The fascinating FOUR play
Weekends have long ceased to surprise me because they always bring the same kind of boredom. It would have had been better if one boredom could be different from the other. It would at least ensure that boredom never spawned itself. However this weekend I found a way to get around this inevitable boredom by deciding to attend the play "Ismat Manto Haazir Hain".This play was not exactly the talk of the town but it did get some kind of a promotion in Radio City among the usual trash it dishes out and a small space on a prominent newspaper and luckily my boredom had ensured that on that lazy Saturday, I somehow came across that ad.
So the whole of Saturday was spent on acquiring the tickets for it. I had missed it when it came to Delhi but this time I was determined to put my salary to some good use. I then had to persuade a friend to come along by painting a rosy picture of the entire thing so much so that for once I was afraid about how the play actually would be. It was going to be a first time watch for me and as for my friend; he absolutely had no interest in theatre till then. So that made him a bit apprehensive. What, however, would comfort me time and again was that effortless smile of Naseer on the pamphlet I held in my hand. I knew he could not falter. I wished he were acting too in the play but all the same, both of us were excited enough by that time to lose our way twice on the way to Chowdiah(I am still trying to pronounce it correctly) Memorial.
We entered the premises much before the play was about to begin and immediately felt like complete outsiders in a place covered by people oozing with art. There is something about these "arty" people that makes them so distinguishable. It is their dressing sense. Almost everyone of their commune dresses up in one or the other kind of a "kurta" over a pair of jeans whose degree of deterioration would be inversely proportional to their ages. I tried to comfort my friend who was quite piqued by their attire because everyone looked the same. I think he was having problem singling out people for a second sighting.
Anyways, the signal for the start was given and people started trooping inside the hall in an Indian file. The good thing about theatre I guess must be the fact that unlike cinema halls, if you pay less, you get the balcony seat. However since there was a free seating for a change, we got to sit at a decent distance from the stage. The play started with a brilliant narration about what was about to unfold before us. The narration was in flawless Urdu and the mellisonant flow of it ensured that we were in for a comfortable evening. Sometimes, however, I would miss the subtle nuances because the meanings would get beyond me. I kicked myself for putting off learning Urdu for so long (long enough to see my first play).
We were told about the two great Urdu authors, Saadat Hasan Manto and Ismat Chughtai, and how they paid the price of being ahead of their times. The play contained four short stories, one by Manto titled 'Bu'(odour) and the other titled 'Lihaaf' (The Quilt) by Ismat Chughtai. These were the stories for which both writers were accused of obscenity in mid 1940s and faced trial in Lahore High Court which was humorously captured by another of the short story by Ismat titled 'Un Byaahtaon Ke Naam' (In the name of those married women) which formed the third story of the play while the fourth story was 'Titwal Ka Kutta' (The dog of Titwal) by Manto.
The play started off with 'Bu' which was mostly narration and that too by a single artist. Now, both of us were a bit surprised because our notion of a play was a that of a lot of people on the stage with a proper conversation flow between them. I strained to see the faces of art connoisseurs in the dark to look out for any signs of surprise on their faces but it was dark and all I could see were a few faces lit up by the light of their cell phones. However, I again turned myself to the engrossing play which was being led forward brilliantly by the only person present on the stage. I found the light effects brilliant and I kept wondering if they were effectively blending with the emotional content of the story or highlighting it. The play was about the recollection of a young and extremely handsome man of varied sexual experiences about a rainy night and his escapade with a rustic girl. The encounter between the young man and the girl was described in quite an uninhibited way and I could see why daggers would have been raised against it. However, not for even once ,did I find the story getting 'obscene' for which the author was charged .It always seemed to be "poetry in motion' to me though as I said before, the Urdu did get to me in that I would get the idea but miss the nuances probably.
