Legacy of the laid-back Hyderabadi

Movie buff Mani Shankar, who has been a witness to the evolution of both films and film-going audiences over the years tells us what sets the Hyderabadi viewer apart.
There’s the old Hyderabadi joke that goes like this — A guy and his girl land up in a movie theatre. The guy parks his bike and tells the chick “go stand in the ladies queue and get the last two seats in the last row behind.
She being a typical dumb moll asks, “What if the last two seats in the last row are already taken?” The boy replies with a sigh, “Then we’ll have to watch the movie”.
In Hyderabad, our teen movie-goers can be segregated into the horny class and leisure class, with a lot of intermingling between the two. For the first category of youngsters, movies are for cuddling up as much as they are for watching. When you are a teen and hopping about crazily, what better place than a cool darkened hall where you are left alone to do your thing? Under the circumstances, the movie as such doesn’t matter. In fact the lousier the flick, the hotter you can get with the chick, because the hall is empty, and you can experiment, innovate, and enlighten your pals afterwards.
That traditionally has been one reason why Hyderabadi youngsters have loved films. It perfectly suited our attitude where outwardly you appeared ‘decent’, while secretly you went wild.
It’s only in the last few years that the society has grown less hypocritical, more permissive, and the action has moved outdoors. Movie halls have lost their sheen, because umpteen spots have opened up where you can find a remote spot without disturbance.
Lots of ‘morning show ustaads’ still bunk classes and head for the theatre. They represent the ‘leisure class’, and are a godsend to the distributors of RP Road who would have gone bankrupt without their continuing support. To the leisure class, the multiplex represents a watering hole of sorts, where they can swagger in, ogle at girls, count their money, decide whether to have a sub or a zinger, and go to any movie.
Hyderabadis still excel in the concept of ‘timepass’, a quasi Nawabi attitude of enjoying the ‘being there and doing that’, even if that’s what you exactly did a hundred times before. Again the movie as such doesn’t matter, nor does it make any difference if you have already seen it five times.
It’s how elegant your ‘timepass’ is that counts, where your success depends on who else saw you, who you gave a high five to, who noticed your spiked hair, your new Jordan shoes or your Diesel jeans.
You ain’t a true Hyderabadi if you haven’t been part of these two charming classes for at least some period of your life. I had my day in my time, and I enjoy watching our youngsters chill, carrying forward the legacy of the laid-back Hyderabadi.
The writer is a filmmaker