Varun Ghai
In an era without smartphones or streaming, a rupee coin and a small video hall were enough to create lifetime memories.
In today’s world of multiplexes and Netflix, few can imagine a “video hall” – a room with a 21-inch color TV, wooden benches, and no air-conditioning, tucked into a corner of a dusty market.
It was the summer of 1993. I was in Class 4, visiting my maternal grandparents in Mendhar, a small border village in J&K’s Poonch district. That summer became unforgettable when a video hall opened in the nearby market – a five-minute walk from Nanaji’s house.
Nanaji owned a grocery shop where I helped him daily. Markets shut early in those days – by 5:30 PM – due to the militancy that gripped J&K. After sunset, the streets were silent, with only army patrols moving around.
My real incentive for staying at the shop was Nanaji’s daily reward – one or two rupees after his evening accounting. Missing it meant forfeiting it, and I never dared to ask later.
After a long bus journey to Mendhar, the next morning on my way to the shop, I spotted a worn movie poster announcing Khuda Gawah – starring Amitabh Bachchan and Sridevi – at the new video hall. Excitement filled me. In those days, no one cared for reviews – the star cast alone guaranteed magic.
The “hall” was a dark, smoky room with two sluggish fans, benches packed tight, and a TV placed atop a shelf. Forty men filled the space daily; no women ever came. Cigarette smoke clouded the air within minutes, and there was no Google to warn us about passive smoking.
Over the next two months, I watched nearly 45 movies, spending a rupee per show. Soon, the usher – Shankar Bhaiya – handed me the remote control to fast-forward through advertisements. In exchange, he stopped charging me the ticket. Now, I could spend my rupee on candies, feeling like the luckiest boy alive.
As all summers do, this one ended too soon. Rising tensions eventually shut down the video hall, and my Nanaji later shifted to Jammu permanently.
Life offers no backward or forward buttons. But sometimes, a memory – like that tiny video hall – reminds us that the greatest joys often come from the simplest moments.
Follow our WhatsApp channel
