A Return to The Heart of Cinema

A Return to the Heart of Cinema: Rediscovering Joy in a South Kolkata Theatre

Yesterday, I stepped into a single-screen cinema hall near my flat in South Kolkata, a place that felt like a portal to a simpler time. The ticket cost me a mere 30 rupees—a price so low it seemed almost absurd in today’s world of inflated everything. This was no frills, no fuss; just a modest hall with rows of basic seats, no private advertisements flashing on the screen, only a government-sponsored ad against tobacco use. Before the Bengali film began, we stood for the national anthem, a ritual that stirred a quiet sense of unity among the audience. It was a far cry from my last movie outing at a multiplex, where I paid 350 rupees for a ticket and navigated a world of overpriced popcorn buckets and gourmet burgers. Here, there were no such temptations—nor did I miss them.

I arrived ten minutes before the show, and after the film ended, I was back home in another ten. No long queues, no crowded food counters, no sensory overload. Just the movie, the audience, and me. The crowd in this small hall was different from the multiplex’s mixed bag of thrill-seekers and casual spenders. Here sat cultured Bengalis, people who didn’t seem to swim in excess money, who came for the story unfolding on the screen. I felt at home among them, surrounded by an audience that shared my love for cinema as an art form, not a status symbol. It was like slipping back into my younger days, when watching a movie was about the experience, not the extravagance.

I have a friend who swears by the luxury of reclining seats, happily paying over 1,000 rupees for the privilege. I don’t judge him—everyone finds joy in their own way. But for me, the magic lies in this unpretentious theatre, where every seat, whether in the front row or the back, costs the same 30 rupees. It’s a great leveller, a rare space in today’s world where intellectual curiosity and shared appreciation for storytelling outweigh the weight of wallets. Sitting there, I wasn’t just watching a film; I was reclaiming a piece of my past, a time when the strength of ideas mattered more than the size of one’s bank account.

In an era where success is often measured by money—the universal yardstick for some—this modest cinema hall stands as a quiet rebellion. It reminds me that joy doesn’t need a hefty price tag, that connection and culture can thrive in simplicity. As I walked home, the glow of the film still lingering, I felt grateful for this pocket of Kolkata that hasn’t bowed to the excesses of modernity. Here, among people who value stories over status, I found not just a movie but a moment of belonging—a reminder that some things, like the love for cinema, remain timeless.