One of the reasons that I chose a life in the Arts is because each month is completely different from the last. Take for example my latest production, So Many Socks. I spent two years researching it, an intense five weeks rehearsing it and then another three weeks staging it. We lived and breathed the issues of the play — Tibet’s occupation, China’s ill-treatment of political prisoners, the issues of rootless-ness and homelessness. And now, not even a few weeks later, I am working on Unsettling Stones, a show by a Chinese theatre company!
There are obvious questions of loyalty and many have asked how I feel switching so suddenly from one to the other. The answer is simple. The independent artistic community the world over doesn’t really have a nationality or a class. They are all part of one big “artistic tribe”.
Artists don’t perform. They share. Share a vision of the text. Share an idea. Share a sound or word. Perhaps that’s why the “tribe members” get on so well with each other, even if they have just met. I was at a party in Los Angeles once, where I was feeling decidedly uncomfortable. I was completely out of place. And then someone asked me what I did. The moment I said I worked in theatre, the room transformed. It turned out there were dancers, actors and even musicians among us. The awkwardness of the last few minutes vanished to be replaced by a collective sense of joy. Stories were swapped, cultures were shared, and complaints were traded.
Often the trepidation is worse than the actual meeting. As a school boy, I played on a cricket team that had both Indian and Pakistani players. This was 1996. India had just beaten Pakistan in the World Cup. And you could taste the jingoism in the air. But ten minutes in the dressing room and the aggression seemed to dissipate. They were just like us — liked the same songs, the same food, and the same clothes. For a 17 year old, it was a revelation. The individual and the country s/he represents are two different things.
The “tribe” is bound by the basic idea that we are all human and therefore must have something in common. The stories we tell are about human issues and therefore have universal application. For example, the note from Unsettling Stones reads:
The collection of monologues look at what it means to live in a society under the rule of law, where the notions of safety/ danger/ security/ freedom are all meshed together. Where media wears masks to entertain their audience and the monopoly of power gets passed on to successive generations of the privileged elite. Unease has led to further unease and we all live in varying levels of panic and fear. In these times of powerless and impotence, can one turn to stonesfor hope?
This could easily be a play set in India rather than China.
As Grass Stage Theatre, Shanghai check into their rooms, I no longer feel the pangs of duplicity. It is replaced by one of curiosity. Of them, their work, their conditions. How they continue to work in a society where censorship is the norm, not the exception, unlike India where it is vice-versa. It is fascinating to learn of a group of artists, who like so many in India, are finding new contemporary ways of expressing themselves. Both China and India have very strong, codified traditional art forms. There also seems to be a fascination with using the body as a narrative tool. Something that Indian theatre is also exploring, with productions like Laal Pencil, The Water Station, the brand new Unselfed.
Tonight at the NGMA in Bombay, at 7:30pm a group of four Chinese performers will take the stage in Unsettling Stones. And even though they aren’t from the same country, or speak the same language, I can proudly say that they are part of the same tribe as me!