“All the world’s a stage
And all men and women merely players” – William Shakespeare
Drama was the only constant in my five years in college. My most
precious memories are of moments on stage and people associated with it. Even
as I sit down to write this, I am slightly overwhelmed, making it difficult to
give expression to experiences and emotions. The stage excites me. So much that
when we invited a troupe to perform in college, I skipped all my work the
previous day just to see the stage being built. I wasn’t performing but I
wanted to be there when the lights were being set up, when the sound check
happened – just to soak in the vibrations. In moments like these, I am sure even
my closest friends thought of me as weird.
In all the productions – big or small – that I was part of, I never
played the lead: I wasn’t delusional to believe I was equipped to do that! I
was either backstage, helping with the production or more often than not, playing a
supporting role. This did not prevent me from looking at every production as my
own. After all, that is the secret of all successful teams, isn’t it – when every
member is equally invested, irrespective of the roles they play? What I looked
forward to were the rehearsals, the learning – thanks to two amazing teachers
we had and the camaraderie. It is my belief that the success of a production is
built in these small blocks and not on the final day.
The final day has its own charms. The performance is preceded by a
sense of nervous excitement and succeeded by a sense of euphoria. I spent time
flitting between the green room and the stage,
checking for everything which was already in place, rehearsing my lines over
and over again, praying even to those gods I do not believe in for a successful
show. I regained my composure only upon applying make-up, a process akin to
meditation. It is in those few minutes that the actor transforms into the
character. It takes the first few lines for the butterflies to settle. Then,
instincts take over and you own the stage. This sense of authority was the biggest incentive for spending more time on stage, under the lights.
I thought I would miss this wondrous excitement on exiting college. I was
wrong. Experiences engulf you in the most unexpected forms, in most unexpected
places and at the unexpected times. One merely has to keep the senses primed to absorb
and appreciate them. To me, this excitement came packaged as ‘interviews’ – of the
matrimonial sort, where once again, I was part of the supporting cast. {Whether
or not I am in favor of matrimonial interviews is a different question,
altogether irrelevant to me at this point in time!}
I have never been a great fan or practitioner of ‘small talk’ and this
often puts me in uncomfortable, unenviable positions – especially in these
interviews. Unlike on stage, these conversations, for the most part atleast, are
unrehearsed and unwritten. Often, the actors involved take circuitous routes
before reaching the heart of the scene, though enacted in private in ‘The Room’
– a conversation between the leading man and the leading lady.
Small talk between the supporting cast takes centre stage once again. One
of the thumb rules taught to us during productions in college is that everybody
on stage has to respond to what is happening or being spoken by other actors.
Unfortunately, that works only on stage, when the playwright and the director
know where the scene is headed and ensure that all actors have defined roles or
objectives. In real life, supporting actors often indulge in conversations
peppered with awkward silences (or is it awkward silences peppered with
conversations?), before coming up with another banal topic for discussion.
For someone like me – a supporting actor to the supporting actors! –
life is even more difficult. I have been part of three such ‘productions’. In
all three, all I got was a mere acknowledgement of my existence (not taking
into account the food and beverages served!). I am neither made party to conversations nor do I find the need to pay attention to them. Yet, one is forced
to appear interested. I take this slight in my stride because, once again, I am
not delusional to believe that I am the lead.
So you might ask – where is the excitement in all this banality? It is
not in the performance itself but in the preparation leading to it. Even more
so if you are involved in stage management. Similar to theatre, the fun begins
hours before the curtain goes up. The Room is ‘sanitized’ and set up. So is the
rest of the house. Care is taken to adjust the lights as well. Books which may
serve as ‘conversation starters’ or ‘pointers’ are strategically placed in The
Room: every prop has its own utility, you see. Both sets of actors take care to
appear in the best of costumes, suited to the situation. (Sometimes, however, the
attention to make-up is found wanting.)
None of us say it out loud but the tension is palpable. Before the
lights go on, we sit, rehearsing the opening lines in mind – well begun is half
done, isn’t it? We position ourselves for action to begin. I have the opening
lines, bringing the actors to centre stage. I begin – conscious to not appear
conscious, to enunciate clearly without tail-drop and to speak with clarity the
few lines I have in the entire episode. Having successfully played my part, I
sit, feigning interest in the conversation that is going on. My watch begins.
There has been no sense
of euphoria, though, following the three productions so far. It will take time.
After all, this drama is meant to be performed by amateurs. Unlike in actual
theatre, one only hopes that s/he doesn’t get ‘promoted’ to play the lead role
in such productions!
