The Cantonment Cinema

by Amberee Pitamber (India)

I didn't expect to find India

Leh Market had arrived: my politely requested destination. I glanced up from the little window of the stranger's vehicle to sight Leh Palace, one of the most decrepit yet dignified edifices I had seen, overlooking the capital of the Himalayan region of Ladakh. I hesitated for a moment before stepping out of the car as four stranger men looked to me in eager anticipation. There was an instant moment of cursory contemplation as I imagined the interesting turn my day could soon take at 11,562 ft. I sighed. When again in my life was I going to get the chance to watch the latest Bollywood film at a private cantonment cinema, in the Indian Himalayas post an unanticipated hitchhike? Never. "Okay, I’ll come," I said, pulling the door back shut. It seemed as though Ladakh, the land of high passes, besides its incredulous landscapes of vast desert mountains and magnificent glaciers that surrounded the Indus river, had a connection to something else considerably higher. Perhaps you could call it serendipity. Euphoric smiles lit up on the faces of the ex-army officer, and the three government officials. It was a bewildering Sunday afternoon in a cramped little car with four grown men, yet somehow I had trusted my foggy instincts to hop in. “We’re happy you’re joining us,” said the younger fellow driving. “One day you can tell others, Indian men are good too.” I smiled nervously as we sailed towards a never-ending horizon of empty desert land. I had waited patiently outside the ruins of Shey Palace for the local bus to arrive, though it never seemed to come. Hitchhiking was something I had never attempted before, and yet deciding to follow it through with an impromptu detour on the border of China and Pakistan, might have arguably been unadvisable. I took a deep breath as the car suddenly entered into a military cantonment. It immediately felt as though I had landed onto the sets of an old sepia-toned documentary film portraying the era of the British Raj - credit to the barren brown landscapes that surrounded us. My heart grew heavy. With a British Indian heritage, it had always seemed like an eerily intriguing period of history, that would often irk my mind when I would dabble over the privileges that many lives like mine, had had as a consequence. A thousand questions suddenly ran through my head. How could there possibly be a cinema here? What if I'm being tricked into an ulterior motive? Although comfort had been prevalent during the journey, I was still in the company of absolute strangers. We parked up between two towering jeeps as I looked out to see uniformed soldiers stroll along to a makeshift cinema hall as they sang jovially in unison. As we stepped out of the car, there was a sudden influx of eyes that landed my way. My brown hair with noticeable caramel highlights stood out astoundingly amidst a sea of khaki berets. We headed to the entrance as my peers tried to make me feel comfortable. As we entered the hall, a large, linen-like screen was hanging on one end of the room. We sat on a row of folding seats as I was offered a handful of popcorn in a sealed plastic bag. As soon as the projector came to life, there was a refreshing echo of cheers. It’s real, I thought to myself in disbelief. I began to appreciate how chance and choice had both allowed me to be a part of this experience. Though India had claimed its independence 72 years before, continuing to serve the country in the arduous conditions of its highest altitude plateau region, there was a universal bliss in this small Sunday entertainment relief. As 172 minutes of the Hindi language film eventually came to an end, I faced an inexplicable fathoming of fortuity. I couldn’t quite say it was the film that was the cause of my inspiration, but in fact, the little sepia-tinted tale that my life had temporarily become. "Indian men are good too," I reminded myself to pay forward.