The story highlighted how the artificiality of the protagonist's wife, depicted by the sweet smelling scent of 'henna' used by her, failed to ignite his passion and paled into insignificance in front of the so called 'bu' of the rustic girl who according to him, never tried to be anything special for him. She was just herself and somehow he admitted he could not get her aroma out of her mind and it continued to haunt him each and every second of his life. The play ended with this candid confession and received a deserved thunderous applause. The play was flawless and totally engaged everyone's undivided attention. There were a few mobile phones ringing in the midst of the play in spite of the pleadings for them to be switched off, but then I guess if you have costly mobile phones, there couldn't have been a better time and way to showcase them.
The second play was 'Titwal ka Kutta' which was about a dog that keeps roaming about from an Indian military position to the opposite one of Pakistan. It was a scathingly dark satire on the mindlessness of war. The plight of the dog which was being shooed from one post to another while guns were aimed on it was pitiable. The way in which the tone of the story would change from that of humor to sorrow was exceptional and raised quite goose bumps. This was evident in the scene when the first bullet blasts one of its legs. The play ends with one of the sides declaring it a martyr and the other as an enemy. It was touching to the core and in the manner of the previous play was single-handedly managed by a single actor who did a wonderful job.
The third play was 'Lihaaf'. It was about a young girl's experiences at her aunt's place who had taken to alternative pastures(notably her maid) after being totally cold shouldered by her husband, a rich man, with a 'harem' of young boys. The style of presentation again was narration combined with acting out the parts of the various characters which were being talked about. Heeba Shah was brilliant in her portrayal of the young girl and her plights on coming face to face with a perplexing trauma of living with an aunt who, according to her, was more dangerous than all males in the world combined.
The last play was 'Un Byaahtaon Ke Naam' (In the name of those married women) and was a satirical description of the days when both Manto and Ismat were called for trial in Lahore Court.This play brought together all the previous artists on the stage.It therefore had the amalgamated excellence of all the artists who had by then managed to enthrall us single-handedly.The play ends with Manto being accused of obscenity and he laments his life and says it's a miserable existence because he is not even being cursed in a correct manner.
The play ends on this note with a nazm by Faiz Ahmed Faiz sung brilliantly by Rekha Bharadwaj.I kept hoping that Naseeruddin Shah would come at the end of it but that did not happen. All in all, it was a memorable evening for us and we were glad that we made our theatre debut by watching something as great as that. I just wish there were more takers for theatre today which is an absolutely strong medium of expression but is being neglected by all and sundry who are blindly rushing to the charms of senseless movies that promise much but deliver nothing.
So the whole of Saturday was spent on acquiring the tickets for it. I had missed it when it came to Delhi but this time I was determined to put my salary to some good use. I then had to persuade a friend to come along by painting a rosy picture of the entire thing so much so that for once I was afraid about how the play actually would be. It was going to be a first time watch for me and as for my friend; he absolutely had no interest in theatre till then. So that made him a bit apprehensive. What, however, would comfort me time and again was that effortless smile of Naseer on the pamphlet I held in my hand. I knew he could not falter. I wished he were acting too in the play but all the same, both of us were excited enough by that time to lose our way twice on the way to Chowdiah(I am still trying to pronounce it correctly) Memorial.
We entered the premises much before the play was about to begin and immediately felt like complete outsiders in a place covered by people oozing with art. There is something about these "arty" people that makes them so distinguishable. It is their dressing sense. Almost everyone of their commune dresses up in one or the other kind of a "kurta" over a pair of jeans whose degree of deterioration would be inversely proportional to their ages. I tried to comfort my friend who was quite piqued by their attire because everyone looked the same. I think he was having problem singling out people for a second sighting.
Anyways, the signal for the start was given and people started trooping inside the hall in an Indian file. The good thing about theatre I guess must be the fact that unlike cinema halls, if you pay less, you get the balcony seat. However since there was a free seating for a change, we got to sit at a decent distance from the stage. The play started with a brilliant narration about what was about to unfold before us. The narration was in flawless Urdu and the mellisonant flow of it ensured that we were in for a comfortable evening. Sometimes, however, I would miss the subtle nuances because the meanings would get beyond me. I kicked myself for putting off learning Urdu for so long (long enough to see my first play).
