Chapter 4 — Popcorn
And thus begins Chapter Four.
Now, children.
There we were.
The film festival.
At last.
The supposed reason we had travelled all the way to Bangalore.
The council looks around.
And gods
chaos.
Not bad chaos.
Filmy chaos.
People everywhere.
Students.
Volunteers.
Faculty.
People carrying folders.
People carrying cameras.
People wearing badges.
People power walking in every direction with the expression of someone who was already seven minutes late to something extremely important.
The council watches.
Left.
Right.
Upstairs.
Downstairs.
Doors opening.
Doors closing.
Posters.
Schedules.
Screens.
Children.
Everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going.
Which immediately separated them from me.
The normal students from our university stood there,
looking around.
Amazed.
Interested.
Perhaps excited to experience cinema from around the world.
Perhaps discussing which films they wanted to watch.
Perhaps experiencing genuine academic enthusiasm.
And then there was
me.
Axe.
Sharky.
The council sighs.
We saw the snack stall.
Children.
Priorities.
The joint from earlier had completed its sacred work.
Munchies had arrived.
Not hunger.
Munchies.
An entirely different creature.
The kind of hunger where your stomach may technically be full
but your soul has decided texture is necessary.
And there
popcorn.
The council goes quiet.
Beautiful.
Golden.
Warm.
Salty.
Cheesy.
Caramel.
Different varieties sitting there beneath the lights like treasures in a fantasy merchant’s inventory.
Children.
We had money.
This was dangerous.
The council nods.
So naturally
we loaded up.
Popcorn.
More popcorn.
Possibly snacks whose identities have been consumed by time.
But the popcorn?
The Archive remembers.
Because children,
for the next portion of this film festival,
popcorn was the protagonist.
The faculty gestured.
Follow.
The council nods.
And for once,
we obeyed.
Mostly because the popcorn could travel with us.
We entered a theatre.
Dark.
Cool.
Rows of seats.
A screen ahead.
People settling.
We sat.
The film began.
The council leans forward.
What film?
No idea.
The council pauses.
Genre?
No idea.
Language?
Could not tell you.
Plot?
Children.
You are asking the wrong witness.
Because while cinema unfolded on the giant screen
I was experiencing something far more compelling.
Popcorn.
The council collapses.
One handful.
Crunch.
Another.
Cheese.
Salt.
Caramel.
Whatever glorious combination had been placed before me.
The screen could have been showing the greatest film ever made.
A forgotten masterpiece.
A once in a generation cinematic achievement.
Children.
My entire review would have been:
Popcorn was excellent.
The council laughs.
What were Axe and Sharky doing?
No idea.
Maybe watching.
Maybe eating.
Probably eating.
Perhaps Sharky experienced a profound cinematic revelation two seats away from me and I simply failed to notice because a caramel kernel had achieved perfection.
History has lost the answer.
For approximately thirty minutes
I was happy.
The council smiles.
Very happy.
Film festival?
Wonderful.
Education?
Excellent.
Culture?
Delicious.
Then
the popcorn ran out.
The council goes silent.
Children.
Tragedy.
My hand descended into the container.
Nothing.
I checked again.
Perhaps one hidden piece remained.
No.
Only crumbs.
The council lowers its head.
The spell broke.
And for the first time since the movie began
I looked up.
Properly.
At the screen.
The council waits.
I watched.
Perhaps thirty seconds.
Maybe less.
And thought:
Nope.
The council erupts.
That’s your film criticism?
Comprehensive.
Children.
Whatever was happening up there required a level of attention I was unwilling to provide.
The popcorn had carried the experience.
Without popcorn,
the film was exposed.
And apparently,
I wanted no part of it.
So I stood.
The council becomes interested.
Just left?
Yes.
Children.
No whispered committee meeting.
No vote.
No consultation.
I simply rose.
Axe looked at me.
Sharky looked at me.
And then
they stood too.
The council nods.
Pack protocol.
We quietly made our way past knees,
bags,
seats,
and whatever people were genuinely trying to appreciate the film.
Out the door.
Into freedom.
The council looks back toward the theatre.
Faculty?
Apparently unconcerned.
Or perhaps they didn’t notice.
Or perhaps this festival pass genuinely meant we were allowed to come and go.
Children.
The Archive does not preserve the administrative truth.
What I know is
no one stopped us.
Therefore,
University Nuo applied one of his strongest legal doctrines.
If nobody stops me,
it is probably allowed.
The council immediately objects.
This is not law.
