60. Connecting the celluloid dots

Ranjha Raaj Kumar in the backdrop of Dhauladhar mountains. 

In times of the pandemic threat which seems not too distant in future but uncertain nonetheless, reliving nostalgic moments provide much desired comfort. These are the times when indulging in nostalgia helps revive feelings, a kind of matter or some kind of energy that can destroy or cripple present melancholic moments. It is the involuntary unlocking of those eventful moments that allow trapped energy to spring back to life, giving fresh chance to revisit and reprocess life differently.

When going to theatre was a rarity, watching one-movie-per-week was a kind of God-send privilege. Thanks to my father tasked with running the cantonment theatre in picturesque Palampur town in the lap of majestic Dhauladhar mountains, learning the supply-chain of film distribution and screening came handy each week as aluminium cans carrying film spools arrived by road from rail head at Pathankot. Four such spools were glued in a sequence to run the film in four-segments, with three intermissions, on a single towering Westrex projector. 

A message on now obsolete telex machines would convey film title in advance, helping in drawing a screening schedule for the troops. One such highly clobbered message had thrown life in a tizzy as nobody could figure out the film title. Given my interest in films, the onerous task of decoding the title was bestowed on my young shoulders. Playing around with the words on offer in the message I had confidently pronounced the title 'Banke Bihari'. Embarrassingly, the first screening revealed it to be a 1969 film Bank Robbery instead. I had to live with that indignation for long.

Palampur had turned out to be poor-filmmakers' Kashmir, a perfect place to capture wide brush impressions on film making. Hailing from a nearby village, filmmaker Jugal Kishore had captured the scenic beauty of the place in most of his two dozen odd low-budget films. An award-winning producer of Punjabi films, he would descend every alternate spring with hordes of newcomers for outdoor shooting of his Hindi films. Bunking classes to throng the shooting location was preferred but somewhat boring pass time as a perfect shot would takes days to complete. But it didn't deter newcomers like Shatrughan Sinha, Anil Dhawan, and Yogita Bali from throwing star tantrums. 

Such tantrums must have been an ordeal for small-time filmmakers!. So it were for Jugal Kishore which only compelled him to make some serious compromises with the script. Taking liberties, he repeated his motorcycle dare devil sequence from Lal Bangla in his subsequent film Munimji. That had mattered least to the locals who often read his rags-to-riches story like a film script only. From among us a non-descript youngster is rubbing shoulders with the bold and the beautiful in the mad-bad world of film making was an oft-repeated adage to define this little-known film maker.   

No wonder, local support was to his calling. However, such favors did carry some intangible costs. I recall one such sequence, perhaps from film Munimji, wherein a villainous character was pushed into a small pool of water with the hero in verbal dual from the outside. The pampered lad of the local MLA, who also owned a tea estate, had insisted on being in the pool, and after long deliberations was let in with clear instructions to swim at a distance from the character. After the film release, the boy had become a laugh-of-the-town as his skill in swimming was nowhere seen on the screen.

              

For me, conversing with supporting actors was more meaningful. Relaxing on an easy chair under a garden umbrella for his shot, I had expressed my surprise at him (to actor Chandrasekhar) playing the lowly role of a police inspector in Sabak after having played the lead in many films including Street Singer. Flabbergasted, the actor had questioned my interest in such vintage stuff. My one- movie-a-week schedule was loaded with some old and many forgettable movies, I had told him. Now in his late 90's, Chandrasekhar had changed tracks subsequent to his acting career to assist Gulzar in the making of classics like Parichay, Aandhi and Mausam.   

Towards the end of the 1970's, Chetan Anand had descended with his Heer Ranjha troupe to Palampur to shoot just a verse from Kaifi Azmi's lyrics on a Madan Mohan composition to be rendered on screen by iconic Raaj Kumar - ae parbat rasta de mujhe ae kaanto daman chhod do. Such perfectionist was the eldest of the illustrious Anands, Dev and Vijay Anand being the other two, that it took almost a week to shoot the verse from one of the finest melancholic renditions by Mohd. Rafi. Those were the days, and perhaps the last of the major outdoor shooting schedule around Palampur.     

That place is no longer the favorite location for present-day filmmakers. But those years had impacted my sensibilities a great deal, letting my interest in studying various aspects of film-making flourish no end. What was then an interesting exercise to learn is today just a click away on any smart phone. As I relive those moments during the ongoing lockdown, I find my past connected to the present through aspects of film appreciation which has continued to this day -  in viewing, reading and commenting on films. It is no more a boring pass time, but a compelling engagement now!

First published in The Hindu, issue dated May 10, 2020.