At midnight, lane number 83, nostalgia arrives with a song
- Jul 11
- 5 min read
For a teenager, the world is borderless. It is an open sky to fly higher and higher with a dream which seems invincible, untouched by worldly perplexities.
By Ramsharan Joshi in Delhi
A mixed bag of happenings around the world disturbs my sleep. The thunderbolt of Iran’s victory over the mightiest power of the world (of course, not the greatest one), known as the United States of America, makes me jubilant. A serene happiness does not always let you be hugged by deep sleep.
I am simultaneously drawn into fathomless sadness the moment the genocide in Gaza shakes me; myriad innocent faces of the departed children; the souls of the thousands of women and men lying in their make-shift graves, and in the vast rubble, pose a challenge to my conscience -- to stand up and speak truth to power.
Undoubtedly, the knocks by the Cockroach Janta Party at the doors of the apex power in Lutyens’ Delhi enriches the mixed bag and creates a ray of hope for tomorrow's golden morning; the world of youth is awakened now to challenge the cruel whims and fancies of the ruling regimes across the world.
Rahul Gandhi’s plunge into the resensitization mission of young aspirants for restructuring of India's educational system is kindling hope in me, to welcome a glorious dawn descending on the nation in the days to come.
There is no instant way to get rid of sleeplessness. I keep on tossing and turning. For how long?
Nostalgia takes me over, and I am drawn into the sweet and bitter memories of yesteryears. I am at 83. The psych of an old man incessantly pushes him into the lovely arms of energetic and dashing teenage. For a teenager, the world is borderless. It is an open sky to fly higher and higher with a dream which seems invincible, untouched by worldly perplexities.
During my teenage days, I was deeply and romantically attached to Bollywood movies. It was my passion to watch the movie on its first day of release at the movie theaters. Under the grip of zunoon or passion, I would watch the screenings of three to four movies in a day, from morning to midnight.
Those days, the tickets used to be available at cheaper rates, from half-a-rupee to Rs 5. We, teenagers, were crazy about the fantastic trio of Dilip + Raj + Dev. I would copy their style of acting and attire. Their sense of casual fashion, hairstyle and clothes, would be in vogue.
And who could forget the talented beauties of Bollywood? The versatile, great, incredibly popular actresses?
The trio of Madhubala, Meena Kumari and Nargis ruled the hearts of youngsters, as much as those in their fifties and sixties, and girls those days were besotted by the ‘Sadhna cut’ hairstyle of actress Sadhna.
Beside their movies, I had a passion for watching films being shot in different forts and palaces within the vicinity of Jaipur. The war scene of the celebrated box office blockbuster, Mughal-e-Azam, comes rushing to me. I vividly remember the shooting at the famous fort of Amber for 8-9 hours, non-stop. K Asif, the director, was leading the production team.
It was my dream to watch Dilip Kumar live, while shooting. One day, the dream was realized. I saw the great actor giving shots for the movie Kohinoor at the entrance gate of the Amer Fort.
I calculated, I had watched roughly 300 movies by 1962. I was amazed and felt a thrill within – as if it is an incredible achievement. The list I drew includes Sri 420, Bootpolish, Jagteraho, Pyasa, Sahab + Bibi + Gulam, Mother India, Do Beegha Zameen, Leader, Naya Dour, Nagin, Jagriti, and so on. It was a sort of historic achievement for a boy like me.
This zunoon pushed me into another adventure. One dark night, I ran away from Jaipur to try my luck in Bombay, the film and financial capital of India. I visited the palatial houses of Dilip Kumar, Dev Aand, Raj Kapoor and others. I knocked on their gates.
I was lucky to be recrutied as an extra in Dev Anand’s anti-war romantic movie Hum Dono, with Sadhna and Nanda . I did four days of shooting. I was paid roughly fifty rupees. Beside it, I did one night shooting in a commercial ad. The lead role was played by great character artists, David and Durga Khote.
One fine morning, a serious realization disturbed my obsessive quest. I thought, “I am not cut out for acting in films.” So, I returned to Jaipur -- crestfallen. But, this misadventure was to cast me differently in more meaningful roles to be played in various phases of my life.
Something else was in store. The next phase of my adulthood’s journey was more challenging and adventurous. One fine morning, I decided to leave Jaipur for Delhi, to dig out the genuine mettle within myself, to face the world, and life. After some time on the pavements of Connaught Place (CP), an inspiring song echoing from a radio set of a tea shop nearby, drew my attention. The song still echoes in my ears.
The lyrics are, Mere Nadeem, mere Hamsafar, Udaas na ho. kathin sahi teri manzil, magar udaas na ho (my confidant, my fellow traveller, do not be sad, even if your destination is difficult, do not be sad.)
Later, I discovered the name of the lyricist. It is celebrated, progressive poet, Sahir Ludhiyanvi, whose revolutionary poetry has been inspiring the strugglers of all ages from generation to generation. A boy from a sleepy town of Baswa in Rajasthan, and the feudal pink city of Jaipur, who once aspired to be a celluloid actor in Bollywood, stood transformed after walking a few steps with those who were dedicated to the on-going struggle for the creation of a just, secular and democratic India.
The morning newspaper delivered the headlines: Deal ending war gives Iran critical economic lifeline; US lifts blockade. Sahir’s song echoes in my ears, kathin sahi manzil magar udaas na ho.
Having passed through the ordeals of war, Iran, finally, reaches its manzil (destination). The news of the historic MOU signed in Versailles pushes me into the sweet arms of sleep. Before I take the plunge into deep sleep, let me end this nostalgic journey with the concluding words of TS’s Eliot famous poem, Wasteland:
Om Shanti! Om Shanti! Om Shanti !
Ramsharan Joshi is an eminent journalist, author and academician based in Delhi.