Circa 1989, Guwahati. My winter vacations were on. I was in the throes of adolescent angst and found fault with everything starting from the venerable Assam Tribune’s editorial pieces (justified) to our cook’s fish curry (unjustified). My aunt came down for a visit, empathized with my state and whisked me away to her place in Gauripur, a small town in Dhubri, a far flung district of Assam bordering West Bengal.
My cousin, Bijoyda, was overjoyed to see me. Almost shunned by the family for his inability to be stable (read: finding a job) and regarded by the neighbours as a harmless directionless odd ball, he saw me as somebo
dy who might just understand him. Why? Till today, I don’t have any answer. His take on life was simple-There are many ways of deciding what one wants to do in life. But one should just know how to avoid taking a decision. This was what he explained to me on a lazy afternoon while we basked like a pair of slightly misplaced seals on the banks of the Brahmaputra.
We quickly fell into a pattern. After breakfast, we’d head out to Gauripur town on Bijoyda’s temperamental Bajaj Sunny. A bumpy 10 minute ride away through paddy fields, Gauripur was the eastern version of a Wild West town. There was one main potholed road lined with shops such AtoZ tailors (peak season-Durga Puja), Star Restaurant (where one can celebrate joys with jalebis and drown sorrows in cups of masala chai), Salim & Sons Saloon (it’s another thing that Salim had five daughters but he never stopped hoping), and last but not the least, Gauripur’s pride-Glory Cinema (where the L had dropped off).
Glory Cinema was where Bijoyda came into his elements. Bhaskar, the star-struck manager (overweight, constantly perspiring with an incurable fondness for manikchand and ribald tales) was in awe of Bijoyda’s
likeness to a popular Assamese hero. Moreover his never-ending anecdotes about various film stars (thanks to dog-eared copies of Stardust) kept Bhaskar in splits. Bijoyda would plonk himself in Bhaskar’s cabin adorned with comely damsels and bundles of tickets (yellow for balcony, purple for stalls). I particularly remember a ‘House-full’ sign which used to stand forlornly in a corner (it was only very rare cinematic occasions when Glory Cinema used to achieve that status.) Bhaskar would order masala chai and samosas from Star and an enjoyable afternoon would be spent ripping apart the current potboiler. And stitching it together with their own observations. How the plot could have been more interesting if the hero had married the gardener's daughter. Or if the union leader had befriended the owner's son. Bijoyda’s life couldn’t get better than this. An attentive listener, free chai (and samosas) and a complimentary ticket for the Friday show.
Bijoyda once saved Bhaskar from a potential sticky situation. Just bef
ore the first show of the much anticipated blockbuster 'Maine Pyar Kiya' (the Housefull board had made its rare appearance outside the booking counter), it was discovered that out of the 15-odd reels, there were only the first seven reels. The distributor had goofed up. And Bhaskar discovered the fact just before the show was about to start. The remaining reels would reach only the next morning. Conjuring up images of him being beaten up like a film baddie, he sought out Bijoyda. Quickly assessing the situation, Bijoyda told him to make an announcement that the public would get to see the first half of the new movie till the interval and then see the last week’s movie’s climax (the reels of last week film were still there). Basically two movies for the price of one. And there would be a special show of the remaining part of the first film next day free of cost.
Fearing the worst, Bhaskar made the announcement. And the public responded with hoots of delight. Nobody really cared that they need to come back again next day to see the remaining part of the film again. The free show (for which they had already played) was all that mattered.
Bhaskar in an emotionally charged moment christened Bijoyda as the ‘Prince of Gauripur’ and ordered jalebis from Star to celebrate his close escape.
(For the record, the film shown after the interval was a dubbed ‘educational’ Tamil film starring Silk Smitha.)
After a couple of weeks, I returned to Guwahati. I quite missed the sessions with Bhaskar and Bijoyda. Soon after, I heard that Glory Cinema was demolished. I wondered what happened to Bhaskar. I lost touch with Bijoyda after shifting to Pune for what elders used to term as ‘higher studies’.
It was many years later when on a visit to Guwahati, I chanced upon an interview in a local TV channel. The producer-director of the latest Assamese hit film looked extremely familiar. It was none other than Bhaskar. I watched fascinated as Bhaskar spoke eloquently about the dynamics of making a successful film. “The main soul of a film is the script and my film’s success is entirely because of my writer” as Bhaskar made this statement, the camera panned to the writer, and I almost fell of my seat.
Bijoyda looked quite fashionable in the quintessential garb of a film writer.
The distance from Gauripur to Guwahati is only about 300 kms. But it sure felt good to see how far these two friends have come.