Remains of the day

Aurora, Matunga’s friendly neighbourhood Tamil cinema hall, shut down on Friday. Kareena N Gianani talks to die-hard fans about some of the theatre’s finest moments

Shankar Iyer cranes forward to have a better look at the Tamil movie posters outside the Aurora Theatre at King’s Circle, Matunga. He walks over to the grilled entrance and peeps inside. At the centre of the lobby stands a blackboard with the notice, ‘The theatre will remain closed.’

“That’s it. They just closed it — as sudden as that,” says Iyer. A regular at Matunga’s Aurora Theatre since 1955, Iyer admits he had almost taken the place for granted. He dips into his pocket and slowly hands out scraps of colourful paper. “You see these? These are the tickets of every film I’ve watched here — all first day, first shows.” All the tickets have the same seat number — B20.

Last Friday, this bastion of Tamil cinema in the city shut down, much to the dismay of old faithfuls. Over the years, the Aurora Theatre  had become a landmark of sorts. One of the oldest halls in Mumbai, it has a seating strength of 700 people with a capacity of grossing Rs 8,83, 590.40 from 28 shows. It was leased to a Parsi family in 1942, and in its early years, was best known for screening children’s movies and English films. Watching movies in those days meant seeing a mythological at Vijay or watching English adventure movies at Aurora. In 1983, it was leased to film distributor Nambi Rajan, and slowly, Aurora earned a strong, South Indian identity.

“I remember the first time I entered Aurora,” says Rajan. “Chipped walls, broken wooden seats and cats running around the place — I knew it was time for some drastic action.” Rajan says he simply caught the pulse of the area and made a good business move by screening three different South Indian films (Tamil, Telegu, Kannada) a day instead of one matinee show. “Other theatres screening regional films, like Rivoli and Badal Bijli Barkha, were incurring losses, but Aurora’s profits rose because it was almost like a multiplex.” In those days, Rajan would stand outside the theatre till his staff pulled out the ‘House Full’ board, then he would head home, a happy man. “A multiplex will come up in a few years. Talks are on — I hope I can still be a part of Aurora in some way,” he trails off.

But Jeeval Supat has no such consolation. An usher at Aurora for 26 years, Supat says his future is uncertain. “I am nearly 60,” he says, “and I don’t want to know what will come up next. How does it matter, anyway? Those days will never come back.”

Suresh Pailkar, the booking clerk sitting next to him, smiles at Supat and elaborates on ‘those days’. “The experience of film watching was so different — it was magical and raucous. The moment Shivaji Ganesan made an entry on screen, the audiences would go berserk and stand on their seats and whistle. His arch rival MGR also evoked similar frenzy —  men would take their shirts off, dance in the aisles and throw 10 paise coins,” he winks. Pailkar sheepishly admits that he never really tried to restrain the crowds. “I am a fan too…” At this, Supat butts in, “It wasn’t always funny, you know — I remember during the two-week run of the film Ghilli (2004), a group of eunuchs would come every day. When the song, Apadi Pode began, they would bring out their puja thalis and apply tilak to the cinema screen!”

Everyone has a favourite over-the-top Aurora story. When Rajan had acquired the Bombay circuit rights of Rajnikant blockbuster Sivaji: The Boss in June 2007, a long queue stood braving the June downpour for tickets. “We had built a thermocol fortress outside Aurora and poured milk on Rajnikant’s 40-feet high banner. Which other theatre will let us do that?” asks Anandraj, the owner of a VCD-DVD store in Dharavi, and a member of the Maharashtra State Rajnikant Fans Welfare Association, relating the euphoria before a Rajnikant release at Aurora. “Rajan would give us the movie reel and an elephant would be hired to take it to the theatre for the 8am show. It was like escorting God for his big day.”

A favourite Aurora memory for Nandagopal, owner of a magazine stall opposite Aurora, is the modus operandi of the black-marketeers. “For Chandramukhi (2005), cops patrolled the theatre but couldn’t do much. The ticket sellers had a network that extended till Matunga station. And no, I didn’t take any commission for directing buyers to them,” he smiles.
 
For old residents of Matunga, the end of Aurora will mean the end of community gatherings with far-flung neighbours. Suman Lotlikar, 80, wonders if she’ll ever bump into everyone from Matunga at one place again. “I first went there in 1949 to attend Lata Mangeshkar’s Ganeshotsav performance on the theatre’s terrace. I used to leave my three-month-old daughter at home for a movie show at Aurora just so I could meet all Matunga people — it was our favourite place for a get-together.” Lotlikar vociferous declares that if there are any plans for morchas against the closure, she’ll be the first to join in.

Meanwhile, Iyer wonders if he will ever enjoy the multiplex experience. Watching a film at Aurora was all about having fun. He searches for the right words and says, “Freak out. Isn’t that what you call it? That’s what the Tamilians of Matunga want to do. April 14 is the Tamil New Year and we have no where to celebrate.” In the same breath, he adds that it’s his birthday, too, and he’ll be left without his usual treat at Aurora.
 
g_kareena@dnaindia.net