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sin-sidejob · 2 years

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JR Scheimpough x AFAB + GN reader:

Oh, Sweet Muse

Warnings: NSFW content with fluff up front and slow progression to smut. Degradation, misuse of a musical instrument, JR uses a term of endearment once or twice, JR domming for once?? Wild?? P-in-V smut, finger fucking, subtle dom and sub dynamic. Mild cockwarming I guess? Unprotected sex, yall better wrap that fucking rascal Minors DNI. AFAB + GN pronouns.

Contents: Inspired by a scene in Pretty Woman + I’m still convinced JR Scheimpough’s live casting would be Richard Gere. Everyone go say thanks to Finn for barely making it through that movie with me and giving me writing ideas @radioactivebowtie but basically, I am convinced JR is able to play the piano. Length: 2.2k ALSO recommend Beyonce's Cuff It to listen to while reading, it's what I listened to while writing the majority of this

Okay, after watching roughly half of the movie with Finn, we decided JR absolutely plays piano. It makes sense, look at the bastard. It fits.

Anyways, he doesn’t play often nor for others, moreso something personal. Something his. He doesn’t compose, maybe drumming his finger pads across the keys and humming notes, idly playing. It never sticks. But he has entire melodies memorized and he can play them at a moments notice. A musician’s repertoire at the ready from muscle memory and residual instinct. Something intimately his and no one else’s, songs he loves and can play backwards and forwards, finger pads against ivory, chilled keys with the poise of a diligent artisan.

The only one he lets around him while he plays, is you. You’d sit further away, giving him space in order to not distract him. He just raises a brow and lets out a soft, light laugh before waving or beckoning you over to sit beside him or on his lap on the bench.

He’ll take your hands in his and teach you simple tunes, like the theme from The Sting, or the beginning classic pink panther theme notes. He’s even open to teaching you if you’d like, but he understands if you’d rather just listen. JR feels the same about you, anything about you, he’d rather just listen to you. Or watch. Whether if it’s cooking or drawing, or something entirely different, there’s always a warmer appreciation from afar or observing. Your rambling was always going to sound so pretty to him, just your voice and how it suits you so well, how it fluctuates and shifts with pressure. The rise and fall of pitch, the gentle sway. Just like the keys.

JR will have you sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, or on his lap as he fully plays. It’s softer, and some of your favorite moments are when it’s late, the night sky dark as it glows against the sleek, glossy surface of the grand piano from the lavish floor to ceiling glass window panes. He’s tried to play, but gotten distracted by you. He falters notes, not that you’d know, too enamored with watching, feeling his forearms fluctuate around you and the tendons visibly ripple with the way his hands move through the ministrations. He gets enveloped in the way you smell, the shift of your skin against his as he plays. Eventually he caves, unable to focus on whatever song it was and decides to tug on the cords of another instrument entirely. He lifts you onto the top of the piano and cages you in, initially bending you over ass up before laughing along with you in between kisses as your calves brush the keys in an atrocious tune of their own, clamor filling the silence of the house, your home, alongside your shared laughter and kisses.

He sidles in front of you, eyes soft and adoring behind clear glass lenses, as he smooths his mildly calloused hands across your body, feeling the chills roll over your body for himself. You’re seated on the cold, glossy surface of the grand piano, terrycloth shorts baring your thighs and allowing the icy feel to sink in, shuddering while you distract yourself with his attention. JR mouths at your neck, quiet and contentedly calm. His hands ruck up and remove your shirt, his weathered hands raise shudders across your bared chest in his wake, nipples perking taut in the cold air as he takes a second to give them attention, plucking and flicking at them teasingly while he sucks a mark into the crook of your neck, sending a mewling moan beyond your lips as you writhe against him and the piano, uncaring for the sound your calves make as they hit the keys.

"Sound better than the goddamn piano, honey," comes forth in a dark drawl, thickened just like the bulge behind tailored trousers that you feel press against your sleep shorts, the air too cold yet too overwhelmingly, potently hot. "Wanna' hear you a bit louder, can you do that for me?"

The nod you give him isn't enough, obviously made clear by how his teeth immediately start nicking your collarbone sufficient to feel the pinch of your blood draw and begin to bead at the surface, "If you want me to play you, pluck those pretty sounds forth, I need you to obey."

