Talk about making the most of a vacation. Well, tell you what? For me, everyday is a holiday and everyday is a party. Innocuous attitude, I should say!
I have never come to know exactly what being bored with life is all about, ever. Life has always been very beautiful, every moment of it. Of course, who doesn’t have downhill slides, lest we forget the omnipotent? It would surely be wonderful to be starry eyed, flying high and flashing the mercurial smile, riding on expensive carriages and what not. But then, if these were not to happen, what then? Well, that’s a different story altogether. I will leave it for you to ponder on.
My travels have had very little travails and a lot more adventure coupled with laughter. Every one of them. I thank my stars for that.
On a trip to Mumbai left me aching for more and how?
Mumbai is everyone’s city. A city that never sleeps. The next Shanghai. Call it what you will but then it is truly Am chi Mumbai – My Mumbai. Everyone has an endearing urge to stay back in the city on reaching it, even if there were plans for a short stay. Like I had. My previous visit way back in 1999 was short, yet happening but then still kept the fire burning to go back.
So, this time around, I decided to make it even more eventful.
We had decided earlier to travel light and light we did. We just had two bags between us. Only the bottle-green airbag had our clothes. The other black and red bag was filled with ‘goodies’ for my sister. Now if that is not light, then what is? This obviously left me with a whole lot of scope and space for shopping. (Yippee!)
I prepared for the trip just a day before leaving, packing just two pairs of denims, a whole variety of light cotton shirts to go with them and only a skirt. Of course, I had the audacity to carry five pairs of shoes! I promised to wear each one of them.
I tell you, we Indians have it all. The fun and the hype, all at the same time, no matter where we go.
The train trip was terrific. Three days and I had endless books and magazines to feed my gray cells, not hesitating to also lend them to my co-passengers. We had a hunky-dory journey right from the time we boarded the spic and span train at Guwahati.
Two young fellows, Amit and Vicky, barely out of their teens, merchandising in clothes’, talked endlessly about all and sundry, often playfully slandering each other, much to the chagrin of everyone around. Kaushik, a 5’ 11” tall, bright robotics engineer from Guwahati, now married and settled in Mumbai, left us awe-struck, as he spoke of the strings of researches he has made in the field of robotics. He seemed to hold the reins of almost any subject we spoke of. Some genius, that!
I simply love the journey by train and almost always wish I never had to get off it. The cacophonous harmony of the hawkers selling their ware, whether it is ‘chai’ or ‘jhaal muree’, all mesmerize me to wonder how awfully incongruous it would be to take all these simple pleasures out of an Indian. We are lucky, I can say!
Well, speaking of luck, I felt endlessly lucky to be in Mumbai at a time when the Prithvi Theatre festival was on. The best plays, like Charandas Chor, written and directed by one of the greatest theatre icons of these times, Habib Tanvir, Ek Thi Nani casting Zohra Segal, her sister Uzra Butt already had a full house leaving me to rue over my ‘bad luck’. Ponga Pundit, directed by Habib Tanvir left me to wonder if there can be anything better than the exquisite and explicit emphasis he laid on simplifying a complex problem as ‘untouchability’.
As is usual in Mumbai, the next day, we were miserably stuck at the evening traffic and missed Tanvir sahab’s Sarak, a powerful satire on development processes that keep those affected out of decision-making.
I was at the opportune moment to meet a whole lot of theatre enthusiasts, actors, directors, folk-singers and not to forget, rare glimpses of Sanjana Kapoor, gracefully draped in simple bordered white cotton sarees and her father, the aging, yet strikingly handsome Sashi Kapoor, in a starched white kurta-pyjama, adding more glamour to the already gorgeous ambience of Prithvi Theatre. It was of course a little amazing to notice that very few people on the streets of Mumbai knew where Prithvi theatre was located. I had to direct most of the auto-drivers to the venue.
Prithvi Theater is prominently visible from the road leading away from the Juhu Beach. The Barista Coffee house, the walls and the furniture splashed in happy hues, is just adjacent to a curios’ shop guarding the entrance, making the road leading to the theatre all the more colourful. Square orange lamps hung on the trees lining the road and also on thin wire meshes knit together to form a canopy, where coloured ribbons gently swayed in the breeze blowing in from the Juhu Beach. To the right of the entrance is the Prithvi theatre café, where people from all over India (I guessed!) sat close together and spoke in hushed tones. It is one of those places where every second person just waits for something to happen or some famous persona to pop in.
