Sitting in the Capital Cinema I wasn’t thinking of all the times I had been to the many posh multiplexes in the city. I just was where I was at that point in time, intrigued and dazed.

The cinema hall had a semi-dark space, smelling strongly of an old, forlorn warehouse, with a gloomy air. Perhaps, it was because of the grey cemented walls. With careful steps I wound my way towards the rear end of the hall. A couple was sitting a few seats away. Some men followed into the cinema hall soon afterwards.

Out of habit I looked up. The roof had some odd protruded structures that were probably lights, though never lit (at least not while I was there). The roof fans that were instead ‘implanted’ on the walls also brought little solace in this hot and humid weather.

Yet, despite the odd positioning of the fans, I never really felt hot during my stay there. The screen too was a neat rectangular space, though its illusion was soon shattered when the sound system kicked into action.

While entering the cinema I had seen the poster of the film Gunehgaar painted in oil. The poster showed a woman of robust frame perched neatly while below her picture the hero stood gigantic and glaring. The hero was Ahmed Butt -- the man who had secured the Lux Style Award for Best Model in Pakistan in 2003, as I discovered later. Did I see Moammar Rana somewhere? Well, yes, he was ‘somewhere’ in the poster that I recalled.

And, so it began. But what do I see? Salman Khan dancing with Jacqueline Fernandez! For the entire duration of the song I thought I had accidentally got into the wrong hall. But before that notion could be effaced from my memory, another song began. This time Salman Khan was prancing on ‘Tere bina kick mujhe milti nahi.’

After this, the show I had come here to see finally began. With some pixelated text in front of an old footage of Pakistan’s flag, the film started. The text was requesting the audience to stand up for the national anthem. Soon the anthem ended (midway, sadly) and the film’s title screen rolled into view.

It was the flashy screen that swiped in and out, reminding me of the Star Plus dramas I used to watch with relish as a kid. The BGM was reminiscent of the Mission Impossible theme song, plastered onto some other music track, creating something uniquely flimsy.

The film told the story of Billa (played by Butt), a gangster and womaniser who exploits women yet saves them too (if need be!). He is vicious when it comes to laying off his enemies and has a favourite enemy who is, of course, a woman.

Interjected with earth-shattering numbers where the only one prancing around were the ladies, the film was a typical example of a modern attempt at the Gujjar genre (something I thought we had abandoned for good).

It was the same all over again: the male gaze smoldering wherever it found the XX chromosomes.

Was I disappointed? No! I was just plain sad. Where one sees films like Manto brace the screens of Pakistan, this was a reality check of sorts. Reality check because it made me discern that there is a long road that lies ahead for Lollywood in order for it to come out of its comfort zone. And, for this the responsibility lies with the moviemakers but, more importantly, with us -- the audience.

The moviemakers will continue to make only those films which the audience wants to see. It’s a channel. And we, as audience, have great power in this channel.

Forty-five minutes into the film I decided it was time for me to bid farewell. I could take no more. Perhaps, it was night outside, I thought, though my watch adamantly pointed at 5 o’clock in the evening.

As I paved my way out of the exit, I realised that, after all, it was not yet dark outside. Perhaps, it was from where I had just come…