First Love, Filmfare Style

Crush.
Such a tiny word for the tsunami it brings inside us.
Say it out loud, and you’re instantly teleported to the clumsy, dreamy corridors of school life—where hearts raced faster than the school bell.

Oh no, my first crush came with curly hair, poetic dialogues, and a flair for slow-motion walks through flower fields. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you… V. Ravichandran—the man who made me fall in love before I even knew how to spell ‘romance’.

Growing up in the ’90s, my version of “biology” wasn’t just in the textbook. It was in observing the chemistry between Ravichandran and his heroines in classics like Premaloka, Anjada Gandu, Shanti Kranti, and Sriramachandra—where he played a double role and doubled my heart rate. I watched in awe as he switched from intense to innocent, and my teenage heart didn’t know which Ravichandran to choose. So, naturally, I chose both.

And Ramachari? Don’t even get me started. That film taught me that love can be fierce, flawed, and still unforgettable. His character wasn’t perfect—he was impulsive, emotional, raw—and that somehow made him even more real. I realized then that love isn’t always wrapped in flowers and music; sometimes, it’s loud, stubborn, and wearing sunglasses indoors.

“Love is not what you understand. It’s what you feel without understanding.”
– Probably Ravichandran, or maybe my teenage diary, hard to tell.

Premaloka wasn’t just a movie; it was a rite of passage. Watching Ravichandran ride that bike with Juhi Chawla, my heart whispered, “Someday, I’ll also sit behind someone like that… but I’ll hold on tighter.”
And then came Ranadheera, where his rebellious charm made me want to break rules I hadn’t even learned yet.

I even remember writing “Mrs. Ravichandran” behind my Kannada notebook once. (My aunt thought it was a spelling mistake and corrected it to Ravichandra, bless her soul.)

And the music! Those Ilaiyaraaja melodies from Anjada Gandu played in the background as I practiced walking like those dreamy heroines—only to trip over my school bag and blame gravity for not understanding romance.

“You know it’s a real crush when you smile at the TV screen like an idiot… and blush when no one’s watching.”
— Me, after hiding the remote during Sipayi.

I didn’t know what love was back then, but Ravichandran taught me that love meant slow dancing under artificial rain, sending letters via pigeons (even though I had no pigeon access), and looking longingly into the distance for no reason. The Kannada film industry had given us a Romeo with a reel, and I, a willing Juliet in uniform, was all in.

Today, when I see him on TV with those still-dreamy eyes, a part of me—the schoolgirl part—sighs like it did decades ago. Because let’s be honest, first crushes never really leave. They just grow laugh lines and make cameo appearances in nostalgia.

Thought to Ponder:
What if our first crushes weren’t just about love… but about discovering the kind of magic we hoped love would one day feel like?

So here’s to V. Ravichandran—my first crush, my Kannada cupid, and the only man who could make falling in love look like choreography.