The one great joy that every summer vacation visit to Kolkata brought, when I was a kid, was TV. Granddad’s B&W TV was an engrossing device and I could spend hours glued to the screen without a care in the world. Though the visits to Kolkata were to ostensibly renew familial bonds, my agenda was shamelessly laid bare for all to see. Thankfully, no one seemed to mind.
Doordarshan, the state-run national television channel, used to air wonderful late night flicks in those days. Now I don’t quiet remember if the credit goes to DD or leaked Bangladeshi state television airwaves, but one of the late night movies I got to see was The Time Machine, by H.G.Wells. The name sounded futuristic – just as I liked – and I was all agog to watch it.
Watch I did, but the movie scared the hell out of me. So petrified was I that even after transmission ended I was too scared to get up from the couch and switch off the set. To make matters worse, I was all alone in the room as everyone else had already called it a day. The door right next to the TV opened to a dark aisle connecting to a bedroom, a verandah and the exit gate. I imagined ghosts ambushing me.
Mustering all my courage, I finally did manage to switch off the set and go to bed. I guess I must have spent a sleepless night. A few years later, I bought the book and thoroughly enjoyed reading it. There were no ghosts this time, only fascination at time travel.
I downloaded the movie a couple of days ago and converted it to .mp4 before transferring it to my iPod. I’m looking forward to it!
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