Once Upon A Time (All About The Indian Cinema Hall) Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

Once upon a time the cinema halls used to be with full shows,
Running three to four shows,
The matinee show, the evening show and the night show
And when the hall used to be packed
As for the new picture,
The morning show too used to be

And the operator used to focus from the upstairs
Or from the slanting top
And the visitors used to throw coins
On the dances,
The loafers, labourers or daily visitors
Near the curtain whistling and dancing,
Asked to sit as it obstructs from seeing clearly.

The first class with the first class men,
The second class with the second class men,
I mean the middle class people
And the third class for the third class men,
Not all of them
But if they have money in the pocket
Can sit in the first class.

And when the operator used to cut the scenes or wrap up the reel,
The spectators used to abuse him badly
Or when it used to be dark for a load-shedding
And the generator had to be started,
They abusing so badly.

The heroes at the counter as for the muscle power
In getting tickets,
Pushing and jostling with,
The pickpockets in wait to take
The comb and the money bag from the pocket,
Using in the opportunity to grab to favour

And the others wanting to do a business
After managing a few tickets from the salesman
To be sold for black money,
Give extra money
And take the ticket hassle-free
And if not, return back unromantically,
Sidelining your colourful dreams.

But the bugs biting underneath,
The dark room full of gas,
Someone smoking not a cigarette, but an Indian beedi,
Someone taking tobacco and spitting in the hall,
Someone whispering with a girl,
Someone pulling the hair of another in the dark.

In the hall some used to meet under the pretext,
Some used to love stealthily
And promise,
Fearing the backlash of the caste-ridden society
And its inhuman taboos,
Restrictions and strictures.

While going on the roads, people used to mark
The posters on the town walls,
The posterman pasting them
In the evening or early in the morning
With a gum box and posters

And the announcer on the rickshaw announcing
Stylistically in the style of a hero
Or a broadcaster
All about the hero and the heroine
Of the new film
And its love story.

The college boys used to talk about the story like a study material,
The housewives,
The maids,
Hostellers and vagabonds,
More especially, the college boys used to be away with
In the name of college-going and tuition-taking
Which house members verifying from his friends,
Silent or threatened.

Sometimes they used to keep the books and copybooks
Stuffing in under the wrapper
Just like a man sleeping on bed,
A studious student in full sleep after his studies
For career and employment,
And he to the hall,
But the unanswered knocking used to silence the questioner,
As about his whereabouts
After getting no response from

And when checked, the boy was not,
And when he used to return back, father used to scold
For being a romantic
Or wanting to be married
And the boy hearing silently,
Gnashing the teeth,
Saying this and that,
Had been here or there,
Nothing sure of.

Sometimes they used to say that they had been out to
See a religious film,
Asking to get it certified
And the taught servant used to approve of the gist,
But in reality he had been to the hall
To see Prem-pratigya, Love-oath.

Sometimes while returning home seeing the late show film,
The dogs used to bark and frighten,
The police used to ask about
To show the ticket
And Rasiklal, Mr.Tasteful returning home
To awake his dozing and waiting mother
As for food.

But there came a time when the television and the video cassette
Finished it all,
Started corroding the base
And one by one the halls started loosing lustre,
I mean the big screen
With the big, big shows

And closed they down in course of time,
The stray dogs sleeping on the premises,
The vagabonds sitting there
Could be seen while passing through the way,
Which used to be so crowded.

And thereafter the cinema halls
Or the video halls
Shifted to rural areas as for a business,
Somehow a few of the halls
Just kept up the tradition of keeping the video halls
As for the strangers’ entertainment.

Many of the halls closed down,
Some turned into video halls
Or marketing complexes,
Closing a long chapter
Of the cinema, the silver screen.

The father searching, but his son to the hall
As for seeing a film
In his memory of the meeting of the eyes,
Yellowing and bluing
With a maiden,
Having stacked the books and notebooks,
Paddy straw bundle
And the pillow underneath a wrapper
To show a man sleeping.

And the good son not, the bad son returning from
The cinema hall,
Seeing the hall,
Forbidding the father from giving philosophies,
A hero to home
After seeing a painted, dented and tainted hero
And the father insulting.

But the mother asking to be quiet,
As for what it has happened,
Will not go to the hall again,
But he will if not often, sometimes,
Which the conservative father will not compromise with
And the son discussing and debating.

The father saying, will be a hero,
Will part in a film
And bring a heroine,
Get out and earn,
Make a house of your own and live in there,
Why are you still at the father’s hotel,
Taking food and living free of cost?

And the son responding, shall go away,
Let it come, be tomorrow
But the mother taking the side of her son,
Asking him to be quiet
As for excessive discipline,
Asking to soften his stand and to be normal,
As he a growing child.

The curtains falling and it is darkening,
The show to begin
And the boys whistling,
The trailers shaking,
The hero shown as a child
Growing and promising

The daughter of a rich man
And the hero the son of a poor man,
Falling in love with her,
Willing to marry her,
But her father will not let her marry,
As usual story.

If you have not seen, you yourself too will cook up
A story of this kind,
The hero with a girl to win her heart,
Proposing before,
Giving a flower to her stealthily
And the villain who has been assigned his role,
Marking him give it to her to report against.