Remembering father, the starry-eyed cinemawala

Whenever I watch the 2016 Bengali movie Cinemawala, I remember my father; his myriad faces – laughing, grimacing, and sometimes sad or worrying – flash across my mind. This superbly crafted movie is a homage to the single-screen cinema houses that have become almost extinct in India. Parambendu Bose, the aged protagonist, is the owner of a closed cinema hall. He has a passion for classical Bengali films and a fondness for alcohol. Both of his indulgences are not understood or appreciated by the later generation, including his son.

My father also had a stint as the manager of a cinema house, the Randeep Theatre, in the small sleepy town Nahan almost 60 years ago. Like the old Param Babu of the movie, he had an infatuation for both quality films and booze. He managed that cinema with the zeal of a librarian who is also a lover of books. A widower at the age of 39, he raised his four sons with the same zeal on his meagre income. He never remarried as he did not want to foist a stepmother on his precious children. He was protective of his offspring and ambitious about their future. I remember him cooking for us on a makeshift angithi. After our evening meals, we all would sit in a huddle around the same angithi, and he would tell us, with a lighted beedi between his fingers and peering at the stars outside the window, about his dreams concerning each one of us. These dreams were infectious, ran into our blood long after his demise. At least one was fulfilled during his lifetime. My elder sibling cracked the IAS exams and later retired as the chief secretary of the state.

I was the youngest of the four brothers and we frequented almost every movie as a family ritual on an opening day as if we owned the cinema hall. Thus, I was introduced to the Hindi movie world during my infant years and this world ran parallel to my life since then. The film posters and scenes from movies decorated the walls of our home and often intermingled with our family photos.

During our tender years, we especially enjoyed the children’s movies as it was easy to identify with the characters. Films such as Hum Panchi Ek Daal Ke, Jagriti and Boot Polish are still etched in my memory. I remember having wept profusely during the song, “Chalo chalen maa” in Jagriti. I had lost my mother recently and the touching song had a cathartic effect on my juvenile mind. The action movies containing some fighting sequences were also our favourites. We eagerly awaited films featuring our pet action heroes such as Ranjan, Prem Nath, Ajit, Shiekh Mukhtiar, and Mahipal. Sometimes we requested our father to requisition such movies. More often than not he obliged us.

I have fond memories of that cinema house where we watched countless movies. It was an old bungalow-type building made up of chiseled 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 cine-goer that the male and female audience were seated separately in two portions of the hall partitioned by a four-foot-high curtain. When the lights went out at the start of the movie, a boy ran from the front of the hall to its back holding the curtain sliding on the metallic rings. Similarly, at the end of the film just before the lights were turned on, the boy ran from the back of the hall to the front, drawing the curtain.

My father died about 50 years ago. The building of Randeep Theatre is non-existent today. A residential colony has sprung up in its place. But we remember our old cinema hall with nostalgic affection. It has become a part of the folklore of this small sleepy heritage town. And so has my father, the starryeyed cinemawala.

MY FATHER HAD A STINT AS THE MANAGER OF A CINEMA HOUSE, RANDEEP THEATRE, IN THE SMALL SLEEPY TOWN NAHAN ALMOST 60 YEARS AGO. LIKE THE OLD PARAM BABU OF THE BENGALI MOVIE, HE HAD AN INFATUATION FOR BOTH QUALITY FILMS AND BOOZE