When The Lights Go Out

I was at the cinemas again last night. Imtiaz Ali's Highway was being much talked about. It wouldn't matter if it weren't, by the way. You will find me at the cinemas on a Friday night in any case. When I walked out of the film, I was hardly wondering whether it was a good film or not. One hundred film critics have usually done their job before we are allowed to form an independent opinion about a film anyway.
I was not even utterly disappointed by the fact that some people uninterested in the movie felt it was within their due right to ruin the movie-watching experience for people seated around them. It was not the first or last time such an incident occurred, so no surprises there. In fact, I have lately been bordering on paranoia every time I enter a hall. Will the person sitting behind me be kind enough not to kick my seat? Is there a chance a conference call will not occur during the movie? Will the attention-deficient be willing to take their antics out on the street instead?
Last night was no exception. The expected phone call and the ensuing conversation started pronto. These were followed by lewd comments at the actress, giggles and yes, those regular kicks in others' seats. Polite resistance was met with vehement defiance, and the cycle continued as anticipated. This could have been dismissed as a routine affair until we arrived at a reference by the filmmaker to child abuse. A long monologue by the victim on her trauma as an abused child was returned with louder giggles and more tasteless remarks. Hapless, serious movie-watchers threatened the miscreants with an official complaint.
"But chill no, this is such a bakwaas movie. Why so serious?" - Seriously. This explanation is offered. At some level, I sympathize with the people who say this. But an alternate argument is that you do not deserve quality cinema in the first place. Cinema, like any other form of art, involves art and passion, and you are free to hate what you are dished out. But a possible solution to your misery is "Stay clear of the multiplexes."
"Kya maal hai." - Child sexual abuse is not unheard of. We all know about it. The trouble is, knowing about it is not the same as understanding it. When we know about it, we know that we must write about it on the social network, condemn the most recent rape at the next cocktail party we are at, and if time permits stage a dharna at India Gate in a show of solidarity. That will ensure we have our holier-than-thou image all sorted. Then we can go to the movies with a clean conscience, wait for the lights to go out, and then express what we really feel about matters that matter. The answer I gathered from yesterday's experience was "Sahi maal hai."
"But the Indian mentality will not change." Exactly. Slim chance. But the real reason is, we are the Indian mentality. You and I, who exercise their right to entertainment at the cost of several others who have coughed up the same cost for a movie ticket. Or a seat in a train. Or the painted walls of our housing society. Today we have a party wielding a broom. Tomorrow we might have one that wields a magic wand. Rest assured, our dilemma will always be that we are, indeed, the dirt that we want cleaned up.
So the next time you feel the urge to lament over the sorry state of affairs around you, make sure you wait for the lights to go out. What lies beneath that face hidden in the dark will be the answer you are looking for.