We were told about the two great Urdu authors, Saadat Hasan Manto and Ismat Chughtai, and how they paid the price of being ahead of their times. The play contained four short stories, one by Manto titled 'Bu'(odour) and the other titled 'Lihaaf' (The Quilt) by Ismat Chughtai. These were the stories for which both writers were accused of obscenity in mid 1940s and faced trial in Lahore High Court which was humorously captured by another of the short story by Ismat titled 'Un Byaahtaon Ke Naam' (In the name of those married women) which formed the third story of the play while the fourth story was 'Titwal Ka Kutta' (The dog of Titwal) by Manto.
The play started off with 'Bu' which was mostly narration and that too by a single artist. Now, both of us were a bit surprised because our notion of a play was a that of a lot of people on the stage with a proper conversation flow between them. I strained to see the faces of art connoisseurs in the dark to look out for any signs of surprise on their faces but it was dark and all I could see were a few faces lit up by the light of their cell phones. However, I again turned myself to the engrossing play which was being led forward brilliantly by the only person present on the stage. I found the light effects brilliant and I kept wondering if they were effectively blending with the emotional content of the story or highlighting it. The play was about the recollection of a young and extremely handsome man of varied sexual experiences about a rainy night and his escapade with a rustic girl. The encounter between the young man and the girl was described in quite an uninhibited way and I could see why daggers would have been raised against it. However, not for even once ,did I find the story getting 'obscene' for which the author was charged .It always seemed to be "poetry in motion' to me though as I said before, the Urdu did get to me in that I would get the idea but miss the nuances probably.
The story highlighted how the artificiality of the protagonist's wife, depicted by the sweet smelling scent of 'henna' used by her, failed to ignite his passion and paled into insignificance in front of the so called 'bu' of the rustic girl who according to him, never tried to be anything special for him. She was just herself and somehow he admitted he could not get her aroma out of her mind and it continued to haunt him each and every second of his life. The play ended with this candid confession and received a deserved thunderous applause. The play was flawless and totally engaged everyone's undivided attention. There were a few mobile phones ringing in the midst of the play in spite of the pleadings for them to be switched off, but then I guess if you have costly mobile phones, there couldn't have been a better time and way to showcase them.
The second play was 'Titwal ka Kutta' which was about a dog that keeps roaming about from an Indian military position to the opposite one of Pakistan. It was a scathingly dark satire on the mindlessness of war. The plight of the dog which was being shooed from one post to another while guns were aimed on it was pitiable. The way in which the tone of the story would change from that of humor to sorrow was exceptional and raised quite goose bumps. This was evident in the scene when the first bullet blasts one of its legs. The play ends with one of the sides declaring it a martyr and the other as an enemy. It was touching to the core and in the manner of the previous play was single-handedly managed by a single actor who did a wonderful job.
The third play was 'Lihaaf'. It was about a young girl's experiences at her aunt's place who had taken to alternative pastures(notably her maid) after being totally cold shouldered by her husband, a rich man, with a 'harem' of young boys. The style of presentation again was narration combined with acting out the parts of the various characters which were being talked about. Heeba Shah was brilliant in her portrayal of the young girl and her plights on coming face to face with a perplexing trauma of living with an aunt who, according to her, was more dangerous than all males in the world combined.
The last play was 'Un Byaahtaon Ke Naam' (In the name of those married women) and was a satirical description of the days when both Manto and Ismat were called for trial in Lahore Court.This play brought together all the previous artists on the stage.It therefore had the amalgamated excellence of all the artists who had by then managed to enthrall us single-handedly.The play ends with Manto being accused of obscenity and he laments his life and says it's a miserable existence because he is not even being cursed in a correct manner.
The play ends on this note with a nazm by Faiz Ahmed Faiz sung brilliantly by Rekha Bharadwaj.I kept hoping that Naseeruddin Shah would come at the end of it but that did not happen. All in all, it was a memorable evening for us and we were glad that we made our theatre debut by watching something as great as that. I just wish there were more takers for theatre today which is an absolutely strong medium of expression but is being neglected by all and sundry who are blindly rushing to the charms of senseless movies that promise much but deliver nothing.
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