I was recently watching Debut Dhamaka Special Part 2 on SonyLIV when Bhagyashree appeared as a guest. One of the jodis performed on Mere Rang Mein Rangne Wali, and the song immediately took me back to Maine Pyar Kiya.
Some songs do that. You may not have listened to them for years, but the moment they begin, you remember where you were, what life looked like and even how a particular evening felt.
As Bhagyashree spoke about how she got the role, her reluctance to enter films and her memories of shooting Maine Pyar Kiya, I remembered the first time the film truly became part of my own story.
It was the Lakshmi Puja evening of Tihar in 1992. Before you begin calculating my age, let me clarify that this is a story about nostalgia, not an invitation to inspect my birth certificate.
Tihar in Bahundangi
Tihar in Bahundangi looked very different then.
Our street lights were firefly, lots of firefles, so there were no colourful RGB lights wrapped around houses, no blinking lights on balconies and no glowing decorations changing colour every few seconds. In fact, there were no balconies either, at least not around us.
The light came mostly from small oil-filled diyos. Some families also used candles, but the diyo was the heart of the evening. Rows of tiny flames would glow outside the houses, near doors and windows, around the courtyard and in the place prepared for Lakshmi Puja.
Those lights were not bright enough to turn night into day. They simply made the darkness look beautiful.
There were no street lights either. Once you walked away from the houses, the night belonged completely to the night. Aunshi, the new-moon phase of Tihar, meant there was hardly any moonlight to help us.
Today, everyone has a mobile phone with a flashlight. Back then, even a proper battery torch was beyond our Deushi budget. If a group had one, it was a luxury. Most of us had to arrange our own version of lighting.
One option was to take an old cycle tyre and set fire to one end of it. It sounds strange now, and smelled terrible even then, but it gave enough light to see the path. The tyre would burn slowly while someone carried it ahead of the group.
If you were more skilful, you could make a “pultho”, a traditional torch made from braided or twisted cloth. You carried that and a matchbox, hoping the flame would survive long enough to guide everyone from one house to another.
Light was not optional because much of our Deushi route passed through “dhaan ko khetbaari”, the paddy fields. We had to walk along the “aali”, those narrow raised boundaries between the fields. One careless step in the darkness and instead of arriving at the next house singing Deushi, you could arrive with muddy clothes and a completely different performance.
That was the Tihar we knew. The houses glowed with diyos, but the paths between them were dark. We carried our own light, walked through the fields and followed one another from house to house.
The Most Important Evening
For us children, Lakshmi Puja evening had many attractions. There were the diyos, firecrackers,, the family rituals, special food and the excitement of knowing that this was not an ordinary night.
If I am being completely honest, one of the biggest highlights for me was the laddus and sweets. You can explain the spiritual importance of Lakshmi Puja to a child, but once laddus arrive, his attention becomes very focused.
The other great attraction was Deushi. Going from house to house with friends, brothers and other boys was fun, but there was also the possibility of earning money. It was one of those rare nights when children could stay outside late, return with money in their pockets and receive appreciation instead of questions.
We had already made our plan. We would eat in the evening, complete Lakshmi Puja with the family and then join the others for Deushi. We hoped to continue for half the night, so we prepared accordingly.
I had put on my jacket and warm cap because late-October nights in Bahundangi could become quite cold. Our group also needed a matchbox and something to light the way through the fields. Everything was ready.
Then Dad switched on the television.
Like Rancho said in 3 idiots, “USS DIN MUJHE EK BAAT SAMAJH AAI…” And as life has taught me many times since then, perfect plans usually survive only until someone turns on the television.
Maine Pyar Kiya was beginning on Doordarshan.
Deushi or Maine Pyar Kiya?
People who grew up with streaming platforms may not understand how serious this situation was.
Today, if you miss a film, you can watch it later. You can pause it, rewind it or start again from the beginning. Sometimes we spend more time browsing through films than watching one.
Doordarshan did not offer any of those comforts. If a movie was being telecast, you watched it at that moment or you missed it. There was no “Continue Watching,” no replay button and no guarantee that the film would return anytime soon.
There was only one television and one opportunity. Deushi was waiting outside with friends, fun and the chance to earn some money. Inside the house, Salman Khan and Bhagyashree were waiting with Maine Pyar Kiya.
My mind and heart started their own tug of war. My mind reminded me that everyone was ready and there was money to be earned. My heart was already interested in what was happening on the television.
With a heavy heart, I decided to go for Deushi. At least, I tried. I left home with the group, carrying all the enthusiasm I could manage. But while my body was walking along the dark aali from one house to another, my mind remained at home near the television.
I kept wondering how much of the movie I had already missed. Deushi was happening in front of me, but Prem and Suman were slowly taking over my thoughts. I may have gone to one or two houses before giving up. The plan had been to continue for half the night, but my great Deushi journey ended almost as soon as it began.
I returned directly home to watch Maine Pyar Kiya. The chance to earn some money disappeared with that decision. Years later, Ravi Kishan would tell us, “Money follows, brother.” Perhaps I had already developed the same philosophy. Or perhaps I simply had no financial discipline 😂.
Whatever the explanation, Maine Pyar Kiya had won.
Prem and Suman Took Over
Once I sat in front of the television, I stopped worrying about the money. There was Prem, there was Suman and there was a friendship slowly turning into love. The film had romance, humour, family conflict, sacrifice and the famous lesson that there is no sorry or thank you in friendship.
Salman Khan had an easy charm, while Bhagyashree brought an innocence to Suman that made her instantly lovable. Their story felt simple, but the emotions were strong enough to keep me completely involved.
Then there were the songs: Dil Deewana, Aate Jaate Hanste Gaate, Kabootar Ja Ja Ja and, of course, Mere Rang Mein Rangne Wali. I tell you, what an album. Those songs were not merely breaks between scenes. They became part of the story and remained with us long after the movie ended.
The film also carried those unmistakable Rajshri(now I know) family values. Love was not just a matter between two people. It had to survive family expectations, misunderstandings, class differences and the difficult task of proving that the hero deserved the girl.
Love required considerably more effort then. There were no instant messages or video calls. Sometimes you had to send a pigeon. Sometimes you had to leave your rich father’s house, work in a quarry and prove yourself to Alok Nath.
Prem had a tough job. By the end of the movie, the story, the entertainment and the love between Prem and Suman had completely won me over. I had forgotten about the Deushi money and the friends who were probably still moving from house to house with increasingly heavier pockets.
I did not feel that I had lost anything. The movie had given me an evening I would continue to remember decades later.
The Deushi Money Is Gone, but the Memory Remains
Watching Bhagyashree on SonyLIV brought that entire Tihar evening back to me.
I remembered the laddus after Lakshmi Puja, the rows of oil-filled diyos, the darkness beyond the houses and the old cycle tyre or pultho we needed to find our way through the paddy fields. I also remembered being fully prepared for a cold night outside, with my jacket and warm cap already on, before Dad switched on the television and ruined my perfect plan, or improved it, depending on how you look at it.
Most of all, I remembered walking away for Deushi while my mind remained with the movie, and then returning after only one or two houses because I could no longer resist Prem and Suman. The money I might have earned that night would have been spent and forgotten long ago. Instead, I returned home and collected a memory that still comes alive whenever Mere Rang Mein Rangne Wali begins to play.
For me, Maine Pyar Kiya will always belong to that Tihar night in Bahundangi, a television playing inside the house, diyos glowing outside and a group of boys disappearing into the darkness for Deushi while I quietly chose cinema.
What about you? Did a movie ever make you abandon a festival plan, a night out or the chance to earn some money? I would love to hear your story.
