When cinema was a carnival: A love letter to India's single-screen theatres

India Today

26-05-2025

It usually started a few days in advance. Someone would bring it up over dinner, maybe your father, circling the newspaper, saying, "That new Amitabh film is out. Let's go this Sunday." And just like that, plans were made.Your mother would start mentally preparing, which saree to wear, and what time to leave. You'd wonder if you'd get a Gold Spot during the interval. Your siblings would fight over who got to sit near the aisle. Sometimes, an uncle, cousin, or neighbor's child would be added to the plan, and no one minded.advertisementMovie day felt like a festival. You'd dress up, shoes polished, hair neatly parted. The journey to the theatre itself was part of the magic. Some piled into an old Fiat or Ambassador, some caught a crowded bus, and in smaller towns, families rode up in horse carts, tying the reins outside the theatre like it was a weekly fair.
Delite Cinema, New Delhi
By the time you reached the theatre, the smell of hot samosas and fresh paint on hand-painted posters would hit you. People from every walk of life there were men in safari suits, women in bright cotton sarees, kids clutching popcorn packets.The lines were long, but so was the excitement. And once the lights dimmed and the projector flickered to life, the whole hall, hundreds of strangers, laughed, cried, and clapped like one big family.advertisementThis wasn't just a movie. This was cinema, Indian style. A tradition that made theatres more than just buildings. They were memories in motion. Ask anyone who grew up in the '70s, '80s, or even the early '90s, and chances are their voice will soften, their eyes will mist just a bit, and they'll begin a sentence with: "There used to be this theatre near our house..."Ratan Chaturvedi, 65, Retired School Teacher, Kolkata (formerly Calcutta):"In those days, life moved slower - but emotions ran deep. I watched every film that came to the theatres, sometimes sneaking out of school with my friends just to catch the matinee show at New Empire or Lighthouse. My mother was a film lover too , we'd hold hands, take the tram, and queue up for tickets, hoping we'd get balcony seats. I still remember the thrill of black tickets being sold outside , and how those very films are now booked with a tap on Paytm. Some of my happiest schooltime memories were made inside those single screens, laughing, crying, and dreaming big with my friends."INDIA'S ICONIC SINGLE SCREENS
Maratha Mandir cinema in Mumbai
Some of India's oldest single-screen theatres were more than just places to watch films , they were landmarks of time. Maratha Mandir in Mumbai, still echoing with the romance of Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, holds the record for the longest continuous run of a film in Indian cinema history. In Chennai, the grand Sathyam Theatre stood as a symbol of Tamil cinema pride, while Kolkata's Elite and Metro once screened classics to packed halls of trench-coated Bengalis.These theatres weren't just venues , they were rituals. People queued up for hours, sometimes days, to catch blockbusters like Sholay, Mughal-e-Azam, or Hum Aapke Hain Koun.Back when there were no streaming apps or spoiler alerts, these theatres were the only way to step into another world - and once a film played there, it didn't just live on the screen. It stayed with you. In the songs you hummed, the dialogues you repeated, and the way your heart felt full long after the credits rolled.Keshav Pillai, 84, Former Postmaster, Chennai:"I watched 'Sholay' 14 times at Sathyam Theatre. People would shout dialogues before the characters even said them. And during the action scenes? The whole hall became a stadium. You won't find that kind of madness in today's silent multiplexes."advertisementTHE BALCONY, THE BENCHES AND THE BOX
Theatre seating was a mirror to society - sharply divided, yet united by cinema.Dress circle: The dress circle drew office-goers and college students. And the stalls or benches - oh, what energy they had! Young boys whistled at dialogues, threw coins at the screen, and knew every line by heart. It was loud, chaotic, and utterly alive.The balcony was for families, dating couples, and the occasional local VIP. Parents carried sleeping toddlers and tiffin boxes.But when tragedy struck on screen, everyone fell silent together. And when the hero triumphed, the entire hall erupted in applause - as if they'd all won something together.And then there was the box , tucked away at the top corner of the theatre like a secret little cabin. As kids, we were keen to catch a glimpse behind the glass, wondering who was inside. Maybe a rich businessman, maybe someone famous. Those seats weren't just about a better view - they came with a sense of quiet luxury.advertisementRamakant Joshi, 82, Retired Railways Clerk, Mumbai:"Back then, a balcony ticket at Maratha Mandir was a luxury. We'd save for weeks. But the real fun was in the stalls - whistles, claps, someone even dancing in the aisles when a song came on. The theatre was alive. You didn't just watch the movie, you felt it with everyone around you."COLD DINKS, CHEEPS AND CUTLIS!
The food wasn't gourmet, but it was unforgettable. Glass bottles of Gold Spot were sold at the seat with a clicking noice of bottle opener. Oily samosas, cutlets, and butter popcorn sold from steel trays by uniformed vendors shouting, "COLD DINKS! CHEEPS! CUTLES"Outside, the queues often stretched down the block. People planned movie days like weddings - booking tickets in advance, dressing up, carrying water bottles, sometimes even homemade theplas or sandwiches for the interval.advertisementNoorjahan Khan, 75, Homemaker, Hyderabad:"We used to plan our entire Sunday around the show at Liberty Cinema. My husband would take me there when we were newly married. It wasn't just a film - it was our date, our escape. The samosas in the interval, the big ceiling fans, the hush when the national anthem played everything had its own magic."ARRIVAL IN STYLE - OR WHATEVER WORKEDOn any given movie day, the parking lot outside was a gallery of contrast.You had families arriving in gleaming Impalas and Fiats, drivers waiting outside with steel lunchboxes. Right next to them were folks hopping off trams, buses, and even horse carts in smaller towns. Rickshaw drivers yelled over honking cars, hawkers sold movie-themed keychains, and ticket touts whispered sly deals near the gate.It didn't matter how you got there. What mattered was that you made it in time for the show.CURTAIN CALL: THE SLOW FADE
With the rise of multiplexes in the 2000s, single screens began to fade , some converted into shopping complexes, others turned into warehouses, or simply left to crumble. The whistles died down. The ticket counters shut. The giant posters disappeared.But the memories? They linger.
Memories of the smell of fresh paint on cut-outs. The chill of a steel armrest. The slight buzz in your ears from mono sound. The uncle who always shushed everyone. The child who screamed when the lights went out. Most of all, memories of a time when going to the movies wasn't just about watching , it was about feeling. Together. In the dark. Under the spell of a silver screen.THEN VS NOW: WHEN GOING TO THE MOVIES MEANT SOMETHING MORE
There was a time when going to the movies felt like a mini festival. You didn't just decide last minute , it was planned days in advance. Moms packed homemade snacks in foil, dads checked the show timings in the newspaper, and everyone wore their best clothes.You stood in long lines, hoping the "House Full" board wouldn't go up before your turn. And if it did, there was always that one man whispering "do ticket black mein hai" near the gate.Today, it's all just convenient. A few taps on an app, a QR code scan, and a movie in air-conditioned silence. It's cleaner, faster, easier - but sometimes, it feels like we left something behind in those creaky seats and echoing halls. Something noisy, messy, joyful - and deeply human.AI image credit: Vani Gupta