To better illustrate his point, he leans away, forearms caging you in against the surface but his chest is not tethered to yours any longer. He looks solely upon your face, flushed cheeks filled with warmth and eyes lidded with pupils blown wide along with lips abused from your teeth tugging on them absentmindedly while he toyed with you. "Do you understand?"

There was no part of you that could hinder your immediate, instinctual yes. After voicing your answer aloud, seeing the approvement wash over his expression vaguely and in a thin layer, like a morning fog that's on the cusp of dissipating. "Much better," JR croons, leaning forward as a hand smooths over your jaw to grasp your neck from the side, half on your cheek and the other pressed to your thudding pulse.

"Now, let me play."

How could you say no to that?

JR's hands busy themselves with undoing the tied drawstring from your shorts, appreciating the feel of the plush cloth as he shucks it from your heated skin in tandem with your underwear. There's a rule of thumb with instruments, to not dirty them, not to stain or spoil them in concern of ruining the instrument and the quality of how it plays.

But there is no ruination with your arousal and slick pooling forth upon the glossy black surface of the piano top, no. This is not a damning and fatal mistake but rather a christening. The piano a now blessed instrument.

Every time he would play this piano - or any piano really - he would never shake the brief image of you bared and flustered heavily as you drip for him steadily against the edge, threatening to flow beyond the lip of the top lid to drop upon the keys. Not like he would mind in any way. Hell, he'd lick it up like a spilled dessert. Just as sweet, and twice as savored.

You keen, wriggling your hips impatiently as the air pricks you all over, shoulders rolling as if curling yourself back and forth snakelike would do you any favors, give you any relief. No, relief came the second he swiftly slid the middle two digits of his hand into your aching, dripping cunt. He curls upward, making even more of a mess of yourself as his eyes focus on the way his digits seem to just get drawn inwards and how you're drenched. There are rivulets passing his wrist down to the leather band of his Patek Philippe watch. He hopes they stain.

"Oh, oh my fucking - god, yes."

JR chuckles, wrist now moving with fervor, as if spurned and enticed by your broken, moaning pleas, pressing at those spongy spots against tensing, pulsating walls he'll be buried in soon enough.

"You damn well know my name, and you fucking know there's no god here."

His thumb flicks at your clit, sending a shot up your spine and making your toes curl instantly, the electric heat flicking almost malevolently in your bones as he fucks you with his fingers. The best and almost worst part of it all is that he seems so casual.

As if it takes him no effort to do this to you, render you into a puddle of arousal and shaking limbs, nothing but broken, pathetic moaning and begging. JR's neutral, almost cold gaze looked with fascination at your puffy and needy pussy, practically sending you over the edge. Fucking using you, actually playing you and doing it better than anyone - including yourself - ever could.

"Look at you, just fuckin' pathetic," he says almost sweetly if not for the demeaning tone and blatant degradation, getting you hotter for him even if you wouldn't willingly admit it, "let me guess, you're about to cum?"

"Fu-uhhck yes, so fuckin' close, wanna' cum s'bad."

"Aw," he clicks his tongue, deftly removing his hand from your cunt and spotting the way it gapes and clenches around nothing, feeling his absence, "that's too bad. You're going to cum on my cock or not at all, and if you cum a fuckin' second before, I'll leave you high and dry for the rest of the week."

You both know damn well that's the emptiest threat, just like his left testicle, all for show, just for appearances. You're too pretty for him to not fuck, and he's too bratty to not get plowed on the regular.

He pushes your shoulder down with his free hand before he makes a show of sucking his fingers clean, a lewd and wet pop emerging as his fingers did past his lips.

Whining, you watch as he undoes the hook on his pants, then the button and zipper, dragging down his pants and boxers to mid-thigh, just enough to be out of the way and to be quick, the splotchy stain of pre-cum and how heavy his dick hung while erect indicating how close he himself was too.

JR knocks into keys once more while he hooks your legs over his forearms, spreading you wide as the crook of your knees rests against the inner side of his arms. He fists his cock, lining it up with your cunt after nudging his swollen, drooling head against your clit to hear the petulant, weak whine spill forth.

He is fully focused on fucking you and hearing every single, possibly sound that he could elicit forth, abandoning a softer melody for a more raw and carnal one in the form of you rather than some antiquated and tinny cadence. You are his motivation, his vibrancy while he's drenched in dull hues. You are his muse, the way his heart swells and meets the tempo whenever he plays accompanied only by his lonesome. There is always you in every key he ever plays, every note he sends forth.

