The female alien officer
When “Star Trek,” the utterly popular science-fiction TV show created by Gene Roddenberry that aired originally on NBC between 1966 and 1969, released as a movie in 1979, it needed a woman to play the role of a female alien officer of the Starfleet, who would serve aboard the USS Enterprise under the command of Captain James T. Kirk.
That woman happened to be an Indian. Persis Khambatta, the former model and beauty queen—she was Femina Miss India 1965—turned actress, fit the role of Lieutenant Ilia perfectly.
Khambatta went above and beyond and lopped off all her locks, a shearing that catapulted her to fame instantly for she looked exquisite even with her bald pate.
She was ahead of her era, both in reel (where she lived in the 23rd century) and off-reel.
It’s bold to be bald
It was a bold move in an era when Hollywood had very few roles for bald women except perhaps in science fiction. In fact, it was their very baldness, that declared that they weren’t from Earth, but an exoplanet.
Throughout the Seventies and the Eighties, hairstyles full of volume defined the coiffures that had a lasting power. Remember Jane Fonda’s hairdo in the 1971 thriller, “Klute” in which she plays a high-end call girl named Bree Daniels? Those imperfect layers that fell to her shoulders? The shag sported by Joan Jett and Mick Jagger? Then, there was the feathered hair made famous by Farrah Fawcett playing the role of private investigator, Jill Munroe in the crime series, “Charlie’s Angels,” which ran on ABC from 1976 to 1981.
Given the ‘big hair’ fashion culture of that era, how many women would have shaved off their manes? Khambatta did – and she simply rocked the dramatic look that thrust her into the spotlight as an Indian icon on the American screen.
A Star Trek shrine
Last summer, I had the chance to stand on a bridge very similar to the one in which she Khambatta as Captain Ilia spoke this famous line: “My oath of celibacy is on record, Captain.”
A superfan named James Crawley has created a shrine to Trekkies in upstate New York. It’s a replica of the set—Stage 9 of Desilu studios (now, called Paramount)—in which both the O.G. “Star Trek” and the 1979 movie were shot.
When I learned about it, I just had to go.
One weekend, I ended up driving up to a town up in the Adirondacks, quite close to New York’s riparian border with Vermont. In the language of the Iroquois tribes, Ticonderoga means “the land between two waters,” which it is. Enclosed by both Lake George and Lake Champlain, the steep and swift La Chute River meanders through its downtown, connecting the two lakes.
A mere 250 miles away, it was almost next door by my standards. I left at 7:00 a.m. and hoped to get there by noon.
For this excursion, I was hell-bent on avoiding the tolls because tolls, like everything else in the Empire State, are steep. I decided to shunpike and take a non-toll route.
No signal
Just a little after I got off the interstate and forked off into Route 9N, the landscape changed. The road became two-laned along which a runnel of cars ran gently up and down. Soon, I was twisting and turning through little towns, past cabins, inns, squat green peaks, and a shore.
Something in the dashboard caught my gaze. The phone’s signal bars had disappeared. Instinctively, I picked up my phone to check. It said, “searching,” meaning that I had gone off the carrier’s area of coverage, of course.
My map lost its connection with the GPS. Panic spiked inside me.
I was on a curvy country road, with very sharp bends, which seemed to go on and on forever perhaps because there was a storm brewing inside me. With every turn I took, I hoped that the signal bars would return. But no luck.
Just when I felt that I had completely gone off the grid, the town sprang on me without fanfare. I mustn’t have gotten lost as I had feared.
Warp speed ahead
In my mind, anything to do with science fiction had to be impressive. Maybe I had pictured it to be something like the Hill Valley of the future, from “Back to the Future,” with its holographic billboards and flying cars.
I pulled into the parking lot of an ordinary enough building. On its maroon fascia was written “Star Trek Original Series Set Tour.” At its entrance, stood a white angular structure, which any fan would instantly know. It was the Galileo, the shuttlecraft of the USS Enterprise, which carried up to seven passengers and was equipped with warp engines for interstellar travel.
A blast of cool air washed over me as I walked into what looked like a museum store, where I could grab any “Star Trek” merch. To one side was a door. It said, “Holodeck.” To enter, you had to purchase a ticket.
All I wanted to do when I and other enthusiasts were let in was to get on the Transporter in front of me and be teleported either to the 1960s or to the 2270s. The present was just noise.
There was no signal in it for me.