Watching Titanic in India

It is a hot and dusty Sunday afternoon in Madurai, India when I hop a bus downtown with my tween-age host brother. We are meeting with an American friend and her host brother to see Titanic, James Cameron’s magnum opus, at the local movie theatre.

Both of our host brothers are Bollywood aficionados. Titanic is the most Bollywood-like movie I can conjure, epic in scale and scope. It speaks to the vicissitudes of adversity and human triumph – a little like karma. Titanic is a disaster movie replete with class conflict and just enough dancing to keep things interesting. Jack and Rose exchange lingering looks during many a starboard stroll. The budding romance advances like an apple kissed and passed between paramours in Bollywood love stories. Several Titanic scenes, I imagine, will warrant attention from the censors. Social commentary, romantic intrigue, controversy – a little something for everyone. I think they will like it.

photo from summi and erik

The bus thunders forward. Its great steel body whips around turns, missing bicyclists, oxcarts and meandering bovines by a smidgen. The concrete walls of Madurai, India are plastered with movie posters. Goats gnaw on the loose edges. Today, Titanic posters are popular. There are posters for a romantic drama entitled Jeans. Other posters are dedicated to the cinematic endeavors of former actresses and actors-turned politicians.

Eventually, we arrive at the theatre. We exchange rupees for tickets and purchase four cold Coca-Colas, a rare treat, from a vendor wearing a folded paper hat. The cold sweat on the glass bottles feels sublime on this sweltering day. We assume our places in the middle of the theatre.

I spot only a handful of saris or salwaar-kameez (the long, flowing, pajama-style blouses and pants favored as casual dress in South India) in this crowded theatre. Moviegoing on this convection-oven hot day appears to be an almost strictly male enterprise. Where are the women? Are they resting and recuperating? Perhaps preparing curry and rice for their families? Do they know something I do not? My friend looks towards me and raises an eyebrow.

The lighting fades and the movie starts. The projector would prove to be as noncompliant as the Titanic during its maiden voyage. The film roll stops and starts, lurching forward like a broken moto-rickshaw. Suddenly, all that cold Coca-Cola doesn’t seem to have been such a great idea.

Four hours later, the Titanic hits the iceberg. Then something unexpected happens.

The once self-possessed crowd begins to clap and cheer enthusiastically. The onscreen situation continues to deteriorate. Doomed passengers hurl themselves into the icy North Atlantic. The crowd whistles and applauds even more fervently. Finally, Rose releases Jack. My eyes are misty. The crowd is now raucous – whistling and applauding with feverish intensity. The metal seat backs slam up. People stream towards the exits.

Ice slicing through the galvanized metal bow of a ship could not have rung as loudly as the culture shock during that very moment. Wait! Wait! my friend and I try to say. Wait for the denouement! Don’t you wanna know what happens?

Our host brothers gazed expectantly. Isn’t it time to go? Game over? We looked at them. They sat down. We finished the movie. We were the only people left in the theatre when the credits rolled.

—Marthe Weyandt