And you always will be with how you gush around him, slick and precum pooling forth and dripping down the edge of the piano top once he thrusts up into your wet, greedy cunt, cockhead kissing at your cervix with its mushroom, drooling tip.

"ah, f-fuck,"

You can't even think, only feeling stuffed and surrounded by nothing but him. JR noses at your jaw, chuckling in an almost gravelly pitch at just how fucked out you are and he's barely done anything. "Pretty thing, all mine, hmm?"

He thrusts while you try and answer, stuttering as you brokenly cry out like you were supposed to, "Yes! Oh, sweet fuck, all y-yours."

"That's right," he grunts, thighs slapping against yours, ballsack patting at your ass as he thrusts again and again, "all mine."

A few strands of dark black hair fall into his forehead, product failing to hold through the sweat dotting his brow and clinging to his skin, disarray falling over him like a well-worn jacket. He tugs his lip between his teeth, taut, as he peers down at you from glasses barely staying on his face, grinning darkly as he pants.

You were fucked out, chest heaving and hips weakly trying to match his thrusts, grinding back to keep pace and whining intelligibly every time his pelvis brushes your tender, overworked yet understimulated clit as he thrusts. One of your hands grips the lip of the piano surface, a lighter hue blooming upon knuckles tensing. The other grips, if not paws, at his arm, clutching to the fabric of the button-down he still wore, gripping at his bicep above where the fabric of his sleeve was rolled up.

JR feels his orgasm nearing, the way he becomes more frantic in his thrusts making it even more apparent, the sensations blooming from his lower abdomen threatening to vacate with a vengeance.

"Gonna' cum for me? Let me pump you full until it leaks and let you cum?"

Nodding, hair shifting rapidly with the movement as you affirm his query verbally, practically speaking gibberish with how far you were gone and how badly you wanted to cum even after holding it together.

He coos cruelly while he lowers a hand down to your clit, thumbing it idly in slow, swirling ministrations while he thrusts with force behind his hips, once, twice, then buries himself deep just as he cums. The warmth of it, heat flooding your lower belly and the pressure of his touch on your clit practically sending you to space.

You scream out his name in a broken, weak cry with puffy and spit-glossed lips as you cum around his cock, sending him caving around you as his legs hit the keys in an almost humorous manner as his forearms rest on the spaces beside your head and shoulders. His head hands low while he pants, chest heaving as if his lungs are weighted down and he's just breached for air.

Meanwhile, you are trembling and still feeling far-away, practically floating as the white begins to fade and you feel the tingly electric pops of your orgasm fluttering through you and how good it feels, how good he feels.

A few moments beat pass, his hands smoothing up and down your sides while yours play with his hair, idly humming as you toy with the fallen strands upon his forehead as his cheek presses to your bare chest. You grin, peering down at him with a beaming and sated post-fuck smile.

"Wanna' play me again?"

#jr scheimpough #inside job #my inside job #personal inside job #jr scheimpough x gn reader #jr scheimpough x afab reader #jr scheimpough x reader #jr #my thots #inside job imagine #inside job fanfic #inside job x reader #x reader #x afab reader #x afab!reader #x gn!reader #inside job headcanon #x gn reader #Spotify

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belleski · 5 years

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things that where said and done in the animation studio i worked in for a week without context

-“ Dark light dark right?” , “I wasn’t listening , it’s not my job to listen”

- “What is this?” -“fidget cube” - “this is pointless”- 5 minutes later “never mind this is my favourite thing”

- -silence- “What’s the theme song for martin in the middle?”

- *Dancing across the room* - “out-of-the-frying-pan-and-into-the-fire!”

- (Whisper screaming) “This is not a bloody book festival!”

- “Oh we’ve got a horserider ,a horse person.... a jokey”

- One guy started assigning people in the office as types of coffee

- Every time a McDonald’s advert played on the radio and the whistle jingle played half the office would whistle it back

- As I left today the head of the company was Talking about infiltrating other companies by pretending to comission them in order to discover and use their business strategies

- They have a radio playing, and next to the radio is a hard drive with a taxidermy rat on top wearing a tiny pair of headphones , during the tour he was introduced as the DJ

- *Loud smashing sound coming from kitchen*- “oops”

- This guy was spinning in his chair while Pouring lentil crips into his mouth straight from the packet

- Same guy spent a good 3 minutes talking about how excited he was to eat his noodles

