And a matinee in its truest sense, being an actual morning show, starting at 10.45. And this was the second showing of the day!
Aparna had been mildly incredulous that I should want to go at all, insisting that O would need an interpreter. But actually, I was not going there to enjoy, or even understand, the film, (though I hoped that I might). More, it was an opportunity to witness it as a cultural (in its broadest sense) event.
There was quite a crowd milling around in the courtyard in front of the modern building. As usual, In was approached by various people, mostly youngsters, with the usual questions – where I came from, why I was Dhangadhi, how old I was.
I purchased my “gold” ticket, the premium class, not being given any choice in the matter. I was a little surprised at how expensive it was, R500. Not a high price by European standards, about £3, and not that it seemed to have any impact on the large crowd (though most would be paying rather less, I suppose.) There was an actual queue to enter, which again surprised me a little, since I have seen no evidence of a queuing culture anywhere else here. The security guards manning the entrance (one of them being my old friend doing the same job at SPA) were diligent in removing food brough in from outside; like its English equivalent, it was clear that making money from refreshments was an important part of the business model.
Inside, there was a separate staircase for the gold section, and for a while I was the only one occupying the lounge up there, so did think I might indeed have exclusivity. But gradually, it filled. Two teenagers who chatted briefly with me told me that the film was “very emotional”, which disappointed me a little; I had hoped for something a little more action-packed. When we were admitted into the auditorium, it was quite impressive: large, well-appointed. I had been assigned GF1, on the very back row, and all the seats were very comfortable, with a slight recline.
I had thought there might be a long preamble, as there is back home – ads, trailers, the rest – but apart from one short film warning of the dangers of smoking, there was nothing, and the film started straight away. Another surprise: there were a lot of families, some with quite young children, and I had thought this might lead to a noisy atmosphere, but actually, it was quiet and attentive. The only noticeable difference was that quite a few people were filming the entire thing on their phones.
As for the film itself, it was called Sarangi, and was indeed “very emotional”; indeed, a little sentimental for my7 taste. It told the story of a travelling musician, who played a Nepalese-style folk violin, called (surprisingly enough) a sarangi, and his son. Both seemed to be suffering some form of social ostracism, with the boy not allowed to attend school. Clearly, something had occurred to cause this, for we saw happier times previously, including the musician’s courtship and marriage. (The film jumped around quite a lot in time, but mostly I was able to follow this fine, except for a funeral sequence in which the musician had shaved off his haor and moustache, and I didn’t recognise him.)
Nonetheless, I left at the interval, having seen enough to satisfy my curiosity about the event, and not being sufficiently interested in the outcome of the story. My guess is something of a tragic end ( the film had begun with seeing the boy as a grown man, receiving the violin in a parcel), but I suppose I will never know.
