A few weeks ago, when Ronnie Raj (the filmy friend in Online Detective and the Girl on Crutches) called me from the Capital city, I asked him in a tone of surprise, that what was he doing in Thiruvananthapuram. He said, “buddy, did you forget? It is now the International Film Festival. Are you not attending this time?”
Sadly I realized, yes, I was missing the film festival for the first time in the last five years. My shift to the Cochin city has attributed such irreparable losses to my life. I truly liked the kind of exotic atmosphere brought to Trivandrum through the third world films, especially, Latin American, Iranian etc, during the film festival time. Ronnie Raj or some other friends used to be with me in such situations. We used to discuss after watching every film, about varying topics, ranging from the camera treatment used, visual appeal, scripting techniques and the beauty of the heroine to the usual hot, steamy scenes.
During night times, I accompanied Ronnie Raj to one of the ugliest and most crowded bars of the city, where his childhood mate was working as a supplier. Though unwillingly, I used to give him company during his visits to the bar, passing the dirtiest parts of the city and climbing the broken and ruined steps to end up around a table in perished condition. As soon as the childhood friend sees us, he used to serve us with one or two pegs of his favourite liquor. Encouraged by Ronnie Raj, I also used to consume one or more pegs. After that I used to drive my sincere bike with him through the unoccupied city roads in the darkest nights aiming his hotel room. On the way, when seeing police jeeps patrolling, terrified, my friend would clutch me on shoulders and would say me in a shivering voice, “Don’t panic; these are simple cases; why are you speeding your bike up?”
Recently, the director, who appeared in one of my previous posts titled ‘The Villain’, contacted me on phone. He wanted to know the address of the place - for his friend to dwell in a few days - where I spent some of my good times in Trivandrum. Over the phone I said him to go forth through the lane, till he reaches the end of it. I could hear him breathing, and I guessed that he was walking briskly through the same road, where my sincere bike covered 20,000 and 30,000 kms. When the director reached the end of the lane, I asked him to turn left. He is listening to me, I thought; and he is seeing the paths ahead. Does that mean I am seeing my favourite locations through his eyes?
Following my directions, the director reached at the gate of the house to which I bid farewell just one month before. It was where the incidents described in the tale of the Love Messenger took place. Some more incidents like, the Science of Horoscopes and the Inception Experience also happened at the same house. I was about to ask the director the new occurrences of the place, but he abruptly cut the phone.
Now I miss many things, my usual evening visits to the Shankhumugham beach, the setting sun, solitary benches of the park, hasty ride through the streets, creative friends, the familiar paths, familiar faces, tea shops, the bakery at the second floor, theatres, teasing talks, everything. I don’t know how much time it would take to build up such emotional tie ups in this new city.