[Reader-list] The Film, Then the Road

[Dilip D'Souza -- Sarai]

June 28

Dear All,

Here's my -- I've lost count -- next post on my theme, "Village in the
City". I want to express here a note of thanks to Mamta Mantri, fellow
fellow, who took me to the film mentioned.

Comments welcome. More on the way.

cheers,
dilip d'souza

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The Film, Then the Road
-----------------------
Dilip D'Souza


The attraction is two-fold. One, it fits with my recent forays into
Bombay neighbourhoods -- its "villages in a city" -- that I do not
ordinarily frequent. Two, it takes me to one of this city's older
(-est?) cinema theatres. They're a vanishing breed, these
single-screen affairs, with a character all their own.

So when I get the chance to see a film in the area known as Playhouse,
I jump at it.

Talk about multiplexes -- true, everyone appreciates the choice of
films they give you, all under one roof. But apart from the roof, it's
close to being the same in this area. The choice, I mean. Within a 150
metre radius from the Falkland Rd/Grant Rd junction, there are at
least 9 theatres. Novelty, Super, Nishat, Alfred, Gulshan, New Royal,
Roshan and some more whose names escape me.

So my first task in Playhouse was to decide which theatre to visit.

Two things had some bearing on the decision: I've always wanted to see
a Bhojpuri film, and I've long wanted to see a film at Alfred on
Falkland Road. The latter, because I have an soft corner for theatres
that still use those rosy-cheeked lurid hand-painted posters, and
Alfred is one of those.

So Super was showing "Pyaar ke Bandhan" in Bhojpuri. That was a
possibility. But in the end, I chose Alfred. (Super, next time).

Not that the film at Alfred was much of an attraction: Himmat from
1996, starring Sunny Deol, Tabu, Naseeruddin Shah and Shilpa Shetty.
"Superstar kalakar ka jhamela dekhiye!" ("See the drama of the
superstars!") says a hand-lettered poster in the theatre, not much of
an attraction either. We enter a good 30-45 minutes late, leave after
an hour. But as always with such films, it hardly matters when you
enter or leave. You still get the same cocktail of deafening music,
execrable songs, meaningless plot sequences and horrifying acting.
Naseeruddin Shah probably shudders -- well, I hope he does -- when he
remembers his performance in this one. Tabu is tall, dressed gaudily
and does little of any note. Shilpa Shetty is all cleavage and simper,
which grows old fast. (Yes, I said that). Sunny Deol, the man should
pick any vocation but acting. Enough said.

But of course, my feeling is that people come to see a film like
<i>Himmat</i> only for the pretty faces and the melodrama. Who cares
about acting ability? And so this is the usual delightful Bollywood
film experience. I have myself an absolute all-round blast.

Alfred is old all right, but it's not as if Alfred is gorgeous
heritage-value art-deco. It does have a cavernous hall, long poles
from the ceiling that whirring fans hang from, an obvious stage in
front on which the curved screen is mounted, and a steeply-sloped
balcony. Given where we are in this city, the general seediness here,
I naively expected dirt and a noisy audience. But even with the hall
packed as it is, it is surprisingly quiet. No cellphones go off,
nobody has to be asked to hush. Several women are watching the film,
some with kids, some clearly on their own. My companion tells me that
this is one of the few theatres in the city where women feel
comfortable enough to come alone. Oh yes, no rats, and it is about as
clean as any other theatre I've been to.

And outside the hall, plenty of open space, long silent gleaming
corridors (remember we walked out while the movie is still on) where
you hear every footfall, big windows to let in the evening air and
sounds. Those windows! Through them drift the sounds and sights of
this heart and soul of the city: traffic, horns, brisk walkers,
lights, signs, cafes. Opposite is "Pestonji Building, 1928" -- home to
the temptingly lit and crowded Nekzad Restaurant. And there are
posters plastered in every direction for the new film Mobile Phone
("This film is inspired by famous MMS scandal of New Delhi"). All I
can say about that is that the cleavage on display on those posters
comfortably shades Shilpa Shetty in Himmat.

It's been a delicious 90 minutes or so. When done, I stand at that
bustling junction for a long time, looking around. Firdos Guest House
is across the road, promising "homely comfort". Cafe Heaven is over
there too. I look over at Nekzad ("Just tonight, I stood before the
tavern/Nothing seemed the way it used to be", Mary Hopkin's throaty
voice comes back to me), wondering if I have the time to go have a
coffee.

Have to return soon to see another film at one of the other little
theatres here. That Bhojpuri one first, but I want to come back after
it. And again.

***

See a film, see a road ...

Falkland Road is, of course, really Patthe Bapurao Marg. You knew
that. It angles jauntily off the severe east-west gauntlet of Maulana
Shaukatali Road, stretching actually from the Tardeo junction to
Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Road. It is only the final segment -- from
Maulana Shaukatali Road to Sardar VP Road -- that is, of course,
Bombay's long-time red-light district.

Speaking of cleavage.

Many others have written far more eloquently than I could about the
sex-workers of Falkland Road; and it's unlikely I can find something
new to say about them. Yet even so, it is a sobering experience to
walk down this street. Never has so much flesh looked so sordidly sad,
and I truly mean no offence when I say that. The females of the
species who stand on the road are certainly past adolescence -- their
tight blouses leave you in no doubt of that -- yet most of them have
an air of utterly tragic youth. Oh, they wear those lurid petticoats,
they probably pad their blouses, they paint themselves thick with
lipstick, some dust themselves with powder to look fairer. And they
meet the eye of every male who passes with an unmistakable,
disconcerting, yet somehow still imperceptible, inquiry.

This is adult territory in every sense. Yet so many of these women are
so obviously children. What are they doing here?

Silly question, yes. What's the point of bemoaning the second-oldest
profession? Of all the incongruous thoughts, this is the one on my
mind as we walk this street.

There is, never mind the girls, plenty else to see here too. One strip
of shops has both Ma's Dental Clinic (where the dentist is Dr HK Ma)
and Dr CH Yi's all-purpose clinic. There's also the "Indo-Chinese
Institute for Medicine", which pursues "Research in Traditional
Chinese Medicine, Acupuncture and Allied Sciences". What Chinese
doctors and dentists have meant to this part of Bombay is another
story altogether, worth its own exploration.

Close by is one more of those theatres, Silver Talkies ("Balcony
Ticket Rs 16"). Today the  feature is "Swiging Love in Pagal Diwani"
(sic), which sounds intriguing enough to miss. I could say the same
about New Roshan Talkies, even if the feature there is the more demure
"Sher-E-Hindustan."

Then there's Pila House, marked by a number of this city's ornate
horse-drawn rickshaws parked on the road outside (tight-bloused girls
pouting behind). Inside is a small yard which houses, incredibly,
dozens more of these horse-carts and the horses themselves. All
getting a morning cleanup.

Plenty to see, yes, but on Falkland Road it's really about the women.
Reminders of that everywhere. On that balcony, a sheaf of coloured
saris, drying in the sun. That building, a long row of dark cages,
women standing outside.

Many more women, many more of those famous cages. Then, as we approach
the Alfred theatre and Maulana Shaukatali Road, right up against a row
of those cages, I see the sign. And for some
inexplicable reason, it seems to sum up this neighbourhood of clinics
and horse-carts and theatres and Chinese medicine and girls, girls,
girls. It says:

"Coffin will be issued free of charge to any people and caste indeed
no relation."