Old songs are like time machines, ride them & let the past play on

time travel. For instance, whenever I hear 'Dekha Hai Maine Tumhe Phir Se Palat Ke' from Ravikant Nagaich's Wardat (1981), it takes me back to my childhood in Kadam Kuan, Patna. A bunch of 15-16-year-old boys are listening to Bappi Lahiri's music on a 45 RPM record. The boys are friends of my elder brother, and I, as a 6-year-old, have been banished from their midst. But I am allowed to peek in through the door.

One of the boys is a famed dancer of the mohalla and everyone urges him to do his Mithun routine. I don't rate him highly. It is his white leather boots that, I feel, have prejudiced the jury in his favour. After much coaxing, he gets up, throws his arms in the air, and starts disco dancing. With Mithunda, you don't move around much. You just stand and deliver with hand movements and bent-knee hip gyrations.

Decades later, I can still see the white leather boots with 2-inch heels and side zippers I coveted every time I listen to Bappi Lahiri sing that song. Lahiri's special genius was that he sang Hindi songs as if they were a foreign language. More often than not, like a slightly campy Welshman. Wardat was Mithunda's second coming as Gunmaster G-9, our own dancing James Bond. Though not as successful as Suraksha (1980), the soundtrack of Wardat is memorable.

For a long time in his youth, my father carried a torch for Gina Lollobrigida. Even now, whenever the theme from Come September (1961) is playing on the stereo or YouTube, a wry smile comes to his still-handsome features. I know then he is back with