My mom grew up in a small but a famous and important town called Dharwad in Karnataka. As a criminal lawyer her father was well renowned and had established a sound reputation for himself. He was known for his professional abilities. For the obvious benefits of association, people from all walks of life had liked to be known to him. Doctors, businessmen, professors, theatre owners, shopkeepers, policemen, - everybody knew him and did little favours to remain in his good books. You never know when you would need a criminal lawyer!!
My mother, the 5th of 7 siblings and the last among daughters, was quite liked by her father. She shared a wonderful rapport with him, did all his daily chores, and helped him in his office work that was perched up on the first-floor of the giant house. She shared a lovely rapport with her brothers as well both of whom were now rapidly establishing themselves in their legal and banking careers respectively. Their new found success and social standing made them quite popular within the small town as well and that added to the list of people who wanted to be known to this family.
It was one of these days when my mother with her friends had planned to go to a Hindi movie in a theatre close by. Most of my family members have been movie buffs since generations and my mother was not unlike them. There had never been a restriction on watching movies and she would be ‘up to date’ with the latest movie in town. So this was just another plan. But as my mother came home she realised very soon that she couldn’t make it to the movie because something else was being planned for at home. She quickly went to her friend’s house who lived next doors to inform her of the situation hoping that she could slip herself out of the plan.
But you know how it is when a bunch of girls have planned for a movie or a day out. It’s generally so perfect and so involved that it is almost impossible to escape it once you have committed to it. So as expected, her friends cajoled her, requested her and finally threatened her into submission
But she knew it would be impossible for her to get permission from home for a movie on that day. What ever was planned at home was definitely more important than a movie. So for the first time in her movie watching career, my mother had to contemplate the idea of lying to her family.
She knew it would be difficult to lie in the first place to people who did not mind her watching movies unlike the parents of most of her friends. And it would be disastrous if she would bee seen by some one in the theatre and the news would trickle down to her dad or her brothers.
But she had committed to her friends and was helpless. She was scared but also exited. The prospect of the adventure filled her with an enthusiasm and a confidence, new to her. All she now needed was an alibi. With a little creative thinking, she came out with one, and she had her whole bunch of friends to back her with it, so she felt less intimidated. She told her parents that there was an important event being planned in college and she, being one of the few enterprising ones, was requested to attend a ‘student-teacher’ meeting at the college. Her folks bought the story and she backed it up with some preparations and some planned visits by her friends at designated times to give her family the feeling that they were all in it together.
By the next morning, she was confidant of her plan and knew that with a little cover by her friends when entering and exiting the theatre, everything would be just fine. And they did just that.
They did run into Radhakka, the lady constable on duty at the theatre who knew my mom as “Vakil ara magulu”, the advocate’s daughter, and acknowledged her presence with a large grin. However she was no threat. Once inside the darkness of the theatre, my mother, though with a feeble pang of fear and guilt, told herself that she had pulled it off.
It was a small town and everyone knew everyone else.
In about 40 minutes from the movies start, the wide 70 mm screen suddenly flickered out and the theatre plunged into darkness. The quintessential power failure led to hooting, whistling and booing by the crowd. This was not new for the girls and they knew that it would take about 15 -20 minutes till the power supply could be resumed and they began chatting among themselves.
The movie was a popular one and the hero, a hit with the local people. The delay in resuming the movie stirred up another bunch of college boys in a corner who began to make trouble by throwing paper balls at the screen and passing intelligent and funny comments about the theatre administration which amused the rest of the crowd who joined in and the noise began too grow. The authorities knew that if the hall continued to be left in darkness, the fun would soon change course to vandalism.
Suddenly in the dark hall a small but bright light emerged from the door. It was a small hall and the light was just enough for people to realise that someone had brought in a ‘Petromax’ gas lantern. As always and as expected, the crowd suddenly fell silent and began to get back to their seats. The girls were relieved too, for the nuisance would now be under control and they could enjoy the rest of the movie which would resume sooner or later.
The light kept moving through the crowd. It was a funny play of light as it momentarily illuminated a leg here, a hand there, a head turned to talk, or a face making ‘a face’. As the girls followed the light and enjoyed the flashes and shadows that it cast on people, my mother suddenly had a strange fear. A woman’s intuition told her that the light was approaching her. As she concentrated on the silhouette she could make out that it was a woman, in boots and a cap and before she had time to think, she knew what was coming.
Radhakka, the lady constable taking oversized steps reached the row in which my mother and her friends were seated, checked for the exact seat where my mother sat, squeezed her heavy self through the tightly packed rows and stamping others feet she went straight to my mother, rested the lantern on the arm rest of her seat and with one hand still holding the lantern, gleefully said to my mom, “with me on duty at the theatre, I would not permit any form of in-convince caused to “Vakil ara magalu”.
