✒️:. Syed Majid Gilani
I was a boy from Srinagar who had only seen locked cinema gates, and one day in Jammu, I discovered the magic of the silver screen — a memory I still carry vividly.
When I was in seventh grade, cinemas in my city had already closed. The big halls, life-size posters, and the thrill of watching a movie on a silver screen were all beyond my reach. I had never entered a cinema hall, nor did I have any clear idea what it would be like inside. All I saw were rusted gates, firmly closed to the public. On television, I glimpsed films, actors performing, and crowds applauding, but I had never truly experienced it. My only memory of cinema was a poster on the closed Firdous Cinema, near our school. It hung there like a memory of excitement that had faded but never fully disappeared.
I often wondered what it would be like to enter a cinema hall. I imagined it from afar — spacious halls, comfortable seats, heroes and heroines larger than life, moving and speaking as if they were real. But these were dreams, never reality.
After finishing twelfth grade, I joined Gandhi Memorial College and had to travel to Jammu for a brief period. I had visited Jammu before, but always with elders, as a child. This time was different. I was a college student — more aware, more independent, and everything around me felt new and full of energy.
In Jammu, I was staying near KC Cinema, one of the city’s premier halls. From my window, I could see the big hoardings and posters of the film Khuda Gawah, the crowd, the lights, and the excitement. My heart quickened. Something deep inside stirred. This was the world I had imagined as a child, and now it was real, right before my eyes.
The next morning, I went early to catch the morning show. People were already at the ticket counter, and some were selling tickets outside. A notice on the wall caught my attention: student concession, fifty percent on production of an I-card. I had my Gandhi Memorial College I-card, and they allowed me entry at a concessional rate. For the first time in my life, the world I had only imagined — the crowd, the seats, the lights, the big screen — was about to come alive.
I moved through the long queue, my heart beating fast, and finally entered the cinema. The air smelled of popcorn and potato chips, and a quiet murmur of excitement floated around. The gatekeepers guided me to the balcony, and I climbed the steps slowly. Every step carried anticipation and wonder. This was my first time seeing a cinema hall from the inside.
When I opened the balcony door, darkness enveloped the hall. My eyes struggled to adjust. The ticket checker guided me with a torch and showed me to a seat. Then I looked up — and there they were: enormous, moving mountains appearing through the darkness. For a moment, I was afraid, overwhelmed by their size, yet captivated by their majesty. My heart pounded as if it would leap out of my chest.
And then I saw Amitabh Bachchan riding a horse, with Sridevi on a peak. My fear melted into joy. I understood then what a feature film in a cinema hall truly is — life itself, brought alive on the screen. Everything I had imagined as a child was real.
I was thrilled, mesmerized, completely absorbed. Some people whistled at the dialogues, others laughed or clapped at the scenes. Watching a movie here was no longer just seeing images on a screen. It was living the story with everyone around me.
I loved the songs, the music, the story, and the heart-touching emotions of the film. Every scene, every note, every dialogue stayed with me. It was vivid, alive, unlike anything I had ever imagined.
During the interval, when the lights came on, I realized it was time for a short pause. An advertisement played on the big screen. I stepped out with the crowd, watching people buy popcorn and snacks. I bought some too and carried it back to my seat, eager to enjoy it while watching the second half. It was a simple joy, but for me, it felt entirely new and thrilling.
Watching a movie on a silver screen is altogether different. It is not merely seeing a story; it is living it, feeling it, breathing it. Even today, years later, I remember that morning as vividly as if it were yesterday — the lights, the sounds, the excitement, the music, the moving emotions, and the joy of my very first cinema experience.
For a boy who had only seen closed cinema gates, it was magic brought to life. Happiness, wonder, and awe rolled into a few unforgettable hours. Cinema had finally become real for me — not just on posters, not just on television, but living, breathing, magnificent on a silver screen.
Syed Majid Gilani is a Government Officer by profession and a writer-storyteller by passion — weaving stories of real-life emotions. He can be reached at syedmajid6676@gmail.com
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