The movies projected there had a certain charm and grandeur. And yes, the significant Front Stall made the movie grand, with their whistles and hoots on the start when credits rolled, on best scenes or songs. It seemed like it’s only them who are enjoying the movie the right way, and expressing their happiness whole-heartedly. The autorickhaw wallahs, Dhobis, factory workers, etc. filled the seats that were available at 1/10th of the Balcony’s price, and went home totally content, movie making not much difference to their satisfaction level! It were only the Priyas and Chanakyas of the world where one would find same class in every stall, per se. On being asked why chose front stall, one would answer “Everything looks so big and grand from up close” rather than accepting that pocket money dried up on beers and chowmein (momos then hadn’t seeped into every cranny)!

But the hall in itself was a charming place. What worked against it became its USP. The dingy walls, foul smelling alleys, red stains all over, rexine seats, darkness, all became a habit for the eyes to get accustomed to. And our olfactory senses got used to the smell of gutka and paan, smell of AC, smell of stale popcorn and sandwiches, smell of cheap perfumes mixing with the smell of sweat, musty corridors, and much more. What wafted in the air was anything but fresh air!

Those days, as in pre-PVR era, the cinema halls were the means to get entertainment, not the entertainment destination like today. But then, they were the only means of entertainment those days. With not much cafes, bowling alleys, malls or other entertainment solutions, families and couples alike went to Halls, not bothering much on the film that played. Reasons were many – respite from heat (for front stall-wallahs), privacy (for couples), break (for office-goers), time pass (for students) and outing (for families), and yes, entertainment (for everyone).

Of course the film did make a valid reason to spend those dreamy 3 hours, and in what way! Dreamy-eyed would escape into the land of grandness, puppy love would usher in the darkness, families would re-bond while sharing a laugh and doing high-fives, couples would ‘explore’ love’s many manifestations in stealth settings, college kids would memorize scenes and dialogues to replicate later, fans would drool over the object of their desire in a bigger-than-life format and children would rejoice over not having to study for a good 4-5 hours.

Movie going was a serious affair in the pre-PVR era. Every woman would take an equal amount of time to get dressed as it would to watch a show. Every man wore his best outfit, as if going for a party. One wouldn’t see many causally-dressed people loitering around, at least in the night show. A sanctum sanctorum of sorts. And talking about fixed timing, it was never about convenience, but desperate catching up. If the show timing is 9-12, then you will have to have early dinner. If it’s noon show, then it’s going to be a late lunch. But still, the cinemas ensured packed houses, as ever.

One more good thing, if one may agree, was the black ticketing. Yes, I am in favour of it. At least in those days it made sense. When people went to halls, they had obviously compromised on many things because of rigid timings as discussed earlier. Then again, it was a big affair to be at a hall on time. Imagine getting dressed up properly, skipping dinner for stale popcorns, finding space through large swathes of cars and people, then queuing up in a serpentine one, only to find it’s a houseful. Then what? Unfair, isn’t it? So at least those tickets in black provided hope. One could still be optimistic of enjoying the show even on seeing a houseful board. So what if it were a little expensive? At least the balcony wallahs could afford it and settle at Upper Stall!

But like all good things, those ‘grand’ cinema halls’ fate came to an end with the opening up of ‘luxury’ multiplexes. Hooting and whistles paved way for hush tones and ‘cold’ settings. Movie watching experience was never the same again. Yes, it did bring along many luxuries – comfort seating, better sound and screen, butter and better popcorn, snacking counters, clean washrooms, polite service, yet, I can’t anymore smell that rattling acs, nor can I smell the gutkas! I can’t relate to a comic scene until there’s hooting. Item songs don’t excite now without filthy comments and applauses and impromptu dance jigs and pelting of coins.

How I wish there could be a special section for the underprivileged class, front 2 rows maybe. This would ensure two things. One, the grandeur of cinema would return, with their hoots, whistles, gutkas et al. Two, it’s a painful experience to watch the movie from first two rows, and that too at the same price! We can surely do away with that, what say Mr. PVR and DT?

Few funny incidents at those cinema halls:

Those cinema halls were most famous for their sleazy morning shows, a super duper hit with rickshaw-wallahs. The posters put outside the halls were also alluring, and once in my gullible school days, I did pay a visit with my friends to see what the hullabaloo was all about. And to my dismay, I found that it was a cheap dubbed version of any third grade Tamil flick or Hollywood flick. No, that wasn’t the grudge. The major grievance was that the movie, if at all it carried any steamy scene, had the scene deleted! Wow, people are coming to watch that very thing, for their 5-10mins of Nirvana, and they had been denied of the pleasure. But anyway, what I also got to know that day was that the most of the audience wanked there in the morning show! Now you know why the alleys always were sticky in the 12-3pm show, ha ha.

