My Fair Lady

I have seen My Fair Lady perhaps as many times as it rained in Dehra Dun in the winters of 1993 and 1994.
On those biting cold foggy mornings, I would suddenly become a sincere student keen to go to school. On other days, I would be a grudging dullard feeling too lazy to leave my warm cozy bed. But, a night of thunder and lightning was surely followed by two things that I knew would set a perfect mood for a perfect day ahead __ the view of snow capped Mussoorie and poor attendance of teachers in school.
So, on these wet mornings, I would first run to the terrace to check out the snowfall in Mussoorie. After staring at the snow-capped hills, I would get ready in a few minutes skipping my bath yet again, much to my mother’s chagrin, have my toast and scrambled eggs and start for school. The school dress was warm, very warm, red blazer, a woolen grey skirt and white shirt. I used to wear a red cardigan on my shirt under the blazer like all my classmates did and of course wore gloves and a muffler.
Yet, the half a kilometer walk on a narrow stretch of road lined by wild bushes on one side and an overflowing canal on the other side to Ballupur chowk for conveyance would leave my bones and teeth rattling. From Ballupur I would get into a six-seater, funnily called `Vikram’ in Doon valley, that dropped me almost half a mile away from school. I would walk to school from there again.
I trudged to school like this on several such mornings braving the wind and the rain to reach my warm classroom. The attendance would predictably be thin, just a handful of girls __ all rain enthusiasts like me__ who I would find rubbing their wet hair with their small white handkerchiefs.
Soon, the staff room ayah would come and give us the news we were waiting for. ``Just a few teachers have been able to make it to school because of the rains. So, don’t make noise and study on your own.’’ We were in Class XII preparing for our all-important board exams. But, on these rainy days, we always wanted to take a break. So, we, a handful of Class XII girls would go to the principal’s room and seek permission to watch My Fair Lady in the TV room in the nun’s dormitory. After all, Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion was in our English Literature syllabus and what better way of understanding the text than watching the film, well, several times.
The principal would give us permission and we would go running to the nun’s block. The TV room was next to the nun’s kitchen and we would sit there dreamy-eyed watching Eliza Doolittle singing ``Wouldn’t it be Loverly’’ and ``Just you wait Henry Higgins’’ the umpteenth time humming the songs ourselves even as we could hear the cook prepare lunch for the nuns.
I loved the film as much as I loved the book. I loved it more on rainy days. Initially, we would carry our copies of Pygmalion and kept comparing the text with the film. After a point, there was no need to carry the book. We were all too well versed with every scene, every dialogue.
The next morning, our class teacher Mrs Gill, an upright strikingly attractive woman who taught us English and was largely responsible for our fascination for the film, would ask what we did the previous day. And she was always happy to know that we watched My Fair Lady.

(pic: www.thefairestlady.com)