Masala Movie

Ever since the new swanky mall opened up in the neighbourhood, with its 7 screen multiplex and a 180 degree reclining cine-diner, not only have I been watching more movies, but also shopping a lot more than I should. The tickets cost a whopper and the pop-corn a double whopper. This mall alone is enough to drive me and my neighbourhood into bankruptcy.

The theatre people are smart about the pop corn though. They make you feel you are getting value for money, because a ‘small’ popcorn is usually large enough to feed a small country in Africa. So, do we buy one small and share it between the four of us? No, never, because S wants cheese, N wants caramel, I want salted and husband thinks he can dig into all and have a pack of samosas by himself too.

It’s a well earned mid-week holiday. With all of us home after a long while and little else to do, off we drive to our favourite mall to catch the latest movie. Its N’s first hindi movie and we are brave enough to pick the marathon 3 ½ long tear jerker that promises all the masala that the popcorn lacks. It is packed with romance, disability, well-dressed wise-cracking kids, foreign locale, tragedy, valour and patriotism. The director sure needed 3 ½ hours to cover these wide range of emotions.

Before the national anthem is over, the kids have managed to create a carpet of pop-corn on the floor and are busy negotiating for whatever little is left in the other one’s hand. I in the meantime, have dived to the floor to rapidly clear away the pop corn carpet along with any other garbage I can lay my hands on. Behavioural experts call this classical conditioning, a situation which produces a certain kind of instant response (cleaning) to a certain kind of incident (mess) and it usually comes with years of practice and training, and I sure did have a lot of that. Husband in the meantime is enjoying samosa like he has nothing to do with the rest of his family.

Ten minutes into the movie, N wants to use to toilet, and off we trudge to the washroom, even before we have settled in our seats. Job is finished, but N is in no hurry to leave. She takes her time to test the sensor controlled faucets and automatic hand dryers for the 200th time, before she’s fully satisfied that they can be left alone.

Back to the movie, I've already missed 50 rupees worth of drama. Now I want to enjoy the rest of the movie in peace. There is a kid behind me (I always end up in the seat that comes with a noisy kid attached to the back.) This time noisy kid has also decided to dig his heel into my seat at 2 minute intervals . With each shove, I'm pushed further to the edge of my seat. Husband thinks I'm enjoying the movie so much that I'm already at the edge of my seat. What I am actually is at the edge of my wits. Deep breathing techniques learnt in the yoga course are brought into force. Anger subsides. Attention shifts to movie once again.

It’s a crucial scene. I'm in the middle of some serious waterworks when N wants to sit on my lap. I have paid for her seat, does she not understand that? I take a deep breath first before taking stubborn child on lap. She demands to know why I'm crying. ‘Did your mama scold you?’ she shrieks with horror as she wipes my tears, and suddenly I can feel 60 pairs of eyes turning back to gawk at me. In the middle of all this, elder daughter S wants to understand why the hero chose to run 40 kilometres in the lashing rain with heart rending sufi music playing in the background, rather than use his phone to ask for help. It will be a while before the logic of hindi films grows on my daughter.

The movie is finally over, my eyes are puffy from all the sobbing. By now N is sobbing too as my deep breathing technique fails me and I have spanked her. S is on the verge of tears as she has just been told she can’t have donuts for lunch for the third day in a row.

The makers of the film wanted the viewers to connect with their emotional side, and our family sure did, though each for a different reason.