Of all the cinema halls, the most roguish I found had been Sapna Cinema. Not only do they sell the tickets in black, but they do it officially. First, they’ll put the houseful board long before the show starts, and then sell the tickets inside the hall premises! And if that wasn’t enough, they’d even oversell. I once was asked to sit on stairs, can you believe that? And when I repented, the guy took me to counter, where they have a typical Haryanvi policeman stationed, who abused me when I asked for refund. Anyway, got the refund.

Sapna had its share of cynical activities. They had many rats in the hall, and when people objected, they left a cat inside, while the show was on. Something brushed past my feet while I was watching a horror flick. That spooked me and I went to the authority, who boldly proclaimed that there is a cat, dontcha worry. And not to mention smelling the feline’s poop the next time!

Subah subah ki baat thi

Jab suraj bhi ubasi le raha tha

Gadgadate baadlon ke peeche baithe

…Aur kuch boondien chhoot gayi

Baadal itne mashroof they apni behes mein

Aasmaan tab syahi jaisa hi tha

Puhkraj sa kuch khul raha tha ek kone mein

Aisi sard si subah thi kuch

Jab haathon mein tera haath tha.

Machalte patton se oos ki boondien fisal rahi thi

Paed ki shaakho mein thi hulchul

Chidiyaon ka chehekna, gilheriyo ka khilkhilana

Kaafi khusnuma tha mahaul, aakhir pehla peher tha

Aisi madhosh si subah thi kuch

Jab haathon mein tera haath tha.

Angdayi leta hua kohra jhoom raha tha

Aalass mein dooba badd raha tha

Dhuli hui hariyali mein alag si taazgi thi

Gungunate jharno mein alag si lachak thi

Aisi jannat si subah thi kuch

Jab haathon mein tera haath tha

Boondon ka rukh badal raha tha

Baadlon ka mijaz bhi kuch badal raha tha

Phir se foot raha tha ufaq ki dehleej par saawan

Kuchal kar subah ki kiran ko jhagad raha tha

Aise mein hum diwane do sarr par panni daale

Nikal pade the seher ki sair karne, bina manzil ki fikar
kiye…

Geeli ghaas par chhapp
chhapp karke koode

Jhukte paedo se saeb
tod ke khaaya

Beas ki lehro par
patthar phenke

Ek doosre par paani
ucchaala

Pahadi ke neeche vaadi par

Dhoond ki bheed jami thi

Ek bhoola sa kamra yun hi khada tha

Jise aashiyan banane ki soch kar humne aasra liya tha

Deewaron par seelan thi,

Aur chhatt par kachchi chaadar

Par garmaish thi apne saanson ki

Aur kuch unn kapde ki boriyon ki

Jinhe odd ke hum baithe the tooti khidki tale

Boondon ko thaamte hue

Khwabo ko choomte hue

Duaon ko maangte hue

Mohabbat ko jaante hue…

Aisi khoobsurat si subah thi kuch

Jab haathon mein tera haath tha.

We never met

How could we?

As it were our paths that converged

As it were our destinies that criss-crossed

We never fell in love

How could we?

As it were our feelings that synergised

As it was our cosmic connection that personified

We never separated

How could we?

As it was our superficial idea of having a beautiful
relationship

As it was our vow to never lose each other

That we let each other be

That we set each other free

Bound to our bittersweet memories

Bound to our esoteric feelings

Bound to our addicted lives

Bound to our espoused destinies

 Poetry is that form of expression that let me be. My angst,
helplessness, frustration or any other hackneyed feeling that come out of my
heart, without revealing the exact reason. It just hints at the state of mind,
without actually telling what I’m going through. I’m reserved, secretive and
introvert. Hence I don’t talk about myself in great detail. In fact, not even
in detail. To who ever it is, no matter how close. That’s me. And poetry helps
me lash out, express myself, unclog my mind, dump my hard feelings. Yet not
giving the game away. 

It’s such a nice feeling, to blurt out in such a
beautiful way. At the end of the day, it’s a beautiful creation, in symmetry.
Even if people don’t like it, I love it. Because somewhere in my heart I know
what exactly that poetry meant, what it revealed, without anyone getting to
know about it. In poetry, nobody gets to know the exact reason, but that’s the
most amazing part of it. Because they’d interpret it in their own way, relating
to it through their imagery and experience, and make sense out of it somehow.
And I smile coyly, while they applaud.

In your every smile, there was a world
for me.