“Ponga Pundit” was hilarious, yet had a serious touch to it. It was a full house and some people had to simply huddle or squat around on the ashen coloured carpeted steps leading down to an oval shaped amphitheatre. I sat amongst a whole lot of young, budding and fairly good looking theatre enthusiasts, who took great interest in me, more for the fact that I was from Northeast India. They had strings of queries about Assam and sundry, leaving me to speak more than excitedly about ‘home’. There were people like Sanam Kumar and Manoj, both actors in their own rights, who said they would love to come to the Northeast to perform, maybe as mono actors or as part of a full length play.
“Ponga Pundit” had a lot of Chattisgarhi punched in with Hindi. So, often, during the show, I had to keep asking my new found friends the meaning of certain dialogues. They were more than willing to oblige. As my questions waned towards the middle of the show, lest I disturb my awe-struck friends; I was trying hard to decipher what exactly was being said by the players. It wasn’t very hard to understand, though and I got the feel of the play by the time it ended. After the show, Habib Tanvir made an appearance in an almost crushed, yet starched short khadi kurta and pyjama, amidst loud applauds of appreciation. He just stood there looking up at the people around him, frail, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose, a shock of unruly graying hair, a pen and a sheaf of paper in his hand, waiting for them to settle down once again before he started speaking at length about his play.
Walking out of the hall with a bevy of socialites from Mumbai was an experience not to be forgotten in a hurry. I waited till the last person strolled out of the hall, sipping all the time on my orangeade. And guess who I see with the friendliest smile? The singer with a husky voice-Ila Arun. Affectionate to the core, this minstrel of many a harmonious score gave me her number as soon as she heard that I was from Assam. I was beside myself with pride.
With a swirl of a white crushed long cotton skirt, more like a ghagra teamed with a long white khadi kurta and just the right kind of costume jewelry to match her Indo-Western ensemble, walked in Dolly Thakore. Her large red bindi shone like a fiery setting summer sun. I instantly made up my mind to walk up to her and know her up close. And so I did!
The other days were great. One of the days is still vividly clear in my mind. I had the tickets of “Khatijabai of Karmali Terrace”. But as was to happen, I was late getting dressed for the show and we had quite a distance to travel. And that happened to coincide with Chat Puja. There were thousands of devotees either walking, or driving or hanging on for their lives to the handles at the door of the buses, towards the Juhu Beach. And we in our taxi, which blared “Dhoom Machale, Dhoom Machale, Dhoom…..” were trying to coax the person driving to move faster, but he was helpless. He told us that Amitabh Bachchan was going to make a special appearance during the puja at the beach. Hence, the crowd!
So, two crossings to Prithvi Theatre, we decided to make a run for the show. So we did. After we had paid an exorbitant sum to the cab driver, we literally ran right through the traffic, all the while hoping that somehow the show would start late. We almost felt like competitors at the Olympics, sprinting as fast as we could over some uneven patches on the footpaths, careful not to fall headlong and create a scene. Some people even bothered to stare at us, much to my indignance. We were sweating and our legs burnt like we had just done a hundred sets of sits ups, non-stop, at the gym. We scooted right through the entrance, almost knocking a few people down and were relieved that we had a few more competitors in the last leg of the run.
Sanjana Kapoor, in her usual way, was waiting for theatre buffs like us at the grilled gateway of the hall, in a starched cotton saree, trimmed with an olive green border. We were more than relieved when she told us that the show was going to start late only because some people were still to arrive, all thanks to the huge traffic snarl around the area.
We sat down, trying to hold our breath. The lady next to me gave me a toothy smile and told me that she almost missed the show too. I gave a faint smile, my head pounding and aching all the time.
The show started and what a show! One actress, Jayati Bhatia, a show stealer of the silver screen, kept the whole hall enraptured with her movements and dialogues. My heart went out to her. I wished so hard that I too could some day act like her. For one hour and fifteen minutes, we were mesmerized by “Khatijabai of Karmali Terrace”, a Q Theatre Production. And after the show, we all stood there and applauded for a whole 5 minutes, while Jayati just smiled back at us thanking us profusely with folded hands.
The show over and we decided to sit at the cafeteria outside the theatre. People of all hues were either sipping on coffee or just plain water. While some young girls were a little overdressed for the occasion in red and blue, some were more than carelessly donned in kurtas which looked like they had slept in them for days. We had our coffee amidst the loud babbles of some college girls who were half the time trying to catch the attention of some director in the crowd. Probably they would have been noticed more had they been more graceful and quiet.
