I am running late to see a film scheduled to screen at half past two. It is already 1:50 p.m., I book a taxi, and the app estimates the arrival time to be 15 minutes. I cancel, rebook, and the same driver accepts the ride. Pradeep arrives at five minutes past two. After sitting in the cab, I realise that my restless agitation ten minutes ago stemmed from having succumbed to the cosmopolitan myth of speed. Pradeep looks middle-aged, but in a way that makes it unclear whether the right address for him is 바카라bhaiya바카라 or 바카라uncle.바카라 I settle for bhaiya.
He adjusts his rear-view mirror and remarks that the previous ride took slightly longer because the passenger바카라s payment app kept crashing. I nod while looking at his reflection in the small rectangular mirror.
바카라You cancelled this ride, didn바카라t you?바카라 he inquires with a hint of suspicion.
Embarrassed, I reply that I바카라m running late.
바카라Going to the mall to eat, have fun?바카라 he asks with rhetorical certainty바카라his tone perceptively marking the difference between a working man and a girl of means out and about in the city.
A fragment of a reel I watched on Instagram flickers before my eyes, where an old professor recounts an anecdote about Gloria Steinem and her disavowal of driving. I struggle to remember the details and assume its content involves a driver who challenges the homogeneous construction of man by communicating to Steinem what a day looks like in his blue-collar job.
바카라No,바카라 I respond, 바카라For a movie.바카라 In a desperate effort to fit myself within the supposedly expanding yet actually shrinking middle class of India, I mention my general reluctance to take cabs in favour of the metro. He overlooks the naivety in this auxiliary information and asks, 바카라Oh, for a 3 p.m. show?바카라
바카라No, actually, it바카라s at 2:30.바카라 The phone mounted on the dashboard shows the GPS calculating our arrival time for a quarter to three. After making a few casual observations about the Delhi traffic, Pradeep asks which film I plan to see. I reply, 바카라Flow.바카라 바카라Flow?바카라 he repeats. 바카라Yes,바카라 I admit, 바카라A foreign one.바카라
바카라Well, I remember buying tickets in black for Ako-nan-da,바카라 he reveals.
바카라Anaconda?바카라 I clarify. 바카라Yes, yes. They advertised it as the scariest film you'd ever see. I couldn바카라t tolerate it for more than ten minutes. My friends and I left the hall regretting our decision and cornered the man from whom we bought the tickets, asking for our money back. I used to watch many films in the theatre with friends and family. Govinda was my favourite actor.바카라
His train of thought continues to chug, 바카라Once, I took a couple from Calcutta to Jaipur. We couldn바카라t get tickets for a film at Raj Mandir, but the hotel concierge arranged three, albeit at exorbitant prices. We went anyway and watched that film with Amitabh Bachchan and Aishwarya Rai.바카라
바카라Hum Kisi Se Kam Nahin?바카라 I enquire.
바카라No, no바카라Š바카라 he shrugs the answer. 바카라The one with the famous song, with black sunglasses바카라Š바카라
바카라Bunty aur Babli?바카라 I ask.
바카라Yes!바카라 He goes on to talk about Liberty, Milan, Moti and Golcha Cinema halls. While the first is barely running, the others have shut down. Like an avid cine-goer, he would sit five or six rows away from the screen, in the middle, so his eyes could surrender to the spectacular enormity of visuals. He loathed the balcony seats; saw the film once from that height and could never adjust to watching in that manner.
바카라I have even been to the projection room, you know? It was awe-inspiring바카라ŠI remember people perpetually scratching the surface of the jute seats until the fabric splintered.바카라
What is the history of chairs in Indian cinema halls? The multiplexes use a velvet-like or faux-leather type of material. Was jute really the one used in single screens? His voice interrupts my wandering thoughts. 바카라Now it costs too much. I make no more than 1000-1500 rupees a day, and all of it would get spent on tickets alone, and then you need something to eat바카라ŠOnce, I went to a drive-in theatre in Chandigarh, but there were only two cars, so they didn바카라t screen the film,바카라 he chuckles.
I agree that cinema halls serve notoriously expensive food. 바카라I do not eat at the movies,바카라 I apologetically reply. 바카라Really?바카라 He seems genuinely shocked. 바카라The film바카라s flavour is sucked dry if you don바카라t have a popcorn in hand. Besides, when everybody around is eating, it feels alien.바카라 His memory of the material space of the theatre, and the economics of accessing a film along with its by-products is so powerful that he often forgets the name of the film. A vagueness shrouds his memory when I prod for filmic details.
His making of cinema is so inextricably linked with the experience of going to and being in a hall that any gaze, such as mine, that locks a film into a textual object of analysis gets befuddled. He brings to mind Annette Kuhn, who studied the film culture of 1930s Britain. In her interviews, she foregrounded how people often remembered the architecture of theatres, the reactions of the audience and those who accompanied them, the smell of popcorn and the emotions they collectively encountered. I wonder whether cinema is no longer a part of daily life for people at large in our country. Has leisure become that unaffordable?
바카라When was the last time you watched a film on the big screen?바카라 I ask him.
바카라Oh, it must have been a decade,바카라 his loud sigh envelops the car. I let out an exhale in return, recognising his primary emotion as melancholic. Cinema seems to haunt his memory, where nostalgia is forced upon him to rein in his desires.
바카라It is already past 2:30,바카라 he declares, while taking a turn. 바카라I am relying on the commercials and the trailers that come before바카라Š(the feature presentation).바카라 바카라Are you going alone?바카라 he wonders. I offer a quick yes, rummaging through my backpack for cash. 바카라Alone?바카라 he reiterates. 바카라That바카라s not how you watch a film; you should go with others,바카라 he continues. 바카라I write about them바카라ŠIt바카라s more productive that way,바카라 I respond, having found the two hundred-rupee note that was hiding in one of the pockets. 바카라But cinema is not something to write about; it is something to experience,바카라 he says as we come to a stop. I smile at the delicacy of his argument, despite his lingering suspicion about the art of film writing. As I exit the car, he adds, 바카라The next time we meet, tell me about this film you바카라ll see.바카라
No matter the hyperconnectivity of our age, the possibility of our meeting again is slim. We rarely encounter the same delivery person, the same driver바카라any gig worker바카라more than once. I begin to run; the film could start at any moment.
Srishti Walia is a doctoral student of Cinema Studies at the School of Arts and Aesthetics, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi.