A rainy day. We two cuddled together. Rain
spattering on the roof. Skies dark. It’s lightening. We two are unperturbed.
Nothing matters to us. We are lost in our own world. A world that is experiencing
many an intimate moments. A world that is going to be a cherished memory. It’s
cold, and we’re breathing hot. It’s wet, and we are soaked, in our own passion.
The night is ripe. The love between us is ripe. We are consumed by love.
Wasted. Consumed. Wasted. Consumed. We are heading towards neverland. We are
discovering our own world. Paradise. Neverland. Paradise. Amazing that we two don’t
seem to care about the world. About the thatched roof that’s leaking. A storm
that’s growing. A noise that’s preceding our whispers. We two are furious. We
two are raging. We two are barbaric. The love is not innocent anymore.

 The
pent up desires direct the mind. The heart is a slave to the mind. Mind is
hearing the heartbeats, loud, thumping. Heart is where the mind is. Mind is
where the heart is. So is our union. We are the mind and the heart. We are the
logic and the madness. The wild side of logic, and pure side of madness. And we
cross the threshold. Of unison. Togetherness. Oneness. We smell the same. We
taste the same. We feel the same. We are not two beings anymore. We’re one.
We’re the same. We put our collective thoughts together and bask in our own
ecstasy. The skies turn reddish purple. The rain is reduced to a mere sonata.
The leaking roof shows twilight. We are cuddled together. Two bodies entwined
into one. Content. Satiated. With the outside world. No more prayers. No more
grievances. No more hopes. We are one, finally. The world is the best place to
live.

Copywriting is such a dreamy job. When I get down to write,
I start imagining. What each word expresses. Where it fits in. What am I
communicating. How would it be perceived by a layman. What effect would it have.
How would it stir the person reading it.

But the best thing is, I lose myself in a world unknown. I’m
not the person envisioned. I’m not even passive. But it’s my vision. My
setting. My world. And someone else is positioned there. That too in the most
surreal way. I’m pampering a stranger. In my dream world, I’m asking a stranger
to believe in that world. I want him to dream. Envision. Just the way I have.
Not an easy task. Yet, it’s there, in my mind, very much possible, very much
real. All you have to do is believe in my dreams.

Copywriting is different from my day-dreaming. I’m not
thinking of myself, or how my world can be made better or extravagant. I’m
thinking of a different realm. A new world. Worlds within a world. But never
fairytale-ish. Here, there is a possibility of gratification.

I start thinking of never-seen meadows, tables by the beach,
al-fresco by the woods, sonata under the stars, a cosy red corner with an
e-book, terrace dinner with jazz, a much-desired woman as partner, etc. This is
me. And I’m asking a stranger to be me. Be part of my world.

But to be honest, yes, I love it. Thinking of new
possibilities. Creating new settings. Crafting new stories. Making mundane
extraordinaire! What a kick.

Dilli ka taalluk purana hai sardiyon se
Oon ke dastaane (gloves), angeethi ki lau (flame) se
Amrood, gaajar ka halwa aur mufli se
Purane qile me dhoop saikte deewano se
Romaanvi (romantic) mijaz aur khushnuma raaton se
Munjamid (frozen) saweron (morning) mein kapkapate jismo se
Mandi house ki chai aur naroji nagar ke pakodo se
Charpai mein baithe hukka peete sardaro se
Lohri se kuch din pehle udti patango se
Chhajje (terrace) par fadfadate mukhtalif (different) parindo (birds) se
Dilli ka taalluk purana hai sardiyon se
Khoobsurti se, ishq se aur aashiqana zindagi se

Suddenly the feelings deceived

The tentacles of truth and faith

And what bled was not blood

In its nebulous journey

But the spume of repulsion

Licking the wounds of helplessness

Through the saliva of rebellion

Rediscovery, anxiety and yet again, helplessness.

Suddenly a new passion was born

Jolting the foundations of optimism

Injecting the veins with new fetishes

Of ecstatic pain and violent laughter

Infringing the battered soul-less soul

With extra layers of inferno

Negating the inhibitions of remorse

Insecurities, pretence and yet again, helplessness.

Suddenly the quietude was rippled

By the volcanic spill over of all things cerebral

The dirty caper of resentment and distraught

Heaping on an opus of obeisance and sapience

Fiesta of voracious vices and potent tyranny

Wriggling with a tapestry of benevolence and impotence

Seeping in the melancholic trench with valor

Tenacity, fierceness and yet again, helplessness.

Suddenly the feelings deceived

But taking an eon to feel that feeling

Suddenly a new passion was born

But the passion couldn't contain the elusive age

Suddenly the quietude was rippled

But too late for the mind or the body to bristle

The ex-pressions were given a fresh lease of life

But the body was short-lived to spur them.