First Day, Any Show – the Tezaab Experience.

I saw her. Everything stood still. And then everything was in slow motion. It was love at first sight. I saw Madhuri Dixit. I saw her in the newspaper movie section.  Kaunsa Picture tha? Hmm.. Madhuri was in Pink dress of which one shoulder was missing. Madhuri was wearing yellow bandana, Aur kaun kaun tha wo poster mein? Umm.. Ek minute yaad aaega.  …. Madhuri had beautiful red lips – I mean lipstick, very very long earings, ummm aur kaun tha… Madhuri was wearing silver necklace with turquoise pearls.. Madhuri was looking smashing with her 1000 watt smile, beautiful eyes… who else… Sorry I forget the details. It was in 1988. I was just 16 then.

First Day, Any Show – Dekhana hi Padega. No Logic, I am in love.

I rush down to show the newspaper to my friends. And in few seconds a Madhuri Fan Club was founded – with 13 co-founders. We decided to go for the movie – oh yeah I remember the movie now – Tezaab.

Friday the 11^th (Nov, 1988) – Tezaab movie was released. I volunteer to buy the tickets. One could not advance book tickets at Natraj. Buy, Watch, Leave. Simple.  

I reach Natraj at 3 PM for a 6 PM show. It was hot and humid – like any afternoon in Mumbai. I see a sea of people. There is no line – there is a funnel tapering into the sole ticket counter. I join the funnel on the other end. To reach the ticket counter, you needed special skills – skill to push, pull, hit with elbows, and keep moving towards your true north – the ticket counter. It was a game – Game of rugby and Human Lagori (just like Govinda festival) at the same time. You want to score (=ticket), you hustle, you fight to gain an inch. At times, you must climb on the person to ensure you don’t lose your position in the line – or the funnel.

I was getting closer, and tragedy struck. My glasses fall on the floor. And before I could bend to pick it up, it is completely smashed by atleast 7 legs. My 1^st and only thought – Holy shit, how will I watch Madhuri now? I tried to pick up the ruins of my glasses, but quickly gave up. I took few deep breaths, calmed myself and started pushing with renewed rage – I mean energy. I wasn’t going to give up Madhuri movie for mere glasses, I Had a dream – No, No… Don’t think Martin Luther King, Think Mungeri Lal.

Finally, I am at the ticket counter. Its not a window, it’s a cage made of thick iron. It was meant to protect a human from the barbarians desperate for the tickets. Only 2 fingers could pass through that cage. Paisa do, Ticket lo.

I finally get the tickets – 13 tickets. And as I step back, the ticket counter shuts and reads Housefull. This meant ours is the 1^st row – the row closest to the screen. (We were stall class, never balcony).

I step out. I had tickets in my hand, Mission accomplished. The sun was setting. Weather was getting better. I was in a good mood. Just to be sure, I start counting the tickets. Ekk, Do, Teen… Char paanch che saat, aath, Nau… Dusss Gyaaraah…. Baara tera. (Hold. No it was not in the Movie song tune, remember I haven’t seen it yet). Yes, I have all the 13 tickets. Yay! 

And then my mood shifted.

Just when I am done counting, Police urf Singham (his look and style matched our current day Singham) grips my hand tightly, removes his goggles and tells me “ Saaale, Black ticketing kar raha hai? Haan.” I am shocked. “Nahi Uncle, mere aur dostlog ke liye liya hai”.  “Kidhar hai baaki log” he asks. “Abhi aaenge”.  “Yeda samjha kya?, Tere jaise shaane bahut dekhe hain. Chal police thane”. He drags me and pushes me into an Auto.

I am in Auto with Singham. And then the interrogation begins. “Kabhi se kar raha hai ye dhandha?” “Nahi uncle, I am a student at Atomic Energy school.  11^th standard mein padhai kar raha hun”.  “Jhoot mat bol”. To establish my credibility I tell, “Sir, my mother is a teacher and my father is a scientist at BARC”. This, I thought, ought to change his perception about me. “Maa baap pade likhe hain, tu aisa kaisa nikla? ”. More such insults were showered upon me.  

We reach police station. A police comes and tells Singham “Asli chor mil gaya re, jisko bhi pakad ke laaya… Unko jaane de”.  

