It was a bright sunny week day.
Me and my new found friend skipped classes to watch a film.
It was a matinee show.
All was well until five,
then arose in me an uneasy calm.
Film was not yet over, and I wanted to go home.
My friend, a veteran filmgoer, was not amused, but
understood the predicament of a novice filmgoer.
We left the film in-between,
and that was the beginning of our lifelong friendship.
Then I was in class Ten.
Our filmy journey continued;
front stall became our favourite spot.
Those who have seen films from those six anna seats
know what an exhilarating experience that can be;
torn seat covers, paan spittoons, people whistling all around.
As they say, people in the front stall clap, rest rattle jewellery.
I lost my friend a little early.
Sitting among the mourners, and amidst the talks of
soul, birth, death, eternal
my mind was in flashback mode:
Two friends, sitting on the front seat
in a cinema hall, far from the maddening crowd of home and all,
watching Kishore-Johar laugh riot Bewaqoof.
The film was not yet over, and my friend has gone forever.