- I’ve only now realised that he had noodles for lunch every day

- A cable got unplugged, causing 2 computers to turn off,after spending 10 minutes under the table trying to figure out which one went where, a guy spent 5 minutes with his head in is hands morning his lost work

- All the laptops where gamer laptops because they had larger screens. But this also meant that the A S W and D keys where outlined and they keyboard was rainbow

- One guy went to the store, bought vegetables, chopped them up and made a panini with the office panini maker

- “Have you ever watched Hydrolic press”- “what the machine”- “no the YouTube channel”-“YOUTUBE WHAT” - *after spending 20 minutes watching their videos*-“ this is disgusting I’m subscribing”

- “So it has a voice actor but the robot writes the songs ,It’s a robot singer”-“oh like vocaloid”

- “They pitched it and I was like yeah and then later I was like,whaaa?”

- “I know a lot of Very precise Taylor swift trivia for no apparent reason”

- *I’m a believer starts playing on radio* “this song makes me think of shreck”

- “Come on sleepy jeen why so sad”

- the office has a shared spotify account where everyone adds songs, which are then put on shuffle, causing this song to play, and then this one immedietly afterwards

- I was drawing one of my characters and the lead of the company leaned over and said “that guy has some real Donnie Darko vibes”

- There’s a lot of liquor in the kitchen

- “Faintly singing moana “

- (Still singing) “knights that say nee” *followed by one man acapella of the pink panther theme including table drumming *

- “You skate on the road?”-“yeah” -“like a rebel...... Casey nitescat”

- Spontaneous scooby doo impersonation

- Only just notice this now but there are bars on the windows

- This guy had a ukulele and he was just walking around the office playing it Just why

- “You’re my wife now dave”

- A giant crate of food and alcohol just arrived oh god

- and, swear to god when the delivery man knocked on the door the noodle guy sat up, looked at him and went “alcohol”

- “In what way am I not British”- “you have to much serotonin”

- “Nowhere is safe anymore not even Marks and Sparks”

- Theres a lady who doesn’t know who bear grills is wtf

- “This is an old family recipe, the ingredients are jack Daniel’s aaaaaaaand ice...”

- “Clapping while also singing “ I WANT THIS TO END”

- *gasp* “the bake off from hell”

- “You’re 7 aren’t you - yeah”

- “Apparently at the weekend I am 82”

- Plot twist these guys make drinks every Friday I just look up and this guys pouring drinks with 12 bottles of beer next to him what is this place

- One person offered me a drink and everyone around all yelled him at once

- This:

#skeletontalks #belleskispeaks

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shankarjaikishanfansassnintl · 4 years

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Three Cheers for the Timeless Thrill of ‘Teesri Manzil’! Remembering RDB

Subramanium Viswanathan

Remembering RDB on his birthday ... and reposting my ‘matinee experience’, which made me sit up, and take notice of him!

Three Cheers for the Timeless Thrill of ‘Teesri Manzil’!

1971. SIES College of Arts & Science, Sion, Mumbai.

I had just stepped out of S.I.E.S High School and entered the S.I.E.S College as a First Year Science student. I was pleasantly surprised at the new-found privileges of being a college student, which included the freedom of ‘cutting classes’ (something unthinkable at school), whenever one just was not in a mood to attend the lectures, or whenever there was some ‘unavoidable circumstance’, such as having to attend the matinee show at the near-by theatre.

Rupam at Sion Circle (now PVR Multiplex or something) was strategically located near the college. The theatre was just a stone’s throw away from the college, but the students preferred to throw themselves at the spot, more often than into class-rooms.

Now before you all get my credentials wrong, let me declare that I was not the irresponsible undisciplined ‘tapori’ type of teen-ager that you would imagine. I was a shy, sincere, serious, studious and spectacled student that time. Bunking classes for a matinee show was not in my nature at all. But there are moments in a teenager’s life, when one succumbs to peer pressure. I had a few close friends who apparently had seen ‘Teesri Manzil’ before, and they all strongly felt that ‘TM’ was a better way of spending the afternoon, than attending the Physics and Zoology lectures. After all, Newton’s Laws are not going anywhere, they will remain to trouble you throughout the year till the exams. But ‘Teesri Manzil’ may disappear from Rupam by next week. Also the Zoology lecture was all about the slimy Amoeba, which luckily one can draw in any shape and get away with passing marks. So my friends rationalize with me. Also, since I had not seen the film before, they take upon themselves the responsibility of dragging me along. I start to roll my tongue to say, ‘No, but …’, but it’s too late.

