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But the memories remain
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Once upon a time, Bangalore's cinemas were as diverse as the films they screened. M. BHAKTAVATSALA rewinds back to the good old days.
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BANGALORE WAS at one time the unquestioned Cinema Queen — the largest number of cinema houses of any comparable city in India, exceeding over a hundred. That was fortunately the time of great cinema, the glorious black-and-white era and the resplendent technicolor world of India and Hollywood. But Indian cinema had no equal, not even Hollywood. Not just in quantity, but in sheer variety, Indian films are unmatched. There is no aspect of life untouched by cinema; nowhere in the world is there the kind of bewildering range of subjects tackled as here in India. We have made political films, mythological films, religious films, folklore, dance films, musicals, fantasies, historicals, apart from the usual socials, crime, horror, and action films. It is known now all over the world that the Indian film is unique, not only in itself but also in what it has done to our society over the years, throwing up mega-heroes, some of whom have led the political destinies of certain States in the Indian Union.
The poignant part of the cinema experience in Bangalore is the disappearance of dream palaces which once were home to this splendour, best exemplified by the perfect Shivaji statue that stands on a building, formerly Shivaji Talkies, cruelly half sundered on J.C. Road. That statue was the harbinger of great Tamil, Telugu movies like Jagatal Pratapan, Marathunadu Veeran, Kannagi, and the like, any one of which would put Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings in the shade.
J.C. Road has two equally nostalgia casualties. The Minerva (on the — even today — Minerva Circle), formerly Maharaja, showed English films in the mornings and mainly Telugu films appropriately catering to the Vaishya community of Vishwesharapuram.
Many were the records of Minerva — Lava Kusha, the crowning glory, running for 25 weeks. Bharat in the middle of J.C. Road was a latecomer that made a point of favouring Kannada films.
Turning away from J.C. Road into the N.R. Road, there was Naaz on one of the crosses. As the name indicates it catered to Muslim tastes. Though it had once screened films like Bombay Ke Babu, in later years it had settled on B-grade action films and Muslim socials. The ambience, both in the exterior and the interior, was appropriately `Mere Mehboob'. What a loss!
So in one stretch, one had a Telugu and English favourite, a Kannada, a Tamil, and a Hindi favourite. Such was, and hopefully, is the eclectic taste of the Bangalore filmgoer.
Chamarajpet nearby had the old Sharada theatre at one end and the cute little bonsai of a cinema hall, Jaishree, at the other, almost on the shoulder of the road to Mysore. The old Sharada metamorphosed into Sanjay and now is merged as a conference hall in the KIMS complex. To my lasting regret, I never visited Jaishree, though I have eyed her wistfully every time I drove up to Mysore. It is to my mind the progenitor of the perfect mini cinema — everything there but in a minuscule proportion.
I do not have that kind of regret with Harilakshmi, which stuck out impossibly among bungalows like a sore thumb in Wilson Gardens and disappeared without much ado.
The great gaps are, however, on K.G. Road — the cinema street of Bangalore. Some of them that are gone were real beauties.
The Prabhat, built in 1940, was really classy, always favouring classy film-makers like V. Shantaram and Bimal Roy. Jayantilal, the pioneer who built it, had come to Bangalore in 1921 and set the standards for showmanship in cinema houses. Displaying impeccable old world courtesy, he would sometimes even be present at the commencement of a show to receive patrons. He also later built the Alankar, the last word in old elegance, which is no more.
For many today, Alankar is where they saw great movies like Guru Dutt's Sahib, Bibi Aur Ghulam.
But for me the magic of Prabhat is unmatched, for that is where the romance of Raj Kapoor and Nargis blossomed, set to great music by Shankar Jaikishen in Barsaat.
At the other end of the street was Geetha, formerly Select, which handled mainly Tamil and Kannada movies, but compared with the Jayantilal's houses was more proletarian.
In the middle of the street is Kempegowda Talkies — the BRV of the City area — built in stone and seemingly indestructible even today.
It is hard to believe, but this is where all the great Filmistan movies, with the inimitable music of C. Ramchandra, played. Like Naaz, the Himalaya in the corner had that Arabian Nights touch, both in architecture and the kind of films shown — mainly B-grade Hindi films. The building is still there. Sadly, the old Sagar and Majestic are replaced by `modern' structures, closed and claustrophobic as against the wonderful open windows and open yards of yore.
The demolition of Sangam and Shanti near South End circle is too recent to talk about. Sangam had, in any case, dwindled into sex flicks save for one bright flash of the Titanic.
Down towards Seshadripuram was the Swastik, for long a favourite of families. It sat almost on the road. One walked in through the door in the middle and bang in the front was the screen. The Central further down the road, in contrast, had only side doors facing the road, and unlike Swastik, sat on huge grounds. Both screened Tamil and Telugu movies.
On the Cantonment side, where the staple was strictly English, the most memorable cinema house was undoubtedly Liberty, formerly Crystal. It sat in the right middle of the South Parade (the present M.G. Road) and was presided over by the colourful Begum, who personally monitored the shows through a bunch of street smart Artful Dodgers manning the gates, feigning the tearing of a ticket and, with a sleight of hand, passing on an old torn piece!
Money thus made was instantly secreted by the Begum in true cinematic style — right where women hurriedly hide things! She owned a red Buick, which in those leisurely days of horses and jutkas, was the only occupant of the parking area opposite. The odd thing about Liberty was that the toilets were located on either side of the proscenium and one went in under the scrutiny of a whole auditorium.
While not a trace of Liberty remains, the skeletal Empire and the eerie BRV still remain as structures. Empire was a kind of footpath cinema house showing Hindi films in English film-dominated area. One stepped off the pavement and stepped into a simple hall with a number of doors bringing in unwelcome light. Not BRV. It was a castle allowing no light. Built of stone, it was appropriate for films like Frankenstein.
It is hard to believe today seeing the pathetic remains of New Opera, but it was one of the earliest cinema houses to come up in the Cantonment and also one of the grandest. Built in an elaborately classical style, it was generous in all aspects — a vast frontage, vast corridors, and a unique auditorium with bays on either side of the seating area. In the '40s, I remember mixed crowds of foreigners, mainly Eurasians, walking down from the bars on Brigade Road to its precincts to catch a movie. The Imperial across the road was also equally old. A more intimate hall, it used to be crowded with children on holidays. It went down recently, having lost nothing of its memorable assets, which is what should have happened to New Opera too.
Commercial complexes and hotels coming up in these places of nostalgia do not hurt one as much as a "modern" cinema replacing an old beauty. Like the Sagar and Majestic.
The Parimala has replaced what to every Bangalorean should have been a place of a pilgrimage. For, here was built the first cinema house of Bangalore, in 1905. It was called the Paramount but everyone referred to it as Doddanna Hall. Magnificent grounds surrounded the airy hall which one sought for different reasons. Personally, I sought it out on a cycle from distant Cantonment to meet with Fearless Nadia, the Hunterwali whose "hoi" on horseback reverberates in my ear even today. For, you see, all those magnificent halls may have gone, but memories will remain as treasured possession, of the days and nights spent with the glorious moments of the wonderful
Indian cinema as they unrolled....
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