I met school friend after long-span of 5 yrs and 10kgs. She looked like she stepped out of one of those film fare magazines picturing Padmini Kolhapure or Poonam Dhillon and I was drapped in my cotton sari, suddenly I felt like a frumpy forty aunt taking her favourite niece out. But my friend squeals ”Wow shammi, how do you maintain your skin, I would kill for a skin like yours.” I smile it was like being back in time when we wondered how Padmini Kolhapure handled her pimples, we use to pour into magazines like Femina, Eve’s weekly or woman’s era. For they were delivered home. Occasionally a PicturePost, or a filmfare would be indulged in.
Growing up on a campus was different experience particularly in the 70’s movies were a rare treat, a luxurious indulgence and eating out even greater thrill.
The cuboids structure of various dimensions called the radio was our source of information and entertainment. It was shared by the family. So it was one station for all. Most of us stuck to all India radio but now and then there were some “modern” families that listed to Srilanka broadcasting corporation or vivida bharati.
Those rare movies we went to, there was the Indian news reel. Which would be a black and white documentary about the latest achievement of the Indian government.
A few advertisements of talcs, soaps, vicco vajradanti, vicks whatever. Then came the most important clipping the trailer….
A trailer would include the entry of the hero, the heroine’s entry, the villains entry, a fight sequence couple of catchy dialogues. But the most important bit of a trail for us, was the “Helen dance.” (pronounced hay-lin-dunce).
Evening in the campus meant our fathers stood at circle one and discussed the hospital politics, mothers in their circle would start off with mahila samaj and finish with the current gossip. The third group would be of us kids still in our uniform changing in the evening happened very rarely. Since we returned from school at 5pm, and we had to return from play when the lights came on that is approximately between quarter to seven and seven.
So here we were our curfew breaking would be unnoticed and we would gather round the last person who went to a movie and the story would be shared. Neither the heroine’s dance nor the hero’s prance got our fancy, we would tuck ribbons into the waistbands yodel whatever we had picked up from the radio and wriggle our butt, in a helensque way!!
How distant it seems now.
written for Dove Guessing Game with my friend