So at 11.15 am we are already inside the AC comfort of Rupam, after a great deal of pushing and pulling at the ticket counter. There is chaos all around. It appears as if the entire college is inside the auditorium. Noisy banter, loud laughter, whistling etc. The commercials are on. Nobody is paying a damn heed to the ads. I think, why can’t these guys maintain some discipline and sit down quietly. Soon a documentary of Film Divisions on Rural Development starts. One student gets impatient and shouts towards the man at the projector, ‘Arre! Main Picture chalu karo re!’. Another gentleman from the matured uncles’ minority in the audience sounds an admonishing ‘Shhh!’ to the errant student, but poor uncle is instantly greeted back with hoots and ridicule. As Rural Development makes its painful way towards the conclusion, the catcalls grow louder. At last Film Divisions prove their point that Sanitation and Sewage System have indeed improved in some remote village of U.P.

Suddenly there is a hush as the Censors’ certificate of the main film is displayed. Somebody reads aloud the number of reels for the benefit of the short-sighted among us. Then the real show starts with a bang, a big banner of NH (Nasir Hussain) films and a thundering Urdu couplet. The audience screams for no apparent reason. I wonder, what is there to scream about an Urdu couplet that they don’t understand.

As the banner fades out, ‘Teesri Manzil’ explodes right on the face! Right from the first frame, this guy called Rahul Dev Burman who seemed to be hiding behind the screen for the attack, suddenly unleashes his deadly instruments on you! On the screen, a car is chasing another along the hill-ways on a rainy night. Two short violin pieces play continuously in quick succession exactly simulating the pace and tension of the situation. The credits roll on. The lady driving the first car gets down and runs towards a building. You can see from the glass pane outside, her silhouette rushing up the stairs followed by another shadow of a man close on heels. 1st floor, 2nd floor and further up—and then she desperately knocks at a door, ‘Rocky, Darwaza kholo!, Rocky, Darwaza kholo!’, as the shadow of the man is fast closing in on her. The back-ground music turns ominous and suddenly stops for a second, as the shrieking woman is bodily lifted and thrown by her predator from the ‘Teesri Manzil’!

RDB announces the bloody event with a loud trumpet, pauses a bit, then crashes his cymbals and goes at his drums with a beat that is sort of a cross between ‘Pink Panther’ theme and the 007 title track, but with lots of more punch. The camera swirls around the shocked faces including Shammi Kapoor’s, collected around the gravitated lady’s corpse. RDB’s beats raise the tempo culminating with the last credit-slide –‘Directed by Vijay Anand’. By now the audience is univocally vociferous giving out, not those hoots reserved for ‘Films Division’, but shrill shrieks of excitement and anticipation of more thrills!

‘Teesri Manzil’ was all thrills, not just because it was a murder mystery, but also because it was a musical wonder. Apparently unlike me, most of the audience were seeing the film for umpteenth time, as they knew exactly when to scream at RDB’s notes! I think, RDB would have jumped like a hungry tiger at the offer made by Nasir Hussain, who also knew his music fundas well, right from the time of ‘Tumsa nahin dekha’(OPN) and ‘Jab pyar kisise hota hai’(S-J) days! So for the cynics like me who had always wanted Shankar-Jaikishen for a Shammi Kappor movie (that included Shammi Kapoor himself), RDB silenced everybody’s ‘bolti’ with the opening orchestral blast!

It was not that ‘TM’ was an out-and-out RDB show. Apart from music, it had great style! Vijay Anand’s narration of a crime caper was slick and imaginative with loads of thrills and fun too! After the credits, you find Shammi Kapoor on the top berth of a compartment with Asha Parekh sitting below and one pot-bellied man (Ram Avtar?) sitting opposite to her. Shammi makes monkey-faces at the fatso and forces him to break into uncontrollable peals of laughter which invites Asha Parkh’s wrath and she starts bashing the poor ‘mota’!

Asha is on the track of one ‘Rocky’, a band-player to avenge the death of her sister. She traces him to the hotel where Rocky plays his band daily. Shammi Kapoor (Rocky) who is also trying to get to the bottom of ‘Third Floor Throw-out’ puzzle hood-winks Asha about his real identity. He says he is substituting on the drums for ‘Rocky’ who is on leave. Asha pouts contemptuously that she had come to hear Rocky’s drums and she had to listen to this non-entity. Shammi takes on the challenge. So does RDB, and throws at you ‘O haseena zulfonwali …’.

