There was a time—not too long ago—when going to the movies in India wasn’t just an activity. It was an event. A social ritual wrapped in the smell of samosas, the rustle of ticket stubs, and the echo of whistles in the dark. This was the era of single-screen theatres—India’s magnificent movie palaces where cinema wasn’t consumed, it was celebrated. Today, as the glow of multiplexes overshadows these once-iconic spaces, it’s worth pausing to remember what we’ve lost—and what still lingers in memory.
The Magic of the Masses
For decades, single-screen theatres were the beating heart of Indian film culture. They weren’t just buildings—they were temples of emotion where gods and heroes lived 70mm tall. From the iconic Maratha Mandir in Mumbai that played Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge for over 25 years, to the grand old Raj Mandir in Jaipur with its palatial architecture, each theatre had a personality of its own.
These were spaces where the rich and poor sat side by side, where front-benchers danced, clapped, and cheered with the same passion as those in the dress circle. In single screens, cinema was democratic. And loud. The audience was part of the show.
A Full-Sensory Experience
Stepping into a single-screen theatre was like entering a fairground. There were snacks sold in the aisles, ice cream vendors who’d shout over the trailers, and fans who’d toss coins at the screen when their favourite star made a heroic entry. From Rajinikanth’s slo-mo cigarette flick to Amitabh Bachchan’s baritone one-liners, every moment was met with raucous delight.
Air conditioning was a luxury, not a given. Seats were creaky. Prints were often grainy. But the imperfections were part of the charm. You didn’t just watch a film—you felt it. You experienced it with 500 strangers who somehow became your companions for three hours of fantasy and fire.
The Twilight of the Titans
The rise of multiplexes in the early 2000s changed everything. With plush seats, digital screens, and gourmet popcorn, cinema-going became an upscale affair. Ticket prices shot up, stories grew glossier, and the once-loyal masses were gradually priced out. Single screens—unable to compete with the tech, comfort, and revenue models of multiplexes—began to close down. Many were demolished. Others were converted into malls or banquet halls.
In 2009, India had over 12,000 single screens. Today, fewer than 6,000 survive, and many of those struggle to stay afloat. For the generation growing up in the era of Netflix and IMAX, the romance of single screens may seem like folklore. But for millions, these theatres were formative spaces—not just for watching films, but for dreaming big.
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Ghosts That Still Whisper
And yet, a few of these cinematic cathedrals remain—worn but not forgotten. There’s still a thrill in watching a Salman Khan film erupt into cheers at Gaiety Galaxy in Mumbai, or seeing a festival crowd throng an old theatre in Madurai. These relics hold the echoes of a more innocent cinema experience—raw, unfiltered, communal.
They remind us that cinema in India was never meant to be silent or solitary. It was meant to be shouted at, danced to, and remembered long after the credits rolled.
A Love That Won’t Fade
This is a love letter not just to the architecture of single screens, but to the spirit they embodied. They were more than bricks and mortar—they were spaces of emotion, expression, and escape. They were where first dates happened, where generations bonded, where stories unfolded not just on screen, but in the audience.
Even as they fade into history, single-screen theatres remain etched in the collective memory of a nation that once treated cinema as its grandest carnival.
The lights may dim, the posters may peel, but the magic—they gave us—endures.
Because once upon a time, going to the movies meant going to a single screen—and it meant everything.