It was to me.
And so we left.
Now.
Outside again.
Noise.
People.
Movement.
The festival continuing around us.
And the three of us searched for somewhere secluded.
The council sighs knowingly.
Yes.
Another joint.
Children.
We found a quiet enough corner.
Lit up.
Passed it around.
No dramatic discussion.
No analysis of the film we had just abandoned.
No:
What do you think the director was trying to say?
The council waits.
Probably:
You got popcorn left?
Correct.
Eventually,
we finished.
And needed somewhere to sit.
The council becomes curious.
Where?
Next to the popcorn stall.
Obviously.
The council collapses.
Children.
Location selection had become entirely scent based.
We found seats nearby.
Close enough that the smell reached us.
Warm butter.
Salt.
Sugar.
That impossible theatre popcorn smell designed specifically to defeat financial restraint.
The council breathes in.
Euphoric.
And there we sat.
High.
Comfortable.
Watching the festival happen around us.
Which,
in hindsight,
may have been the first time I actually observed the place.
Not the films.
The place.
People moving.
Groups forming and breaking apart.
Someone sprinting toward a screening.
Someone arguing passionately about cinema.
People holding schedules and pointing toward rooms.
Entire little worlds moving around each other.
The council listens.
And us?
Stationary.
Beside popcorn.
Perfect.
Eventually,
doors opened.
The film ended.
People began spilling out.
Our classmates.
The faculty.
Normal students carrying whatever thoughts the film had given them.
And there we were,
already outside,
looking suspiciously comfortable.
The council raises an eyebrow.
Did anyone ask why you left?
Maybe.
I don’t remember.
If they did,
the Archive mercifully deleted my answer.
Then came the words.
Children.
The greatest words faculty could possibly have said.
The council leans forward.
“Okay.
Now go explore the festival yourselves.”
Silence.
The council processes this.
By ourselves?
Yes.
“Every film is accessible to you.
Just show this pass.”
The council erupts.
Children.
Freedom.
Absolute freedom.
Do you understand?
We had arrived assuming:
Follow faculty.
Sit in theatres.
Watch whatever was selected.
Pretend to absorb culture.
Instead
the leash had been removed.
The festival was open.
Every screening.
Every hall.
Every direction.
No one escorting us.
No assigned film.
Just
explore.
The council plays celestial music.
To ordinary students,
this probably meant:
Choose the films that interest you.
Study different styles.
Discover new directors.
Experience cinema.
To us?
Children.
It meant:
No supervision.
The council collapses.
And the pass?
Ah.
The pass.
A little card granting access to screenings.
An object of cultural opportunity.
The key to an entire film festival.
The council nods.
University Nuo examined it.
And identified a second use.
Future roach material.
The council goes silent.
Children.
Some people see institutional access.
I saw cardboard.
Multifunctional.
The council shakes its head.
But for now,
we kept them intact.
Because even idiots understand you should not destroy the thing granting unrestricted movement until you have finished using it.
The council applauds the microscopic fragment of foresight.
And just like that
the trip changed.
The university portion ended.
Not officially.
But emotionally.
The three of us were now loose inside a festival in Bangalore.
High.
Fed.
Unsupervised.
With passes granting us access to wherever the event allowed.
The council becomes concerned.
And remember
this was eleven years ago.
Before solo Wanderings.
Before the Archive.
Before I understood curiosity as a navigational tool.
Before I trusted myself in unfamiliar places.
But even then,
something happened the moment someone said:
Go explore.
The council grows quiet.
I liked the sound of it.
No schedule.
No direction.
No one telling me which door mattered.
Just choice.
Children.
That little feeling would become important later.
Much later.
For now,
University Nuo’s interpretation remained considerably less poetic.
He looked at Axe.
Looked at Sharky.
Looked around at an enormous festival.
And probably thought:
Cool.
What nonsense can we find?
The council nods.
Historical accuracy.
Thus concludes Chapter Four.
The Munchies.
The Popcorn Masterpiece.
The Film I Absolutely Did Not Review.
The Escape From Cinema.
And The Pass.
Children.
We had travelled to Bangalore for a film festival.
I had spent thirty minutes watching popcorn
and approximately thirty seconds watching the film.
And somehow,
the university rewarded this behavior by granting us free movement.
The council sighs.
A catastrophic decision.
Every film accessible.
Every corridor open.
Three idiots unsupervised.
And somewhere inside that festival
the earliest Wandering was finally about to stop being a university trip
and start becoming something else.
