<p>I spent five years in Mysuru, the city of palaces, during university. Among the many things that happened then, the memory of one escapade is still fresh in my mind. Three of us—Sudhir, Pradeep and I—roommates and all studying for bachelor’s degrees—went to watch a late-night movie.</p>.<p>We decided to treat ourselves to a classic that was playing in Sterling Talkies—one of the only two cinemas in Mysuru then that featured Hollywood movies. Skyline was the other. We watched The Ten Commandments. I must have watched the movie 50 times since, in the last 30 years. Simply love the cinematography! Especially the Red Sea parting.</p>.<p class="bodytext">We watched the four-hour movie with two intervals and ate cheap popcorn that cost us Rs 2 a piece. My monthly allowance then was Rs 600 deposited in my savings account by my magnanimous father, and it was quite a sum then that afforded an occasional chicken dinner, some beer, and a movie.</p>.<p class="bodytext">After watching the magnificent epic, we began our six km walk back to Maharaja College Hostel, where we had our rooms. It was mostly a peaceful walk. Mysuru in those days was a quaint city that went to bed at 8 pm. There was hardly any crime, no traffic, and the city police had little work to do. They were ornamental.</p>.<p class="bodytext">But it was our fate that we had to encounter a night beat police constable who took his job a trifle too seriously. “Hello, mister! What are you doing on the empty streets during this hour?” the constable barked. He was armed with a lathi that he brandished. I was scared because this was my first encounter with a policeman. My companions were shaken too, but they kept their mouths shut—wise guys. I told the police officer that we were returning home from the cinema.</p>.<p class="bodytext">“Show me the ticket (counterfoil)!” the constable ordered. Immediately, I turned to Sudhir and confidently said, “Su, show him the ticket.” At that, Sudhir turned to Pradeep and said, “Give him the ticket!” And Pradeep said what we feared the most— “I don’t have it!” </p>.<p class="bodytext">So, I said to the police officer, “Sir, we don’t have the ticket. Please see what can be done.” I was trying to bribe him because, years before becoming a crime reporter, I believed that all policemen and women could be bribed. “What shall I see?!” he bellowed with a good measure of unprintable profanities thrown in. </p>.<p class="bodytext">We were taken to the Lakshmi Puram police station and booked for ‘wandering in the night’. We spent one hour in the police station and went back to the hostel as free men. Just like the Jewish slaves released from bondage in the movie.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Wonder what would have been different if one of us had retained the cinema ticket counterfoil. It would not have been such a wonderful memory for sure.</p>
<p>I spent five years in Mysuru, the city of palaces, during university. Among the many things that happened then, the memory of one escapade is still fresh in my mind. Three of us—Sudhir, Pradeep and I—roommates and all studying for bachelor’s degrees—went to watch a late-night movie.</p>.<p>We decided to treat ourselves to a classic that was playing in Sterling Talkies—one of the only two cinemas in Mysuru then that featured Hollywood movies. Skyline was the other. We watched The Ten Commandments. I must have watched the movie 50 times since, in the last 30 years. Simply love the cinematography! Especially the Red Sea parting.</p>.<p class="bodytext">We watched the four-hour movie with two intervals and ate cheap popcorn that cost us Rs 2 a piece. My monthly allowance then was Rs 600 deposited in my savings account by my magnanimous father, and it was quite a sum then that afforded an occasional chicken dinner, some beer, and a movie.</p>.<p class="bodytext">After watching the magnificent epic, we began our six km walk back to Maharaja College Hostel, where we had our rooms. It was mostly a peaceful walk. Mysuru in those days was a quaint city that went to bed at 8 pm. There was hardly any crime, no traffic, and the city police had little work to do. They were ornamental.</p>.<p class="bodytext">But it was our fate that we had to encounter a night beat police constable who took his job a trifle too seriously. “Hello, mister! What are you doing on the empty streets during this hour?” the constable barked. He was armed with a lathi that he brandished. I was scared because this was my first encounter with a policeman. My companions were shaken too, but they kept their mouths shut—wise guys. I told the police officer that we were returning home from the cinema.</p>.<p class="bodytext">“Show me the ticket (counterfoil)!” the constable ordered. Immediately, I turned to Sudhir and confidently said, “Su, show him the ticket.” At that, Sudhir turned to Pradeep and said, “Give him the ticket!” And Pradeep said what we feared the most— “I don’t have it!” </p>.<p class="bodytext">So, I said to the police officer, “Sir, we don’t have the ticket. Please see what can be done.” I was trying to bribe him because, years before becoming a crime reporter, I believed that all policemen and women could be bribed. “What shall I see?!” he bellowed with a good measure of unprintable profanities thrown in. </p>.<p class="bodytext">We were taken to the Lakshmi Puram police station and booked for ‘wandering in the night’. We spent one hour in the police station and went back to the hostel as free men. Just like the Jewish slaves released from bondage in the movie.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Wonder what would have been different if one of us had retained the cinema ticket counterfoil. It would not have been such a wonderful memory for sure.</p>