As we walked over to the place where a mono-act was being performed, who do we see? Why, who else, but the effervescent actor, Sashi Kapoor. He sat on a stone settee and looked on at everyone around him with a more than affectionate smile on his lips, his aging blue eyes still sparkling like it did in the heydays of his acting career. I touched his knees. He immediately asked me in a hushed tone where I came from. On hearing Assam, he told me how impressed he was about Ratan Thyam. He would love to visit Assam, he said. I sat next to him and happily got some pictures clicked.
So there we were. Out of Prithvi Theatre and on the streets of Mumbai. We took a sharp right turn and found ourselves walking right down to the Juhu Beach. Even from quite a distance, we could hear the waves lapping gently on the shores. Young and middle aged couples either walked the whole stretch of the beach, hands intertwined or arms wrapped around the shoulders or simply squatted on the sands, speaking in low loving tones, often stealing glances and smiling
We took off our shoes, strolled right up to the water, waiting for the waves to come and kiss our toes. The beach was buzzing with people from Bollywood. It was already pretty dark and we could hardly make out the Roshan family, all the five members dressed in white, until they had crossed us at a comfortable pace for us to catch up with them. But we decided to stroll back to where a vendor in a not so clean blue and white striped shirt, sleeves folded to the arms and an equally dusty pair of terry cot pants was selling raw coconuts. What a welcome after a fairly humid evening! We plumped ourselves on the red plastic chairs he had set out on the sands in front of his wooden ramshackle of a shop and ordered for our coconuts. We looked out at the sea-the cool and calm Arabian Sea. I would love to see it in high tide; I spoke my thoughts out loud.
We were soon sipping on the plain tasting coconut water and looking at the already inky black starry sky. Blinking lights over the beach were followed by the droning sound in the distant sky of international and domestic flights taking off from the Santa Cruz Airport and then slowly disappearing over the sea. It was truly a memorable evening! We were so relaxed, far from the buzz of the city that we wished we could capture its timeless magic in some form or the other. But then, we had to go home! Again, we jostled ourselves from side to side to the rhythm of our taxi blaring “Dhoom Machale, Dhoom Machale, Dhoom…..”. By the end of our stay at Mumbai, we were sure that we would know this song like the back of our hands.
Two days and we were again at the Prithvi Theatre. This time for another play, “Rishtey Natey”, an adaptation of Jaywant Dalvi’s Nati-Goti. Yatri, the theatre repertory and one of the most patronized cultural groups in the country has successfully staged over 3500 shows of more than 50 productions both in India and abroad. Rishtey Natey is a story of a middle-class couple’s struggle to take care of their mentally challenged son. The Katdares scrimp and save to provide enough for his survival, worried for his well-being after they are no more. A riveting story, leaving us wanting more at the end of the two hour ten minutes show.
The next day, I couldn’t make it but then the others did. And were they lucky. It was a Rage Production titled “Two Steps Behind”, an adaptation of Frank McGuiness’ Someone Who’ll Watch over Me. A production house which is committed to encouraging Indian playwriting in English, their aim is to bring audiences to theatres, with plays that are relevant and contemporary; plays about a life we know…plays about our immediate world.
The synopsis
Kashmir 2004. Three innocent civilians, an Englishman, an American and an Indian, taken hostage by Islamic militants are imprisoned in a windowless cell. This play delves into the human side of the hostage issue – what a man, who has been unjustly kidnapped and thrown into a cell, experiences. The fear, the hopelessness and the helplessness in the face of an unseen enemy lurking outside… And yet he finds ways to live with humour, tenderness and fantasy.
“Excellent script and acting par excellence”, the others told me more than enthusiastically, while I made a sour face! There were a lot of other plays as well but then we couldn’t make it to them. Like I really wanted to go to Luoghi Dell’Arte’s ‘Commedia Dell’ Arte Galore’, which was in Italian, English and Gibberish and also to Working Title’s ‘3, Sakina Manzil’ in English. The second play dealt in depth with the ravaging Indian struggle for Independence. All of India is on tenterhooks, in apprehension of an attack from Japan. 14th April, 1944 and a huge explosion rips Bombay harbour. The 7142 ton S.S. Fort Stikine has blown up and is raining upon the city an assortment of explosives, oil, timber, scrap iron, flesh, limbs and …gold ingots! Amidst all this, in an old apartment building near the docks, in 3, Sakina Manzil, a love story unfolds…! And come to think of it, I missed it.
As I dragged myself to the railway station at the end of my stay, I promised myself to be back at Prithvi Theatre at the same time the next year for the festivals and of course to Mumbai, the place after my heart!
