Once upon a time when I lived in
Leeds I’d spend every Friday fortnight at Leeds prettiest independent cinema; The Hyde Park Picture House. This wonderful grade two listed building that opened
just after the outbreak of World War One holds many precious memories for me, and most people who choose to
study in Leeds. I remember back when I was in first year and the Leeds Film
Festival was on, my housemates and I walked through a pitch black Woodhouse
Moor is search of the mysterious Picture House that we’d all heard so much
about. We didn’t end up finding it that
night but I’m so glad we tried again and eventually stumbled upon this beautiful
building. From Creatures of the Night first dates (The Re-animator, with about
15 other people besides my love) to bizarre documentaries (The Act of Killing,
everyone should see it) the Picture House caters to all, young and old. One of
my favourite Picture House memories is working Frozen on a Saturday morning;
the cinema was full of young families with little girls dressed as princesses
of any Disney variety completely in awe of what they were watching on the
screen.
A fortnight ago the Hyde Park Picture House celebrated their 100th birthday and I was fortunate
enough to visit the lovely cinema that Friday evening with a couple of friends.
The day had been filled with Leeds International Film Festival films and the
last screening of the evening was an epic love story, Final Cut, ‘a film where anything can happen –
the hero and heroine changes their faces, age, look, names and so on’ (IMDB). The
film consists entirely of shots taken from other films, a clever montage of
clips from anything like The Graduate to a Charlie Chaplin movie which were
strung together for an overarching, all-encompassing love story that captivated
the audience at the Picture House on such a special night.
Two weeks later and I’m still reeling at how
special The Hyde Park Picture House is to me, I miss it as if it were a person I've been forced to separate from. I remember my first shift there
so poignantly, my big love and I had just broken up and I was left bereft by
the situation. I worked behind the food counter serving popcorn on that Friday
night (which would become my regular shift) and for the first time in days my
head was able to think of something other than the heartache I was feeling. I
sat in the cinema alone that night and watched Pegg’s The World’s End, giggling
occasionally to myself. I saw many more films alone after that night and
relished how the Picture House was a safe and comforting place to do this. Of
course I went with friends too; another one of my favourite memories was watching
The Artist on New Year’s Day with a group of fragile feeling friends. Shortly
after I’d graduated and was feeling somewhat lost in a post uni haze I saw
Frances Ha which filled me with hope at my future rather than the quiet despair
I’d been battling against. I could go on forever about all the movies I’ve been
lucky enough to catch at the Picture House, from Tyrannosaur to Saving Mr.
Banks , this cinema means the world to me for all the happy memories I have
there. I hope whoever is serving the popcorn there tonight enjoys it as much as
I did.
At some desperate and despairing point in late 2012 I was attempoting to write a torterous third year essay on a subject I didn't understand and would do anything to distract myself from. Thus on this particilarly unproductive day I proscatinated in a productive way by sifting through my university email inbox. A delay of discussing theories of the novel - yes, definitely - browsing monotomous stories of strangers on facebook? Nope, ergo productive! At least university emails had something to do with univeristy I figured. ANYWAY, this little chore proved to be one of the most positive decisions I have made so far in my little life. An email I would have usually overlooked stuck out like a sore thumb on this particularly threachorous day of study - 'Spend 3 weeks in India with the International Volunteering team!' - on a complete and utter whim I applied. I have always had a penchant for ethnic paisley print, loose leaf tea and dusky sunshine. Just kidding; I studied post-colonial texts at university and gradually learnt the about the history of India and how England intertwines with the sub-continent. The facts and figures and casualties and crimes still leave me feeling horribly guilty about being English. Less than 100 years ago the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre (also known as the Amritsar Massacre) occured, whereby an English General ordered his army to open fire on a crowd of people - at least 379 people were killed. There are many other (far cheerier) reasons why I have a strong fascination with India - the food, architecture, wildlife and the beautiful saris being a few, so I whiled away a few precious hours of essay writing and completed an application form that I never really thought would get anywhere.
Getting jabbed up
Skip forward a few weeks and I found myself confirmed as a volunteer for the 2013 trip to Bhopal! Didn't see that coming did you? :) It was only when I heard my place was secure I realised how much I really did care about being a part of the trip; I wanted to see the place I'd learnt about through literature for myself. The next few months were a haze of meetings, essay and dissertation deadlines, sleepless nights and lots of googling India images - it was the beaming light at the end of my dark university tunnel.
I travel light and that's the life for me..
I will never be able to articulate how much visiting Bhopal changed my life; I'm frequently finding new angles on the time spent there but it never comes close to justice for what the team and I experienced in the place that is dubbed the 'Heart of India.' The phenomenal atmosphere, the heartwrenching poverty and the monkeys that roam the streets culminate for a truly spellbinding experience. Above all, it's the people who live there that matters most. Arun, the little cutie in the photo below stole my heart from day one. My friends and I though it would be a good idea for the kids to write name badges on our first day - there are no Harry's and Sarah's in India, but lots of Inderjit and Rahul! I'll never forget the look on Arun's face when he couldn't spell his own name; he threw down his glitter pen in such a strop. After some gentle cajoling and LOTS of mimicks and pointing we spelt his name together - A, R, U and N. I'll never forget his name or how much I had taken my education for granted.
He was happy really - it's an Indian thing to not smile in photos!
I'm back to India to help a new team of people through the fun of international volunteering in children's orphanages and mental health projects. I say 'fun' because it is, but it's also incredibly tiring and very upsetting. It makes me a bit mad when people say it's a glorified holiday, or question why we're buying saris while working with people who are considered so low in caste they're not even allowed in the shop that sells the saris. The easy way I can explain why I personally love the trip is with a passage from my favourite book, 'And the Mountains Echoed' whereby a man is trying to explain why he has travelled to war-torn Afghanistan from affluent America...
Timur has embarrassed him. He has behaved like the quintessential ugly Afghan-American, Idris thinks. Tearing through the war-torn city like he belongs here, backslapping locals with great bonhomie and calling them brother, sister, uncle, making a show of handing money to the beggars [...] joking with old women he calls mother and talking them into telling their story into his camcorder as he strikes a woe-begone expression, pretending he is one of them, like he's been here all along, like he wasn't lifting at Gold's in San Jose, working on his pecs and abs, when these people were getting shelled, murdered, raped. It is hypocritical, and distasteful. [...] 'I just think these people, everything they've been through, we should respect them. By 'we' I mean the lucky ones, the ones who weren't here when the place was getting bombed to hell. We're not like these people. We shouldn't pretend we are. The stories these people have to tell, we're not entitled to them... (Hosseini, 2013, pp.147-148)
Scaling high buildings in the aim of fundraising.. SO proud of the team that day!
Oh yeah, I have no hair anymore... Please donate to the cause!
It's a month today that I'll be catching a flight to Bhopal; it can't come quick enough! I'll be staying in an Ashram and working for two weeks with some incredible children's charities. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and if you have any spare pennies please please pleeease donate to the cause - £3 is a life-changing amount in the Indian world! Here is the link - or I'll accept dollah straight to me if that's your preference! Thank you!
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