Now the shrieking session has revived! Shammi thrashes the drums, Helen swoops down a curved ramp and the collegians cry hoarse almost deafening the voices of Rafi and Asha Bhosle! Then Shammi and Helen sizzle on the floor to Majrooh Sultanpuri’s rapid repartee:

‘Garm hai, tez hai, yeh nigaahen meri

Kaam aa jaayengi sard aahen meri

Hey, Tum kisi raah-mein phir miloge kahin,

Arre, Ishq hoon, Main kahin teherta hi nahin!

Main bhi hoon galiyon-ki parchhai, Kabhi yahan Kabhi wahaan …’

Then RDB’s violins take you to high pitch and tug at you three times before dropping!

The steps and movements are wild, yet so gracefully executed, a far cry from some of today’s crude ‘item numbers’! Shammi tinkers with a glass and then blows a saxophone. Guitars and violins pump adrenalin into the auditorium. Now I am beginning to enjoy all this ‘shor’ around me! I don’t know what one calls it –Rock, Pop or Jazz, but ‘Jo bhi hai, khuda-ki kasam lajawaab hai’! I find myself rocking involuntarily on my seat to the RDB beats. Then I tell myself ‘Sit straight properly, like you were told at school’.

As the song ends, I compose myself and sit straight. But there is no respite. The second song starts soon. For prelude, RDB plays a crazy guitar piece that does somersaults repeatedly three or four times and hands over the mike to Rafi and Asha Bhosle. This time it is Shammi wooing Asha Parekh with ‘Aa jaa aa jaa, main hoon pyar tera …’, feverishly shaking his head and repeating ‘Ah-ha aa jaa’ eight times for emphasis. Parekh in pink swirls around Shammi giving him the slip and ‘pehnao’-ing him the ‘topi’. Shammi dances with ruffled hair and goes berserk gesticulating in eight different ways for each ‘aa jaa’ while Asha swings fluttering her eyelashes. All that frenetic head-shaking and hip-swinging on screen with trumpets blowing and drums beating, drive the public to delirious frenzy. I suppress my own urge to scream. Aakhir, discipline bhi koi cheez hai!

Agatha Christie’s whodunits could grip you, but you don’t read the same novel repeatedly. Alfred Hitchcock was a master of suspense who packed in some of the most bizarre situations in his script, some of them exciting and funny at the same time (Remember ‘North by North-West’ in which Cary Grant is left alone to drive on a treacherous hilly road after being forced to gulp a full bottle of Bourbon by a bunch of goons!). Nobody can beat Hitchcock when it comes to an intriguing plot, but Hitchcock Saab-ke filmon-mein aisa music kahan hota hai (if you don’t count ‘Que Sera Sera’ in ‘The Man Who Knew Too Much’)? Here our own Vijay Anand mixes all the ingredients like suspense, music, romance and comedy in the right proportions like an expert ‘bhel-puri-wala’ from Juhu and gives on the platter ekdum ‘paisa-wasool’ entertainment, worth every penny of your hard-extracted pocket-money from Daddy’s hard-earned money.

The first-half is great fun and romance giving RDB the avenue to come up with another two very pleasant numbers, ‘Diwana mujhsa nahin‘, a Rafi solo and ‘O mere sona-re sona-re’, a Rafi-Asha duet in which Asha Parekh concedes to Shammi Kapoor’s ‘patao-ing’. Before you know, it is already ‘Interval’. Now there is commotion at the Samosa stall outside! No Sir, I don’t join the mad scramble for a few samosas! I told you already that I was not the irresponsible undisciplined ‘tapori’ type of teen-ager that you would imagine! I was still a shy, sincere, spectacled student.

I try to take my mind off from the missed Samosas and focus on the second half. The plot thickens now … quite like the thick Tomato Ketchup that goes so well with Samosas! Now a whole lot of suspicious characters are hovering around the screen like Prem Chopra who points a rifle to shoot a distant bird, Iftekhar who leaves a misty cigarette smoke from wherever he spies on other suspects, Premnath (who generally opens his dialogue in most of his films with ‘Bloody Bushhtaard’) urf Rai Bahadur Singh who lives lavishly alone in a Dak Banglow, and K.N.Singh , Rai Saab’s drunken house-keeper. The needle of suspicion keeps swinging.

