The Old New Talkies

I must be getting old, really old, else how do you explain the fact that every time I sit down to type an article, the articles reek of nostalgia and of how we used to live it up, in days gone by? I would certainly forgive you if you mistook me for the King of Good Times himself; only in my case, the maal is missing yaar.

I now live in Khar. One Sunday evening, I stopped by to visit Mum at Bandra. While returning, I passed by a swanky new mall-cum-multiplex named Globus. It had the customary shiny-panelled float-glass facade, dazzling lights, skimpily clad mannequins in its window displays, neat angular parking for fancy cars and smart uniformed dudes who I have no doubt are all uniformly rude! I watched this spectacle in awe, and then, my mind slowly began to go back in time…

Now Globus itself has metamorphosed into Marks & Spencer. Change is rapid, not constant!

In our college days, whenever we wanted to bunk classes and go for an English movie, we didn’t have to travel all the way down- town. Bandra was one of the few suburbs that had its very own English cinema hall, the New Talkies. One look at New Talkies and you knew New was a misnomer! Everything was old about it. Nevertheless, the cinema hall was so conveniently located, (all other inconveniences, could be forgiven). At a junction, within walking distance from the Bandra Railway Station and Virendra Colony opposite St. Andrew’s Church, where I lived. The first show at New Talkies was always at 4 p.m. Sometimes there were matinée shows at 11 a.m.

Catching a movie at the New Talkies was an adventure in itself. Let me take you on a trip down memory lane. We used to cycle to National College (also in Bandra), so we had to cycle back to see a movie. We usually arrived at about 3.30 p.m. Our cycles were kept on the road (cycles were allowed inside only after one booked one’s ticket), as we scrambled to stand in an already burgeoning queue.

As the queue grew in size, it got more and more unwieldy, swaying and twisting like an angry serpent. With every passing minute, the decibel levels went higher and higher. The gates would be thrown open only 10 minutes before the show. Till then it was mayhem out there.

The omnipresent havaldars didn’t need a second invitation to literally swing into action. They swung their lathis with unholy glee. It was a wonder no bones were broken. In our anxiety to get the coveted tickets, no one ever made any bones about a few knocks. The gates were finally thrown open. Everyone rushed to the ticket counter, as though they had just spotted the Promised Land. It was only one ticket per head. The price, if you discount the knocks and tension, a very affordable 75 paise. Less than a rupee! The seats, what seats? We had to park our seats on hard wooden benches, without any backrests. Thank God for all the caning that we got on our backsides in school, our seats were well and truly seasoned!

That was not all. These cheap seats were right in the front, very close to the screen. So you had to look at the screen with your head tilted upwards. We may not have aspired to be toppers in class but if you saw us in the cinema hall, it definitely looked like we had heavenly aspirations! This gravity-defying pose not only caused a crick in the neck but also guaranteed a king-sized headache and red eyes. The price we paid, in real terms, always put us in the red. Every movie was preceded by trailers of movies, to be screened in the coming days. The trailers showed the highlights which really whetted our appetites. The Films Division also showed a compulsory news documentary, which was nothing but propaganda for the ruling party. How the audience howled, hooted and jeered! Everyone was least interested in watching the shenanigans of the Aaya Rams and Gaya Rams.

What was amazing about the whole New Talkies adventure was that for the princely sum of just one rupee (100 paise), we had a ball. The ticket was 75 paise, the cycle parking charge was 10 paise, the hot batatawada at the interval cost 10 paise and the mandatory macho Panama non-filter cigarette (a must while discussing the movie after the show) cost 05 paise. Real value for money. We were made of different mettle, hence considered it a real steal! Can you get such corresponding delights for even Rs.100 today?

The car behind me honked loud and long, rudely jolting me from my reverie. I still cannot comprehend how our lovely homely New Talkies has metamorphosed into this monstrous multiplex called Globus / Marks & Spencer. Ironically, a theatre that once cut across all classes (especially college classes) has been transformed into a classy outlet sorely for the Upper Classes.

Extracted from the book: Beyond Bandra by Edwin Fernandes