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.