ‘curse’ on the Moon, the devout are barred from viewing the Moon during Ganesh Chaturthi.  As if by some divine intervention, the Moon would be clearly visible between the passing clouds on those Ganesh Chaturthi nights; I distinctly remember that my eyes would stealthily dart towards the skies (perhaps, as a sort of involuntary dare, especially when you are told not to look at the Moon) and upon sighting the Moon from the corner of my eye, I would soon look away with trepidation, remembering the ‘curse’!

The evenings of the festival day held another great excitement.  A few of us mates had a sort of pre-arrangement every year, visiting and prostrating before the Ganesh idols in innumerable homes of neighbours; and sometimes even outside our familiar locality.  Our target, each year, was to visit 108 homes and prostrate before the Ganesh idols.  Before stepping into the homes of unknown people, we used to look for signs of any dogs in the compound.  We were scared of Alsatian dogs. That was the only breed of fierce dog I knew then and there was this other popular cute dog, the Pomeranian, with all its white hairs, it was only a timid barker!  Once we were sure there were no dogs around, we confidently stepped inside the gate.  As a group, we would step inside the homes and prostrate before the Ganesh idol, one after the other.  Some of the home owners treated us to a small snack or sweet, which was usually, baked chickpea masala or finely ground yellow gram mixed with sugar and coconut. This treat could be one of the attractions for us to venture into this activity.

It was a stupendous task, believe me, going about visiting the homes of unknown people with the target of reaching 108 homes in mind.  However, to my great consternation, I never achieved the target during any of those years.  The rhythm would get broken somewhere between the 20^th or 25^th house visit and I would return back, to my home, citing flimsiest of the reasons to my mates.  Possibly, this could be one of the reasons that Lord Ganesh, the Supreme God of Learning and Education hasn’t blessed me with any great learning or higher education!

cinematic experience!

When I look back on some of those nostalgic childhood memories, what I remember vividly was that cold, chilly evening in Bangalore. It was sometime in December of 1964 or January 1965.  I was all of 6 years of age.  I had accompanied my parents to watch my first movie that cold December evening.  I probably think that this was my first movie because the movie had left an indelible impression on my conscious mind.  The movie was in Hindi, titled “Dosti”.  The movie was being screened in a makeshift cinema tent, located near to my house which, used to be called a “picture tent” or sometimes a “touring talkies” in those days.  The makeshift cinema tent was supposedly a temporary structure covered by some heavy material (to avoid water leakage), that could be shifted easily from one place to another; although this particular “picture tent” never moved from its resting place, that was Tilaknagar (part of Jayanagar T Block now), which was later converted into a theatre, Swagath Theatre, perhaps. The whole concept of the “picture tent” was to provide entertainment to the masses in city suburbs and villages, where there was a dearth of cinema theatres. Inside the cinema tent, at one end, was a white large cloth stretched across a flat surface, acting as a screen; the moving images of the cinema was projected onto the white screen using a projector which, was placed at the opposite end of the cinema tent.  The white screen had become dirty, with large brownish patches, here and there, but still, the movie images looked fairly clear.

The projector operator sat beside a whirring old model movie projector on a folding chair surveying the crowds. In my young mind, the projector operator was some sort of a magician; and the owner of the cinema tent.  The projector operator decided on when the time was right to start screening of the movie and his decision mostly rested upon the size of the crowd; although a definite timing was fixed for the commencement of the show, which was 6.30 PM for the first show; this was rarely followed in practice.  A jarring bell was sounded before the commencement of the movie, which delighted the whistling crowd.  There was a rush of “adrenaline” in the audience, once the screening of the movie commenced.  This was partly because of the excitement created by the whistling and clapping from the crowds.

The main source of entertainment, other than the movies, had been the “circus”, for many of my generation.    The “Gemini Circus” was the most popular “circus” which used to pitch its tent in the Subhash Nagar Grounds (Now the Bangalore Central Bus Station terminus). However, the concept of “circus” which was so popular during my childhood days seems to be fast disappearing.

Coming back to the movie “Dosti”, though a cult classic hit of those times, the movie itself had a lingering melancholic impact on me; the two main characters in the movie, singing on the streets of Bombay to earn a living; had remained deeply etched in my memory for many years.  The story of the movie had a serious depth of intensity and the songs were evergreen classics.  That apart, I hardly remember anything of the black-and-white era movie, now.

The other quite vivid memory, I have, is that the “picture tent” was full of mosquitoes; which were a constant source of irritation to the loyal cinema audience.  However, the people were so enthralled and engrossed in the movie, that they soon forgot all about the mosquito bites. There was also this frequent disturbance happening within the movie tent.  People, who were coming in late to the movie, were constantly lifting the tent on both the sides and leisurely strolling in as if they had all the time in the world.  Every time a person walked in or walked out of the tent, their dark shadows danced on the cinema screen; there were persistent shouts from the people berating them on the disturbance; and every time the tent was lifted, the cold breeze from outside drifted in, making us shiver and huddle inside.

