In my time movies were not a weekly affair. It was like a festival weekend. I remember a truck coming with banners pasted on its huge sides. The movies name was painted in bold along with the artist impression of the leads (usually the leading lady). We used to run after the truck in excitement and follow it till it stopped. Then we would look at the equipment with wide eyes and wait for the curtain to be put up. That hour of anticipation was usually rewarded with frequent power cuts as we saw a movie with not one but multiple intervals. Going to the movies was like an eagerly awaited event. Everyone wore their best clothes and mother packed home cooked meals. Every minute of projection was treasured. Going to the movies was my best childhood memory.
Movies today are shown in theatres with exquisite seating arrangement and giant 75mm screens. I have heard fancy snacks like popcorn are served and a ticket costs a minimum of hundred rupees. People are informed about the movie’s release in advance and whole old world charm of a community gathering is missing. Movies today are testimony to this generation that believes in convenience, ease, and pace. I hate going to movies now. It robs me of my guarded childhood memories.
One day my son asked me go to the movies with him. I refused vehemently but my son was stubborn. Finally I agreed to go. It was my first trip to the new age theatre. My first foray into the dilution of the joy I remembered as a movie.
My son picked me up from home and helped me up the stairs of the swanky new multiplex that had recently been opened by a smiling politician whose name I can’t recall. On my way up I saw posters of the new releases. I grimaced as I saw one of a horror movie. Next came a shining body sized cut out of Amitabh Bachaan wearing his famous light suit, trying to recreate the magic of a time far gone by. I took a deep breath as I entered the hall. I took my seat and waited patiently for the movie to start. My son opened a box of food as I adjusted my spectacles. It was a ‘Halwa’ my favourite movie snack. I smiled at his attempt to take me back to my childhood. After a few minutes of irritation commercials a name appeared on the screen. It read – Harishchandrachi Factory. I looked at my son, confused. He said-“keep watching”
As the movie progressed I began to realise why my son bought me to this movie. It was about a man from India who began the Indian Film Industry as we know it now. It was about the first movies, the movies of my day. My heart was racing as I saw the olden day camera rolling on screen and the very familiar outdoor movie screening from my day. There was a rush of nostalgia when I saw children running after the’ Movie Man’ or the “Filmwalah” as we called him. No this wasn’t a movie. It was an experience. As I sat there next to my son, I realised that this experience had not diluted my memory at all. It brought it back. Granted I wasn’t outdoor. My wife wasn’t next to me and there were no multiple power cuts, but this was as close to my childhood as I had ever gotten. That day I became the ten year old me. I binged on home cooked “halwa” and enjoyed the movie. I whistled at the hero’s success and guffawed at every funny antic. When I reached home I quickly walked to my room and locked it. And there, with my walking stick in one hand, I did a jig from my favourite movie. I did it. I was a child again.
One day my son asked me go to the movies with him. I refused vehemently but my son was stubborn. Finally I agreed to go. It was my first trip to the new age theatre. My first foray into the dilution of the joy I remembered as a movie.
As the movie progressed I began to realise why my son bought me to this movie. It was about a man from India who began the Indian Film Industry as we know it now. It was about the first movies, the movies of my day. My heart was racing as I saw the olden day camera rolling on screen and the very familiar outdoor movie screening from my day. There was a rush of nostalgia when I saw children running after the’ Movie Man’ or the “Filmwalah” as we called him. No this wasn’t a movie. It was an experience. As I sat there next to my son, I realised that this experience had not diluted my memory at all. It brought it back. Granted I wasn’t outdoor. My wife wasn’t next to me and there were no multiple power cuts, but this was as close to my childhood as I had ever gotten. That day I became the ten year old me. I binged on home cooked “halwa” and enjoyed the movie. I whistled at the hero’s success and guffawed at every funny antic. When I reached home I quickly walked to my room and locked it. And there, with my walking stick in one hand, I did a jig from my favourite movie. I did it. I was a child again.
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