Who killed the lady? Well, that can wait. Meanwhile let’s have more of RDB. So we have a delightfully crazy ‘Dekhiye Sahibon’ in which Asha lets loose the ‘public’ on Shammi who clings to a ‘Merry-go- Round’ to avoid getting bashed up by a group of Sardars. The song is good fun with great camerawork matching the mood of the music.

It is time to get a bit serious. Helen has a ‘Raaz’ tucked up in her sleeveless. So she gets shot the same way as the ‘broads get the bullets’ in James Hadley Chase novels, before she could divulge the ‘secret’ to Shammi Kapoor. Shammi himself gets exposed as the real ‘Rocky’ making him eligible for titles like’Jhoothe’,’Makhhar’,‘Dhokebaaz’ etc. from Asha Parekh, but not before delivering a superb last song, a solo by Rafi, my most favourite in the film - ‘Tumne mujhe dekha hokar mehrban---Rukh gayi yeh zameen, tham gayaa aasmaan, Jaane man, Jaan-e-Jaan …’. What a song!

'Lekar yeh haseen jalwe, Tum bhi na kahan pahunche

Aakhir to mere dil tak kadmon-ke nishaan pahunche …’

One can as well sing these lines to that fantastic trio of Majrooh-RDB-Rafi for such an exquisite composition!

The stock of songs is sadly over, but RDB still has a fantastic piece in store, when Shammi discovers the identity of the murderer by his host’s coat in which one diamond stud is conspicuously missing. The missing button had been tightly clutched in the fist of the dead woman. Terrific close-ups of a sweaty shocked Shammi’s face when he realizes the truth, are accentuated with a more terrific back-ground score by RDB! Finally after a scuffle, the killer himself drops himself to death from an altitude equivalent to that from which he had thrown the lady in the title-scene. The police arrive dutifully after all action is over. The film ends with a funny note with Shammi and Asha again in a train compartment, this time on honey-moon, encountering the same pot-bellied man who tries to escape from them to avoid trouble!

Vijay Anand’s crisp and creative direction makes the film a gripping entertainer and places it a cut above the rest of typical crime thrillers. But ‘Teesri Manzil’ is more remembered as a musical classic that changed the trend of Hindi film music irreversibly! The film was released way back in 1966. But Rahul Dev Burman was a maverick clearly much ahead of his time. He broke all the rules and raised the tempo of Hindi film music to a feverish pitch several ‘manzil’s higher! Western music never sounded more jazzy and classy in any other Indian film, before or after ‘TM’. So it is no wonder that after five decades, the film and its music still rocks in memories, if not in matinees.

Well, to cut the long story short, we were back in college corridor next day and discussing the ‘TM’ experience. One of them starts, ‘Listen.Today is Thursday’. ‘So?’. ‘So, Today is the last day matinee show of ‘Teesri Manzil’ at Rupam. So why not we …’. I nod my head vehemently, ‘No, No … that’s too much… well … OK, Why not? OK, Sure’. The would-be IIM aspirant amongst us steps forward to manage the immediate crisis, ‘Let’s see what have we today? Oh! Physics Lab? The same silly experiment of moving the convex lens to and fro till you remove parallax. We can skip it. Journal? Not to worry, we can copy from that front-benchwala Bakul Mehta’.

So we are back again at Rupam, throwing all shame to the rains outside! There is chaos all around inside. The same FD documentary is on. One voice shouts ‘Arre! Main Picture chalu karo re!’. I turn towards the voice and am shocked to find that the shouter is none other than Bakul Mehta, the front-benchwala of college! I start fretting and mutter to my friend ‘Just look at that Bakul! What’s he doing here? How irresponsible! He is supposed to be at the Lab this time! Now how the hell are we going to finish our journals?’. My cool friend admonishes me, ‘Let’s worry about all that after the film. Relax. Try to concentrate on the movie. Don’t disturb, Pay attention … This is not Calculus class’.

So I pay attention all over again. The show starts with a bang … the big banner of NH (Nasir Hussain) films and the thundering Urdu couplet. People shriek cheeringly. And to my horror, I find myself whistling and screaming hoarse along with them for no apparent reason!

Now please don’t get my credentials wrong. I was not the irresponsible undisciplined student …. well, may be till I was coerced to see 'Teesri Manzil’ twice in quick succession, during peak college hours!

https://youtu.be/dDtKEtDA8sM

#shankar #shankarjaikishan #rdb #rdburman #pancham

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