Aata maajhi satakli.

He looks at me. I stare at him. Our eyes locked. My eyes are red seething with anger and I go “Ab bol saale. Kutte. Kamine. Dimaag diya hain a bhagwaan ne? Aisa kisiko bhi pakadega?”

Aisa maine siiraf socha – Bola nahi.

I was still trembling with fear. Singham is unfazed and tells me “Tera huliya chor se matching tha, isiliye tereko leke aaya. Chal kat le yahan se.”

I see the real thief as they drag him into the room. He was opposite of tall, dark and handsome, how can they confuse him with me? – Or maybe I just blindly trust what my mother says.

I run to Natraj. Picture start time is just 10 minutes.

My friends are at Natraj.

Bell Rings (=enter the Door). Chaos begins. Everybody rushes towards the only door. Rugby all over again. Huffing and puffing, we reach the 1^st row. And…

People are sitting – well settled – in our seats. Galti se mistake!? – i think.

“Ye apna seat hai” I tell politely to one gentleman. He looks at me (with that look.. Ch*+&$# and says “1^st come, 1^st serve hai. Jidar jagah mila baitho”.

W.T.F. ! We panic and look around. No seats. Rakesh finds the man with the torch. “Bhai, ye dekh apna ticket. Kidhar baithneka?”. 

“Jaldi aane ka na” he says with absolutely no regret. Yogesh looses patience and uses choicest of gaalis at him. He is not perturbed. He is well trained to handle this. “Ruko, mai kuch karta hun”.

He leaves us there as we listen to annoying “Tujhko haldi ka ubatan lagaye sakhiyan…. “. Helpless, all of us are standing. We wait and watch “Dadaji… Badminton”. Some from that Natraj crowd – oh they are different, unlike Basant (the other theatre in Chembur) – shout at us “Hato. Baitho”. We tried to bend down so that they can see “Hea hea Hea… Lijjat Paapad”.  

After 5 mins our man with the torch arrives. “Maine tum log ka bandobast kiya hai.” He says. Then from behind 2 men arrive, with a Baakda – a long wooden bench. They place it in front of the 1^st row. That is Zero-th row. “Idhar baitho”.

We protest. And…

“Baithna hai to bolo… nahi to bahar bahut log hain unko bitha Doonga“ says Goonda with the torch!  

We succumb. We sit and watch “…. Humaara Bajaj”.

The Zero-th row geometry. To watch the big Natraj screen, the head moves up 76 degrees. “Munna” (at the right of the screen), our head position is 10 Degrees. “Mohini” (At the left end of the screen), our head position is 163 Degrees. As they converse, our head is moving left, right… left right…. Right, right, left…. panning over 150 degrees. That’s a neck warm up for a year!

But we forgot all about it, as Madhuri made her entry. Public paagal… ofcourse me too. The entire theatre went berserk – shouting, whistling with joy!

Zero-th row also meant a total immersive experience –  When Shyam lal throws Tezaab, it almost fell on me. When Munna flew that van, it was over us and I was in the swimming pool with Madhuri. I wanted to save her from drowning, but saala Munna aa gaya!

We continue to watch the movie. During important scenes (you know the ones I am talking about), I ask my friend to share his glasses. (Remember my glasses were stomped to death in that funnel.) He did.

Interval. Time for A1 samosa.

If you are thinking what is A1 samosa? Please take chullu bhar paani… and you know the next step. Boss, life is a waste if you have not had A1 samosa. My friend gets the samosa for all of us. Needless to say, it was rugby, human lagori again! But A1 samosa ke liye kuch bhi karega. Pakya – our clumsy friend – eats one bite and rest falls on the ground. Everyone sees it. Pakya in a flash picks it up and asks “Ram ki bhoot?” But does not wait for the answer, just smiles and gobbles it up. We never waste a A1.

As the movie ends, we got up from our pathetic, broken wooden baakda. I looked back at my fellow Tezaab-ians. Not just Upper stall and Balcony folks, other stall folks also looked down upon us! As we started moving out, the man with the torch comes and says “ Arey baakda bahar leke jaana, jara madad karo… haath do na”.

Aata sabki satakli.

But, we did help him, else we would have been sitting on the floor. Just imagine!