“Amma, I will be back for dinner” I say as I walk out of my house. I’m going for a matinee movie show of my favorite hero. I already saw the early morning show at 4:30 am. That’s how the theaters work here. There’s a morning show, a matinee, first show and then second show which starts at 9:45 pm. I get into the slow aloof walk to cover the 2 km as I slip down the memory lane.

I have lived most of my life in Pune, a major city already when I was born. Though our colony was far away from the city lights, we weren’t immune to the sophistication it offered. But my parents come from humble households and those values have been imprinted on me for life. They made sure that every summer vacation, I would be going back to my roots and live there at least for a week. I was a guy who complained that he couldn’t see the world and his parents never took him out. Consequently, and the financial priorities made Chittoor my holiday spot for 20 years. My Nanamma (dad’s mom) lives here with my dad’s elder brother and his wife. We occupy a small individual house, which was built in the 18th and looks the part. If I talk about this place, I should talk about the people. The church street is popular for Iyengar bakery and the dargah junction is famous for cakes. People have stopped asking names before giving a helping hand and that is what makes this place a rarity.

People here live the said philosophy of simple living. This is a place where the man predominantly earns the money while the woman runs the house. Where the husband and wife never say the love word, but reflect it in every moment. Where everyone knows every other person and welcomes everyone with a smile that is as warm as it was decades ago. Where people still look at the skies for rain, discuss the plight and share the pain. Where people travel largely by public transport, chatting away their time. Where people have pots for cool water. Where pets are usually strays which are never bound by a collar. Where I’m respected for my family’s good deeds and not good moolah.

People here don’t dream of world tours and six figure paychecks. I honestly don’t know what they dream of. But my guess would be to be happy in this now. That’s all. Things here are uncomplicated yet not easy. Things are done and not get done. People speak with their eyes, with their movements, with their smiles as mobile phones are just another instrument to talk and not anyone’s companion.
Not many around here understand my pursuant of higher studies, all they understand is I’ll not be coming home like I use to. They don’t criticize me, they don’t judge me. They teach me and advice me. I, once lost in the comical maze of credibility of society, told others that my hometown is a popular metro city. I repent it but I don’t correct it either. Because no one actually listened either.

As I walk up-to the ticket counter, the guy smiles at me and gives me the ticket. I thank him, and with a reasoning thought of why I always felt like home here, I climb to the balcony seating. Chittoor Talkies always spoke to me, more than the pictures on the screen and the sounds on the speakers. The crazy shouting, the squeaking ceiling fans, the torn seats, the clicking of bottles, the interval reviews and discussion among the strangers. This was always me. Every part of this is me.

Curtains raise as I wait for umpteenth time to feel the same fanboy moment. Now it strikes to me, I’m one of the Chittoor Talkies guy.