October 16, 2010

Short Story-11

(Inspired by the Rupali theatre in Ahmedabad)

The reels must play over and over again. Even in the stranded hall. Light still came through perforations that made their way through wasted concrete. Little specks of light through little holes.

The moth eaten chairs stripped naked, foam exposed, with a stench that rose in the air stood testimony in silence. After all could the halides and nitrates stop shimmering! They were still around, suspended on dust that floated thick around the echoing halls.

Images rose- black and white, faint traces of colour-yesteryear's forgotten dreams rekindled.

And voices...they resounded, one over another, music interlacing through it-chaining them captive like memory.

And once again, cinema was born...

2 comments

runcible said...

"And voices...they resounded, one over another, music interlacing through it-chaining them captive like memory"

nice!

Dinvra igaluaC said...

I remember my mom, sister and I went to the same theatre years ago to watch a film called trimurti.

© Dryad's Peak
Maira Gall