As a person of theatre I have always been jealous of how musicians can jam together so easily. On stage. In a cafe. On the street. No rehearsal required. It seems to me that the moment they learn how to play an instrument, they become part of a shared consciousness. This is universal, quite irrespective of the instrument that is played or the school of music. There have been many times when I have wished that theatre people too could jam like that. Just pick up one line from any play and everyone seamlessly knows where they need to come in.
On Sunday morning, the theatre community came together to celebrate the madness and the genius that was Satyadev Dubey. The tiny Prithvi Theatre was at bursting capacity. The tribute was to take the form of a Dhamaal — a series of short performances by different theatre people. Dubey was the one who had created this format of a Dhamaal to give young actors an opportunity to be seen and for stalwarts to try out small pieces as works-in-progress.
Sunil Shanbag, the organiser of the Dubey Tribute, began by setting down the rules for the event — No weeping. No corny speeches. No sentimental reminiscing. Only fun performances. Celebrating theatre and the life of Satyadev Dubey.
In spite of the amazing theatre performers present, this was not a show. It was unpolished, undesigned and, most importantly, unpretentious. The only thing that each set of performers knew was the one after whom they were supposed to perform. The audience sat all around the acting area (probably a first at Prithvi). It was an unintentional tribute to another great who passed away this year — Badal Sircar.
One by one, the performers came up, did their piece and left. No curtain calls. No ovations. No bows. All for the love of theatre, and the man who taught us how to love the theatre. There were excerpts, songs, stories, dances and readings covering the whole world of performing arts. Ratna Pathak Shah, understandably moved by the occasion, came dangerously close to converting the event into a more sombre affair. But she recovered quickly,as, of course, did the Dhamaal. And very soon, smiles were back on everyone’s faces.
The only other time when there is such an enormous community feeling in the theatre world is during theatre festivals, especially when new plays are premiering. Theatre people seem genuinely happy to greet others, and the “competition” aspect disappears as each one supports the others’ production. This is most apparent at the Writer’s Bloc festivals. Now in its third edition, the Writer’s Bloc festival is running all month at Prithvi Theatre and the National Theatre of Performing Arts (NCPA). It is the one occasion when the theatre community gathers to watch the birth of new plays (and often new writers), with the same expression and joy as family members around the crib of a newborn baby. The child is not yours, but you love it all the same, and wish only good things for it.
This year, that feeling has been stronger than ever. Each evening at Prithvi has been a delight. Theatre wallahs animatedly (and more importantly, generously) discuss the merits and demerits of each play. They are all here to support the performing playwright, who, just like an about-to-be-father, anxiously looks at the audience’s faces as they exit the auditorium. Normally, a friendly arm is put across the nervous wordsmith, and a complimentary cup of coffee thrust into his hand. It is a rite of passage — the tribe accepting a new member into the fold. This is theatre’s equivalent of a shared consciousness.
It was fun to witness two different kinds of “theatre jams” this week — one to say goodbye to an old master, and the other to welcome the new ones to the fold.