With rest of the theatre dark, and the lantern next to my mother, her face was the only thing visible to all.
It was a small town and everyone knew everyone else.
My mother, the 5th of 7 siblings and the last among daughters, was quite liked by her father. She shared a wonderful rapport with him, did all his daily chores, and helped him in his office work that was perched up on the first-floor of the giant house. She shared a lovely rapport with her brothers as well both of whom were now rapidly establishing themselves in their legal and banking careers respectively. Their new found success and social standing made them quite popular within the small town as well and that added to the list of people who wanted to be known to this family.
It was one of these days when my mother with her friends had planned to go to a Hindi movie in a theatre close by. Most of my family members have been movie buffs since generations and my mother was not unlike them. There had never been a restriction on watching movies and she would be ‘up to date’ with the latest movie in town. So this was just another plan. But as my mother came home she realised very soon that she couldn’t make it to the movie because something else was being planned for at home. She quickly went to her friend’s house who lived next doors to inform her of the situation hoping that she could slip herself out of the plan.
But you know how it is when a bunch of girls have planned for a movie or a day out. It’s generally so perfect and so involved that it is almost impossible to escape it once you have committed to it. So as expected, her friends cajoled her, requested her and finally threatened her into submission
But she knew it would be impossible for her to get permission from home for a movie on that day. What ever was planned at home was definitely more important than a movie. So for the first time in her movie watching career, my mother had to contemplate the idea of lying to her family.
She knew it would be difficult to lie in the first place to people who did not mind her watching movies unlike the parents of most of her friends. And it would be disastrous if she would bee seen by some one in the theatre and the news would trickle down to her dad or her brothers.
But she had committed to her friends and was helpless. She was scared but also exited. The prospect of the adventure filled her with an enthusiasm and a confidence, new to her. All she now needed was an alibi. With a little creative thinking, she came out with one, and she had her whole bunch of friends to back her with it, so she felt less intimidated. She told her parents that there was an important event being planned in college and she, being one of the few enterprising ones, was requested to attend a ‘student-teacher’ meeting at the college. Her folks bought the story and she backed it up with some preparations and some planned visits by her friends at designated times to give her family the feeling that they were all in it together.
By the next morning, she was confidant of her plan and knew that with a little cover by her friends when entering and exiting the theatre, everything would be just fine. And they did just that.
They did run into Radhakka, the lady constable on duty at the theatre who knew my mom as “Vakil ara magulu”, the advocate’s daughter, and acknowledged her presence with a large grin. However she was no threat. Once inside the darkness of the theatre, my mother, though with a feeble pang of fear and guilt, told herself that she had pulled it off.
It was a small town and everyone knew everyone else.
In about 40 minutes from the movies start, the wide 70 mm screen suddenly flickered out and the theatre plunged into darkness. The quintessential power failure led to hooting, whistling and booing by the crowd. This was not new for the girls and they knew that it would take about 15 -20 minutes till the power supply could be resumed and they began chatting among themselves.
The movie was a popular one and the hero, a hit with the local people. The delay in resuming the movie stirred up another bunch of college boys in a corner who began to make trouble by throwing paper balls at the screen and passing intelligent and funny comments about the theatre administration which amused the rest of the crowd who joined in and the noise began too grow. The authorities knew that if the hall continued to be left in darkness, the fun would soon change course to vandalism.
Suddenly in the dark hall a small but bright light emerged from the door. It was a small hall and the light was just enough for people to realise that someone had brought in a ‘Petromax’ gas lantern. As always and as expected, the crowd suddenly fell silent and began to get back to their seats. The girls were relieved too, for the nuisance would now be under control and they could enjoy the rest of the movie which would resume sooner or later.
The light kept moving through the crowd. It was a funny play of light as it momentarily illuminated a leg here, a hand there, a head turned to talk, or a face making ‘a face’. As the girls followed the light and enjoyed the flashes and shadows that it cast on people, my mother suddenly had a strange fear. A woman’s intuition told her that the light was approaching her. As she concentrated on the silhouette she could make out that it was a woman, in boots and a cap and before she had time to think, she knew what was coming.
Radhakka, the lady constable taking oversized steps reached the row in which my mother and her friends were seated, checked for the exact seat where my mother sat, squeezed her heavy self through the tightly packed rows and stamping others feet she went straight to my mother, rested the lantern on the arm rest of her seat and with one hand still holding the lantern, gleefully said to my mom, “with me on duty at the theatre, I would not permit any form of in-convince caused to “Vakil ara magalu”.
With rest of the theatre dark, and the lantern next to my mother, her face was the only thing visible to all.
It was a small town and everyone knew everyone else.
2 comments:
You know your mother too well.
Reading this article made me feel like Iam reading a chapter from "Wise and Otherwise"
Vowwww... Thanks Kartik. Thats a compliment. or...is IT?
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