On a personal screen

You run into your schoolteacher; an aged, tired looking Anglo-Indian lady. She recognises you immediately. Your mind puts on the projector. Your ear cooperates faithfully. You hear her voice chastising you 8212; you couldn8217;tremember beyond 8220;Friends, Romans, Countrymen/Lend me your ears8221;8230; Doesshe have a cat in her house? Was her genuine kindness used by the likes ofNandita and Samaresh? Are you similar to Samaresh Maitra? You feel apang of guilt8230; for a fleeting second. 8220;Hello, Miss Stoneham.8221; 8220;Son,8221;she says, 8220;You don8217;t remember me? I am not Miss Stoneham. I am Mrs Dias. Itaught you in the second standard.8221; 8220;In the second standard? MarkAnthony came much later!8221; You were recaptured by Jennifer Kendall8217;s VioletStoneham and you remembered Aparna Sen walking down the aisles in Nandan, ahaughty gait, glares perched carefully on her forehead. You looked at her.You tripped over your bag and landed on the seat! The theatre darkened. The film began. 36 Chowringhee Lane.

You visited your grandmother on her death bed. There she lay counting her last few breaths. She held your hand in a tight grip and whispered, 8220;I wantto live! I want to live!8221; There you saw Supriya Choudhury8217;s Nita refusingto let go of her grip8230; desperately trying to ward off death, and the filmends with these four words repeated over and over again. Ritwik Ghatak8217;sMeghe Dhaka Tara. You wake up from your trance. The grip has loosened8230;only the fingers touch. Your grandmother just died!

You lay in bed pretending to read a book. Your mother was sitting in theroom doing her make-up. Once in a while you dart your eyes towards her. Anethnic Bengali lady 8212; Ray8217;s Charulata? In walked a young man, aworking-class man with a sex appeal never gauged before. Man, woman, childor animal, he just played with your senses. Marlon Brando in A StreetcarNamed Desire? Your mother walked out with him. You couldn8217;t believe yourmind. You merged Satyajit Ray and Elia Kazan together, by default of course!

You are walking down the road. You see a woman. She looks attractive and intelligent. You look at her. She smiles and turns away. Your mind wanders to Francois Truffaut8217;s Jules et Jim and for the next two days Jeanne Moreau refuses to let go of you.

You keep walking. You8217;ve landed in a desolate place, without realising. There8217;s only a spooky bungalow nearby. You can see a tall, lanky man in front of it, looking at a window high above. A silhouetted woman can be seen through the window. The man turns to look at you. You recognise him. You shudder. Norman Bates! Anthony Perkins in Alfred Hitchcock8217;s Psycho! You run for life. All this while you thought violence was cool. Now when it is following you, you strain your legs. But that is pleasurable too! So in a way Quentin Tarantino was right. So was Pulp Fiction!

You8217;re out of breath and stop for a second. However, that8217;s long enough tomake a prisoner of you. You happily succumb and the screen lights up. Andthe images unfold. Life takes a back seat and you are finally comfortablewith your companions8230; you, the darkness and the screen with its images!