Fantasy comes alive in sleepy town

Ranbir Parmar

M Y father had a short stint as the manager of a cinema hall, Randeep Theatre, in the small, sleepy town of Nahan, almost 60 years ago. Aged eight, I was the youngest of four brothers and we saw almost every movie screened there — a family ritual on the opening  day. So, I was introduced to the Hindi film world during my infant years and it ran parallel to my life since. Film posters and scenes from movies decorated the walls of our home, intermingling with our family photographs.

We kids especially enjoyed children’s movies as it was easy to identify with the characters. Hum Panchhi Ek Daal Ke, Jagriti and Boot Polish are still etched in my memory. I remember having wept profusely during the song, Chalo chalen Maa. I had lost my mother and the song had a cathartic effect on my juvenile mind. Action movies with fight sequences were also our favourite. We eagerly awaited films featuring Ranjan, Prem Nath, Ajit, Shiekh Mukhtiar, Mahipal... and sometimes requested our father to requisition these movies. He himself was an avid lover of films and managed the theatre with the zeal of a librarian who is a lover of books, or a gardener in love with his plants.

I have fond memories of the now extinct cinema hall. It was a medieval bungalow-type building made of chiselled stones. It had a gallery with about 15-20 seats, four box-cabins below it and a small main hall. It may sound curious to a modern cinegoer that the male and female audience were seated separately, partitioned by a 4-ft-high curtain. When the lights went out at the start of a movie, a boy ran holding the curtain, sliding with metal rings. At the end of the movie, he would run back again, drawing the curtain. Even today, when I see a movie in a modern theatre, the sound of the curtain sliding on the rings echoes in my subconscious mind. 

Another interesting feature of the old hall was its legendary projectionist, Bankey. Few people had actually seen him, but almost every cinegoer in the town was familiar with his name. Whenever there was a power failure, interruption or any flaw in the sound during the screening of a film, the whole hall reverberated with vociferous cries of ‘Bankey’ and the abuses hurled at him!

The cinematic experience was altogether different from today. No popcorn or Coca-Cola. The aroma of moongphalis and fried chanas pervaded. There was no online booking, but long queues for tickets, which, more often than not, were broken, resulting in some chaos. Sometimes, when a blockbuster was released, the hushed calls of blackias could be heard — ‘Teen ka paanch’, ‘Paanch ka aath’ — akin to the scenes from Dev Anand’s Kala Bazaar.

Randeep Theatre is nonexistent today. A residential colony has sprung up in its place. But we remember our old cinema hall with nostalgic affection. It is still part of folklore of this heritage town. So is its shadowy projectionist, Bankey. And so is my father.