The VCR Diaries

Nostalgic 90s experiences of watching films on a VCR

Grandmother’s house. Summer of 1995. No air-conditioner. None of the bottles of water in the fridge are cold. Because we just filled them up. Even opening the window slightly would bring in the hot air. Going out was prohibited before 4 pm. In one of the rooms, the air-cooler would try its best to cool the room. But you’re having the best time of your life with your cousins and neighbors, playing carroms, chess, snakes and ladders, cards and waiting for the ice-cream cart. Thus were the afternoons on most days.

And one of those days, with consent from all the elders, it would be decided to rent a VCR/VCP for a day or two. A united front of all the cousins, uncles and aunts would gather to discuss when to rent it, for how long to rent it and then, the ultimate question - which movies to rent. For those who grew-up in middle-class families in the 90s in Hyderabad, renting a VCR for a day or two was a festival of sorts.

A committee of the connoisseurs would decide which films to bring. I was too young and rarely got a say in it, but I did make some suggestions and they obliged, often. Once all the decisions were made, it was time for action. I would ride pillion on my uncle’s scooter or my grandfather’s Luna and go to the video library store. I would instantly get lost in checking out the video cassette covers and spend a lot of time reading the labels. There are some movie names that I still can’t get out of my head. And I still haven’t watched these films. Slowly, I’d stroll through the Hindi section, then to the English and then Telugu. Like an obsessive compulsive, I’d read the names of all the films I could. Until the man handed over to us, the VCR, with the relevant cables.

Once the VCR was brought home, one of my uncles would connect it and flip through all the channels, until we saw the rainbow colored stripes. That was it. There was no better way to call for silence and attention in the 1990s. And it was also the moment when they’d draw all the curtains, switch off all the lights and make it as dark as possible in the room. And that, was the first step of starting a movie marathon would begin. Sometimes, the tapes were clean, and sometimes, they were worn out. Unexpected, surprising lines would appear out of nowhere. The audio would take a few seconds to sync with the video, often with a scary whirring sound. Sometimes, the cassette would be of very poor quality and had to be returned to get a ‘better print’. And often, the tape would have to be fixed because it would get stuck in the VCR’s reader. And sometimes, the VCR’s cassette compartment wouldn’t open. It would just get locked, giving us enough opportunity to go to the bathroom.

When you rent a VCR for 24-hours, it gave you the opportunity to watch five or six films, without sacrificing much sleep. So if we had to pick five, two would be Telugu films, one of which would be definitely a Rajendra Prasad film, two Hindi films, one of which would be slightly older film to appease to the elders and then one English film, like a McKenna’s Gold or Enter the Dragon, or such. But often, we skipped the English ones to get another comedy film, mostly a Rajendra Prasad or a Naresh film.

Sometimes, the movies would be repeated for a guest or someone who had missed it earlier. And when it was all done, and it was time to return the VCR, everyone would be a little sad. Some kind of gloom would prevail. And as per the instructions of the elders, we would keep the TV shut for a few hours because it was ‘heated up’ because of the continuous usage.

And during those hours, we would have a ball talking about the films we saw, mimicking a joke or a dialogue, laughing our rears off, and enjoying every bit of it. Th euphoria would last for some time. Minute by minute, the magic would wear off, and the feeling that it’s summer would creep back in, when you start feeling the heat, which you didn’t when you were watching the movies.

Life was so beautiful.

At at 9 PM, one of the uncles would switch on the TV, and the quintessential cult music of the English news bulletin on Doordarshan would begin, throwing us back into the real world.

Deepak Karamungikar