Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Wet And Salty

Maybe it is age but I realize that as I grow older, I've become much, much more emotional in the movies. Yes, I belong to a special breed of men who cries in the movies. At first it was just a case of the misty eyes and a heavy feeling in the chest. But lately, it has been full on drama. I literally, sometimes whimper in the cinema, mucous flowing freely.

Maybe as I grow older, and I have experienced more and more deaths, breakups, hardships and the likes, to see it being picturised on celluloid is a visceral experience for me and the emotions come naturally, and in abundance too.

I remembered watching this Bollywood movie (it is ALWAYS the Bollywood movies) a couple of years back, which was a remake of the movie Stepmom (I know, absolute tearjerker material). A couple of months before the Bollywood remake was showing in cinemas, my aunt had passed away leaving four young children; three boys and a baby girl.

She had leukemia. It was a pretty painful and deeply moving time for us because my family was very close to hers.

So anyways, as we know it, the movie is about a divorced mother who is dying from cancer and she comes to terms and learns to accept her ex-husbands new girlfriend as a mother for her children. I personally have not watched the original Hollywood version so my expectations were close to none.

And boy was I unprepared to the amount of repressed emotions that poured out of me during the climax of the movie. Luckily enough, or should I say, unluckily enough, I was alone so there wasn't anyone beside me to keep my emotions in check. Or pinch my thighs to stop me from crying.

I was a total mess, and I didn't even bring any tissues along. The climax of the movie was a Diwali scene where the dying mother is on a wheelchair and she was being shown a montage of various important and momentous events in their lives as a family. The eldest daughter started to break down, and then the younger siblings, and then the mother and then the husband and in thirty seconds, everyone was crouched around the wheelchair just bawling their eyes out.

I was sitting alone in the packed cinema literally wheezing; I kid you not. My whole body was shaking with emotions because of the memories of my own late aunt and her children was streaming in. I kept muttering, "Oh god, get me out of here. I cannot watch this," over and over again for about forty five seconds before realizing that shit, I'm all alone and I am actually talking to myself in the cinema.

The lady beside me looked (stared actually) at me and went, "Tsk! Shh!"

I was being a nuisance to other movie goers and I didn't even realize it.

"Heartless cold woman," I said in my heart.

I rummaged through my bag to find any tissues or cloth to wipe my entire face which was wet and salty with tears and mucous. Nothing.

So there I was, wiping my face with my shirt sleeve and still bawling at the scene playing in front of me. The lady beside me started shifting uncomfortably, thinking I was this loopy kid crying like someone died in front of me, and could you blame her?

I went back from the movie with a heavy feeling in my chest that lasted for three days.

I recounted this story to my brother back at home and he started laughing hysterically. He started banging the table and kept on saying, "Pussy" in between breaths.

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