Growing up, my parents enforced pretty strict bed times. Obviously, my brother and I didn’t adhere to it. My father is in business and followed the entrepreneurial rule book of having no set schedule. Most days he would return home hours after we were asleep. My mother would stay up until the wee hours of the night waiting for my dad. She would entertain herself by watching TV. Those days (the nineties) were the early days of cable in India. Cartoon Network, Star Movies and HBO were considered a luxury, a luxury we begged our parents to install.
The Cartoon Network of yore had amazing content. Johnny Bravo, Dexter’s Laboratory, Swat Cats, my brother and I ingested these cartoons with a fervor. But only until 9 PM. After nine, Cartoon Network became TCM and stayed that way until 6 in the morning.
Every night after turning off the lights and making sure we were asleep, my mother would sneak into the living room like a cat, turn on the TV and watch whatever movie was playing at the time on TCM. Like a switch that went on, I would wake up the minute I heard the TV although the volume was barely audible. I’d quietly sneak outside my bedroom and hide behind the wall of the living room. From that vantage point I watched as Audrey Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor, Cary Grant, Gregory Peck and all these other marvelous stars sashayed their way through movies that were pure magic. Mom was aware of my antics for every now and then she would call out to me asking me to return to my bed. But as the years passed, and as I grew older I earned a place sitting beside her as we watched numerous classic films. Like all good things, the reign of TCM ended and it was Cartoon Network 24/7.
I outgrew cartoons during this period and turned my sights to renting DVDs of old movies. We spent entire summers watching movie after movie gawking at artistic gowns and suave actors. This is why I love classic films. Not just for the interesting story lines, brilliant dialogues and the charming men who fuel my dreams, but for the warmth these memories bring me.
During my time exploring the Bay Area I happened to come across Stanford Theatre in Palo Alto. The theatre consists of just one screen (unheard of these days) and an organist who plays prior to the evening shows. The corridors are adorned with vintage film posters and a large popcorn is only $2.50.
Every year they have an Alfred Hitchcock film festival and this year it’s happening right now. Yesterday, I watched Suspicion for the first time and I am still reeling from Joan Fontaine’s evening coat.
Maybe In Madras 