In the days not too far in the past, happiness was to be found in small things: Running out in the open in the fields and parks after returning from school; watching a film and loudly clapping or booing. Those innocent days are gone
like many others, I recall the pleasures of collective joy. The simple dumping of school bags and joining friends in common spaces to begin, at the very least, two to three hours of play, was sheer exhilaration. Much sympathy was expended on the friend whose parents had placed an embargo on his joining the games because homework was not complete or because curfew hour had begun earlier than usual with annual examinations round the corner, or because winter brought the dark hours earlier.
Running, just running, as a group, with both arms stretched outward in violation of the bird’s copyright to wings, gave enormous pleasure. I think a great deal of it was owed to being in a much loved collective.
The joys of festivals celebrated with and among families we had grown up alongside, cannot be forgotten. Does anybody grow up alongside anyone these days, much less celebrate festivals in one another’s companyIJ The songs, the mithais, the colour, the pleasure of letting your hair down on Holm were exceptionally enjoyable as we, groups of children, moved from home to home. In fact even the adults did not need to be well-behaved. The anticipatory happiness of Diwali invaded households at least a month before. Children began the celebrations long before the actual day.
The utter delight of spontaneous, almost unexpected (though not un-hoped for) joys is also experienced in the most unlikely venue: A cinema hall. This cannot be compared to the professional conduct of movie-goers south of Connaught Place. It cannot be compared to the sugar-cultured responses of media-bred accents, a media that announces gleefully your irrelevance, since you don’t speak(flawlessIJ) English. It has no comparison to sponsored raahgiris, run for this or run for that, light a candle for this cause or that cause, wave a flag or hoist your newly-acquired reach in the market place. It’s a question really of cultural connect.
It begins in the foyer. The throngs are going to watch Avengers dubbed in Hindi. There! They are going to enjoy back-slapping loud-voiced comments about the film even before they have cat-walked the aisles to their seats. None of the hushed tones, choked sipping of Cokes or Pepsis. None of the mandated ordering of nachos, coffees, popcorn tubs, size zero burgers at out-sized prices. Each one has become a prisoner of his or her brand, mall, and foreign visit.
Here, you actually enjoy. You don’t tip-toe into the theatre. You stalk into the theatre as you would into a stadium to watch an IPl match or witness a soccer performance. The joy of success is felt as acutely as the pain of failure. The participation is also collective. Each member of the audience waits with bated breath.The excitement writ large in the air is thick. It can be cleaved through.
The hall, demonstrating the newest and most advanced Dolby Sound system, receives a thumping welcome. It’s the only theatre to have the system not only in north India, not (therefore) just Delhi, but all of Asia — announces the banner outside the cinema hall. Sound descends on you from the ceiling and surrounds your senses. The demonstration triggers off a round of applause. Just like the film will. You don’t sit back and receive sound. You join the crowd in appreciating the new sound technology. You tap your feet. You clap your hands.
The film itself cannot be just watched. Why do mute audiences paralytically receive images, dialogues, sound, and sequencesIJ Why don’t they enjoy the cinematic experienceIJ How things unfold on the screen determines how the audience will react; the extent to which it will participate; the limits of collective joy. If the scene provokes it, clapping will begin in one corner and rise in a crescendo like a wave throughout the theatre. So will the laughter and booing. Such collective joy or disappointment or tragedy on screen, like a wave, finds total expression.
The best appreciation, in terms of volume-spread quantum duration, is reserved for the action sequences. The hero and the villain are locked in a confrontation which can only be physical. Of course, in most cases, the good generally wins in the end.
The interval will witness the audience stepping out for a robust samosa, not an under-nourished sandwich. These people love ice-cold masala shikanji. There is an excited exchange of views and happiness, not just polite smiles and condescending sharing of opinions. How’s it been so farIJ So-so!! Actually it has been a blast and the audience has enjoyed delirious happiness. It has been the expression of the deepest most primal sentiment of all: Collective joy.
It’s time to retrieve it!