Quite a few years ago, I visited my brother in Glasgow, where he was studying, before we set off together on a Europe trip. His term was yet to end, so I found myself on my own quite a bit. I had done the touristy theatre trip with him (watching theatre while abroad is a must) and seen a superb production of Chicago . But while out on a stroll one evening, I chanced upon a production by a local theatre group in what was once a church. The venue—Tron—was a wonderful, compact performance space inside the structure of a gorgeous chapel.
While the play sounded interesting—a hard-hitting piece on the rising rate of knife crimes in Glasgow—what really drew me in was the space. The experience was new, somewhat strange, yet immensely memorable. Of course, one was aware of the whole concept of “fringe” performances, but the habit cultivated was one of conventional spaces.
On the same trip, we went for a mostly unintelligible one-man show in Brussels in yet another “alternative” space. What was once a large office on the third floor of a corporate building had been converted into a compact black box, with a bar outside (also mandatory in most places abroad), and I had an epiphany of sorts. That this would someday be a force to reckon with back home too. Yes, we had performed in office lawns and art galleries and people had done stuff in living rooms as well, but it was never the norm. I had overheard Sanjana and Kunal Kapoor (of Prithvi Theatre) mention that the pressure on the few conventional (and affordable) venues that were around was immense. How many groups could possibly be accommodated in 300-odd performance days a year?
In 2008, Sanjana took a bunch of plays for children (including ours) and sent them off to perform in Horniman Circle Garden, which is quite literally a garden built on a large traffic circle. Some adaptation was required, but performing under those constraints and still connecting with the audience was liberating. It became a frequent venue for theatre, and part of the Kala Ghoda Festival, which also began to programme plays in every nook and corner of the relevant pin code.
Finding places
Fast forward to 2011, and we had the advent of stand-up comedy and India’s very first The Comedy Store. When they invited theatre groups to this venue, there was scepticism, primarily because the stage was tiny. But us theatre folk, desperate for a platform (quite literally in this case), took up the challenge. Plays were retrofitted with mixed results. And then content began to be created for the space. Smaller plays, fewer people, fringe-like performances, sketches, the works. This was a big shift. In the few years that followed, the venue had its ups and downs, changes of management and other crises, but the format had found its place in our cultural fabric.
In 2015, our theatre group completed 15 years and as part of our celebration line-up, I took the plunge and planned a parallel Fringe Festival in what was actually a rehearsal space at the venue. I was no pioneer. Attempts had been made. But 12 shows over six days, treating it as a bona fide venue in itself—that was new. So, six new productions were created—simple staging, small casts, unfussy requirements—with the focus on content and performances. While they did very well, what I’m getting to is that now I had the onus of having to run these little productions, in unconventional spaces. And hence began a new phase in our theatrical journey. A concentrated attempt to find venues to keep these alive and kicking. We dug deep, we took favours, we took risks, and the very next month, we were performing at rehearsal studios, offices after-hours, dance studios, restaurants, breweries, and even a closed bakery. Initiatives were being taken to scale up theatre and we were an integral part of that movement. I found myself drawn to these small, weird, limited capacity, out-of-the-box venues.
Another great advantage of such venues is accessibility. Geographically speaking. With cities burgeoning the way they are, only a few pockets used to be close to a performance space. Not anymore. One thing I noticed abroad is that almost every suburb has a theatre. Or at least, easy access to one. Today, this is becoming a reality in Mumbai. Earlier, the closest theatre to my house was 45 minutes away. Now there’s a daycare centre that doubles up as a performance venue a six-minute walk away.
Earlier, if there was a visarjan , seaside venues like Prithvi and NCPA (National Centre for the Performing Arts) were strict no-nos, but now there’s a friendly neighbourhood 60-seater in the backyard of an old bungalow.
So, all victims of the metropolis, too tired at the end of a day to fight traffic and lethargy, unable to negotiate the city for a theatre experience, and hence settling for Netflix or one of its poorer cousins, be warned. You may not be able to come to us, but we’re coming to you.
Akarsh Khurana is a theatre producer and director and hence often broke. To cope, he writes, directs films and web series, and occasionally acts, albeit reluctantly