During the mandatory movie interval, the constant play of shadows on the movement of people, lighted up on the dirty white screen, while the loudspeaker blared the popular hit songs of the season.  People noisily rushed out, during the interval, discussing the movie plot and characters.  The interval reminded people to buy groundnuts (or peanuts as it is called these days) to pass the ten minutes of idleness.  Those days there was no concern littering the ground with the peanut shells.  It was a given, that peanut shells and all other food wrappers were left behind inside the tents, after each movie show.   Only once, at the end of the day, I think, the earthen floor was swept clean.  The jarring bell sounded again, signifying the end of the interval and resumption of the movie.

While, we, as a family were seated on the folding chairs in the back of the packed tent, people in the front class sat on the rough earthen floor.  We could see the dust on the earthen floor rise and settle down every time a person stood up or sat down. Some of the people who sat on the ground in the front, lighted a cigarette or a bidi, to the consternation of the non-smokers.  While some of the people objected, the smokers smirked and did not even bother to extinguish their cigarettes or bidis; they exhaled the acrid smoke with pleasure forming smoke rings.

Those idyllic memories of my childhood, watching a movie in a “picture tent” has remained with me, perhaps, reminding me of a joyful time when life was really simple, just black and white; and this brings on a smile to my wry face.

Boyhood Memories

It was a time like no other; the wonderful times that I had, as a young boy, growing up in the sixties and seventies.  Boyhood memories, with all its carefree charm, wondrous, playful, fun-filled life, has a special place in my heart.  Looking back, I was blissfully unaware, of what life had in store for me, down the line, just a few years ahead.

The games, we played as youngsters, had some typically funny names; although same or similar games with minor variations existed all over the country.  Just off the cuff, I remember a few names, (of course, in local lingo) such as, lagory, soorchand, icepies, gilli-dandlu, bugri, goli, tyre aata (typically a motorbike or moped tyre was used with the help of a stick or sometimes even the palm was used to roll the tyre on the streets); and of course, the ubiquitous gully cricket, generally played with tennis ball. Sometimes as a substitute for tennis balls, a rubber ball; or a sponge ball; or a cork ball; or even balls made from the produce of trees that bore red flowers in autumn, were used. You see, the frequent use of tennis balls was a costly affair and moreover, the tennis balls, had a tendency to lose its woollen exterior, very early, and turn into a bald, hard rubber ball.

The cricket bats, sometimes, were just flat wood planks shaped in the form of a cricket bat; cheap cricket bats were available in plenty in sports stores specially meant for playing cricket with tennis balls or rubber balls alone.  These bats, more often than not, broke when played with hard balls. 

For ‘wickets’, three stones were placed as ‘wicket’ markers at both ends; sometimes the three ‘wickets’ were marked on a wall, drawn with red-brick pieces or charcoal pieces. 

We could not afford to buy the 'wickets' or balls and bats ourselves; most of the time, we were dependent on some benevolent sponsors.  Many a time, the balls disappeared into the roadside sewers or drains or even house gardens, from where retrieval was not possible.  The boys who got us new balls, were considered to be important patrons and given special privileges, like batting first.

Playing one or the other games with boys of similar ages, during all times of the day was our main pastime; come rain or hot sun shine; the weather gods, never bothered us.  As cheeky boys, we were in the habit of sneaking away from home, sometimes even during the hot midday sun, away from the prying eyes of the parents.  All that was needed to start a game, was just a companion of similar age to play and an empty street, bereft of traffic.  Each game had a unique flavour to it and all the boys and girls of my generation knew each of the above games, by heart.

I am not sure, if the millennial generation has even heard the names of these games.  I think, many of these games have simply disappeared into antiquity, may be, they are lost forever.  Please don’t get me wrong; I am not making out a case that the games should be revived and the youngsters of today should start playing them.  Each generation of youngsters have their own way of choosing a pastime.  The present-day generation are all for video games and app-related games on their mobile phones and play stations; which are available aplenty and have probably replaced the physical games to a great extent; you hardly see youngsters playing on the streets, these days; the latest craze in the app category, it seems, is the game Pokémon Go.  Sometimes, makes me wonder how the games for youngsters get invented and how they get caught on, in the popular imagination of each generation.

Many of the games we played, required plenty of spare time and open spaces.  Luckily for us, as young boys of seventies, we had all the time in the world and many of the streets in Bangalore were free of traffic; there was very scarce movement of traffic all around Bangalore; most of the vehicular traffic was, just cycles and two-wheelers.  Cars were few and far between; mostly owned by few people, who could afford them.  This reminds me, there were only three major companies manufacturing cars in India.  The regal-looking, Ambassador; Fiat, later named as Premier Padmini and of course, the cute small car of those times, the Standard Herald. All these cars were manufactured in collaboration with UK or Italy.  Japanese cars, which we see, all around us, in plenty, these days, were unknown in India in the sixties and seventies.

As a young boy, I loved the Ambassador car and fervently wished to own the car, some day.  That, however, remained a dream, unfulfilled!  Of course, it never occurred to me, at that point in time, that the Ambassador car, would one day become a relic of the past, soon to be confined to the dustbin of history (or remain only as Kolkata taxis). 

As fate would have it, my boyhood days were soon cut short due to the prolonged illness and subsequent demise of my father; this forced me to grow up overnight and assume the mantle of a responsible adult. However, the wonderful, fun-filled memories of my boyhood days, still remain with me and regale me in my present out-of-work, retired state!