The Real 'Darr' Was Outside the Theatre

Was listening to a song recently and got reminded of an incident from 1993.

Growing up, summer vacations more often than not meant one thing. A trip to Patna.

A large part of my extended family lived there. Several of my Buas and Phuphas, along with countless cousins. As a kid, I used to be incredibly excited about those trips. In fact, I used to be jealous that my cousins got to spend so much time together while I met them only during vacations. Summers in Patna meant large family gatherings, games, cricket, good food, ice creams, endless stories and complete freedom. Honestly, what else does a child need?

One thing that happened very often during those vacations was family movie outings. Not small groups. The entire clan. Sometimes twelve to fifteen people together or even more.

During that trip, the plan was to watch Darr, starring Sunny Deol, Shah Rukh Khan and Juhi Chawla. Even before its release, the movie had become hugely popular and was generating tremendous interest. Tickets were obviously difficult to get. So, like every large Indian family, responsibility was delegated to the younger boys.

One of my cousins was given the task of arranging tickets. I went along with him. Two of his friends joined us as well since they also wanted to watch the film with us. The four of us landed at the theatre early in the morning - probably around eight or eight thirty - because we wanted to beat the crowd and get tickets for a truckload of people.

We were expecting chaos. We had mentally prepared ourselves for pushing crowds, long queues, disappointment, maybe even failure. But to our surprise, the exact opposite happened. The ticket counter had just opened and within minutes we had all the tickets we needed. Just like that.

Mission accomplished! We found a phone booth and informed others that we have managed to get the tickets!

But then came a new problem. If my memory is not failing me, we were still around 90 minutes away from the start of the movie.

This was the early 1990s. There were practically no options to spend time that early in the morning. Most shops were still shut. Only a few eateries selling chai, samosa, jalebi and similar snacks were open. Going all the way back home and returning again for the movie felt unnecessarily exhausting. So we stood outside the theatre trying to figure out what to do.

That is when I noticed something strange.

My cousin and his two friends had started discussing something quietly among themselves. Every few seconds, they would look at me awkwardly and continue whispering. It was obvious that his friends were nudging him to ask me something, but he was unsure how I would react.

For context, I was almost fourteen years old and this cousin was around two years older than me. So he and his friends must have been around sixteen. We lived in different cities but studied in the same class, so our relationship was more like friends. Still, there was visible hesitation in the air.

Finally, I asked what was going on.

After some visible reluctance, he told me.

Before the morning show of Darr, the theatre was running an adult film in the early morning slot. And the three of them were discussing whether we should use the waiting time to go watch it. He asked me if I was okay with the idea.

A hundred thoughts ran through my head instantly.

Until that moment, I had never watched an adult movie in my life. I was not even 14. So naturally, I was nervous and deeply uncomfortable. But at the same time, like boys and men often do, I desperately did not want to appear inexperienced or scared in front of the others. Internally, I was absolutely shitting bricks. Externally, I tried my best to look calm and unfazed.

I agreed.

But not before raising what I thought was a very important concern.

Darr was supposed to start in around 75 minutes and knowing our family members, most of them would probably arrive only 60-80 minutes later. But what if, for once, they actually arrived early? They would notice that we were missing. Worse, they might see us walking out of the theatre.

That, ironically, was the real Darr. 

(For my non-Hindi speaking readers - and I would like to believe that people actually read this blog - Darr means Fear)

I raised this point partly because I genuinely feared getting caught and partly because I hoped it would make them abandon the plan altogether. To my relief, the point landed. They looked at each other and agreed that it was a valid concern. 

Unfortunately for me, they were not as Darr-pok as I was. (Darr-pok means coward)

The adult movie (I do not recall the name) had already started, so they quickly came up with what they believed was a foolproof plan. We would immediately buy tickets, go inside, watch the movie for no more than 45 minutes and come out well before our family members arrived.

I had to admit, it sounded logical. And with that, the plan was put into action.

We bought the tickets and entered the theatre. There were only a handful of people inside. We quietly went and sat in a corner. The movie had already been running for some time.

Technically, I was watching the movie. Mentally, however, I was sitting on a ticking time bomb.

Not because the movie itself was particularly scandalous. In fact, from what I remember, it was mostly terrible and had very few actual adult scenes. Whatever 'adult content' it had was mostly limited to occasional nudity rather than anything explicit. My cousin and his friends were giggling occasionally, not on the scenes but at the expressions of people sitting in that dark theatre - early in the morning!

Meanwhile, I was doing only one thing. Checking my watch every few minutes.

After around 25 minutes, I elbowed my cousin and whispered, “Should we leave?” 

He looked at his watch casually and replied, “There’s still a lot of time.”

Five minutes later, I asked again. Same response. This happened a few more times.

Finally, after spending about 40-45 minutes inside the theatre, my cousin agreed to leave. Maybe he got irritated with my constant questioning. Maybe even he had started getting nervous.

The moment he agreed, I practically sprang out of my seat. I led the group toward the exit like a man escaping a crime scene. My only objective was to get out quickly, reach a safe spot outside and ensure we did not get caught by any family member.

The exit opened into a narrow roofless alley beside the theatre which connected to the parking area in front.

I walked out first, almost charging through the alley. And then, in what felt like a perfectly scripted twist written by a sadistic Bollywood writer, I froze...

Around 15 steps away stood a man holding a large video camera on his shoulder. And he was recording people coming out of the theatre!!

For a second, my soul left my body.

Thankfully, this was one situation where none of us needed discussion, consensus or strategic planning. Without saying a word, all four of us instantly covered our faces and sprinted past the camera like fugitives escaping a police raid.

We did not stop running until we were at least a hundred metres away from the theatre.

Once we finally caught our breath, we looked at each other. Every single face was pale. The confident 'men' who had decided to watch the movie had vanished. Only four scared boys remained.

After waiting for some time, we cautiously walked back toward the theatre, but only after a large crowd had gathered outside. We quietly stood in one corner and noticed that the cameraman was still there and he was accompanied by a couple of others.

After asking around, we discovered who they were.

It was the crew of Ankhon Dekhi, one of the most respected investigative journalism programs on Doordarshan during the 1990s and early 2000s. Hosted by journalist Nalini Singh, the show was known for fearless reporting and social issue investigations across India.

And that day, they were shooting an episode about children falling into bad habits.

The real problem was this: my immediate and extended family never missed an episode of Ankhon Dekhi.

Eventually, the family members arrived and after some time we stopped thinking about the incident. Frankly, what else could we do? All of us watched and thoroughly enjoyed Darr.

That particular episode of Ankhon Dekhi was not aired immediately. It probably took a couple of weeks and by then we had already returned from Patna. Back then, we did not have cable TV (or dish TV) at home. Unlike today’s world of endless television channels and streaming platforms, back then Doordarshan was pretty much our only source of TV entertainment. Yet for the next several weeks, I kept inventing excuses to prevent my family from watching Ankhon Dekhi.

The day the episode finally aired, I do not think I watched it myself.

I found out later that the episode thankfully did not contain the blockbuster scene that could easily have converted my life into a full-fledged horror movie.

At the beginning, I mentioned that listening to a song reminded me of this incident. The song is Jaadu Teri Nazar from Darr. I love the song but even today, whenever I hear it playing somewhere, I instantly get transported back to that morning in Patna. 

Looking back now, it is funny how terrified we were. Four boys acting like fugitives after watching forty minutes of a terrible adult movie. But at fourteen, reputation, fear and imagination combine in strange ways. And for a few weeks in 1993, I genuinely believed my life could be destroyed by Ankhon Dekhi.