The Stage and Me : Part 2

I shared my experiences as a tribal woman on stage in a previous post. Incidentally, the fresher's party given by my department in my first year at college also had a tribal theme. A bit of rolling up of pants, draping of a dupatta,wearing junk jewelry, using talcum powder and tying up my ever faithful tribal hair on top of my head helped me win the best dressed fresher. They gave me the title of a Bushwoman. I am still called "Bushy" by a few people.

Another encounter with the stage that I recall is a role in a One Act Play. Independence day celebrations at school. I can think of only two reasons why I was selected to be a part of the play: I was the creature that I was (and still am) and not many had volunteered.

Since I am not a great actor, I was to play one of the tiny roles. The play was about Chandrashekhar Azad and had a court trial in it. I was the firangi judge. I was required to say approximately five lines, which included mundane things like asking him his name and his father's name, etc. I believe he gave some smartass (patriotic) replies to these innocent questions which led to my most dramatic dialogue, "What impudence! I sentence you to.." Something to the effect of him being whipped x number of times. This was followed by his getting whipped. The appropriate sound effects were provided by our enthusiastic teacher beating a cushion with a stick in the mic offstage. Azad shouted Vande Mataram while he was being whipped.

I had to speak very little but I suffer from an inability to suitably modulate my voice. A handicap that has led me to deliver my occasional speeches and prayers in morning assembly in a very unenthusiastic and monotonous tone. My mother was an ace debater and used to participate in sanskrit elocution (they actually speak in sanskrit there!!!). Dad participated in plays including one with Shakti Kapoor. I am a useless daughter. My sister says that when I speak it sounds like I am saying "Wov wov wov". In other words, I sound like I am speaking with a full mouth. The point of telling all this is that during practices the teachers had to actually teach me how to speak my simple lines ! All this affected me so much that when I took up a job and was required to record a voicemail message, I never did it. Hence, whenever someone called for me and I wasn't in office, they reached the voicemail of a certain "Yogesh Babbar" (the guy who had my extension before he left office). I recently recorded a complaint in MTNL and it played back my message. I don't sound that bad. Next time I have to, I will definitely record a voicemail message.

Getting back to the play, my costume was a very authentic one (something which was not very common in our school). A judge's wig had been rented. I had borrowed the lawyer's coat and collar from my distant cousin who is an advocate. Black trousers and a white school shirt completed the attire.

As had happened when I participated in the fancy dress competition, my entry on the stage was followed with whispering of my name amongst the audience. The play went off peacefully. Much better than the others. Specially one in which one of the freedom fighters forgot his dialogue and said "Shit" full volume in the mic. We won the first prize. Lucky, ain't I?