The mosh-pit matinee

Every evening, devotees from across India and the world come to Varanasi to watch the famous aarti ceremony on the banks of the Ganges. But this is not the only fervent spectacle of devotion in India's holiest of cities. There's another, taking place away from the river, in darkened auditoriums around the city. Life on the Ganges may be Varanasi's star attraction but not when Bollywood comes to town.

The trip to the cinema is unexpected. But this is India, where the modern and ancient, secular and spiritual collide, so it shouldn't come as a surprise. We make a last-minute decision to spend a day at the movies in one of the oldest cities in the world. Though, as it turns out, you can't just show up 20 minutes before the session starts and expect to find tickets. It takes two days of phoning around venues before we're finally booked in for the following day, for less than $5 each.

When we arrive at the shopping mall that houses the theatre, we're patted down twice. Our bags are X-rayed and searched by hand for cigarettes. Once we're given the OK, we ride the lift to the cinema level. There is pure chaos as we search for our seats. Moments later, the screen flickers to life.

The audience erupts, cheering as the opening credits roll. Though there is the odd moment of enthralled silence, seeing a Bollywood film in an Indian cinema is akin to being jammed, albeit on a cushy reclining chair, in the mosh pit at a rock concert.

For three hours, emotion runs through the room in waves. We find ourselves moving the same way the crowd moves. Seeing a film here is a shared, interactive experience. Our group sniggers at the first song-and-dance number but as it progresses, the auditorium thrums with the tension of several hundred people holding their breath. Including us.

We clap and stamp our feet. We jeer and hiss at the villain. Even men cry openly in the saddest scenes. Many in the audience, some in our group included, film the songs on their camera phones.

The men in the row in front of us are on the edge of their seats, leaning on the backrests of those in front. I realise I've been inching forward, too. In the lobby during intermission, boys and young men act out sequences we've just seen on the screen. Forty-rupee ($1) popcorn flies through the air in their enthusiasm.

When the movie ends, a final, hoarse cheer explodes. Hands wave in the air. There's a moment of satisfied silence. Then a mad rush for the exit and we emerge into a fug of yellow Varanasi light.

In the days that follow, our cinema experience becomes a talking point. We tell anyone who will listen that we went to the movies in Varanasi. It breaks the ice with locals, who then discuss their favourite stars with us.

When India confronts us with its grittiness, we hum along to the musical numbers that one of our group recorded on his camera. We photograph ourselves in front of grubby walls plastered with Bollywood bill posters. Somehow, it takes the edge off.