Straddling two worlds

July 03, 2017 07:39 pm | Updated 07:40 pm IST

The Hindi chamber piece on stage often finds itself mired in a kind of creaky datedness that belies the realities of contemporary urban living or the persuasions that have come to the fore in a millenial (or post-millenial) landscape. Classic texts (from India and abroad) are still regurgitated, often given no more than a cursory modern spin, while ‘fresh produce’ seems ensconced in a perpetual ‘small-world’ ethos that grapples with modernity like it were some soul-crushing behemoth. The formalness of language, the peddling of ‘writerly’ profundities (read, indulgences), and a preoccupation with the masculine ego, all conspire to swamp what has become a self-limiting genre. While Hindi isn’t quite considered an aspirational tongue (that is the cross English must bear), it is omniscient, rooted in social contexts, and slowly but surely acquiring a progressive veneer, which raises a world of possibilities never before realised on stage.

A new play from writer-director Niketan Sharma, Adrak , appears to refreshingly veer from this status quo. It was recently performed at the Drama School, Mumbai, alma mater to Sharma and his cast and crew (with the exception of co-writer Abhishek Kumar). While the play is a while away from being considered a masterful work, it clasps in its palm an adequate sense of the Zeitgeist to which it belongs. The staging is tight and innovative, working with both text and movement, even if a consistent grammar of performance is yet to be evolved. The three-hander features actors Dheer Hira, Niharika Lyra Dutt and Sharma himself. Their performances are unaffected and identifiable, and their speech peppered with flavoursome urban colloquialisms. The suburban setting to which they belong is complemented by an inventive sound-palette, with nimble-fingered foley-guy Kartavya Anthwaal Sharma providing live percussive and vocal interjections.

His brother’s keeper

Adrak is set in one of those nondescript suburban apartments, once home to a cohabiting couple, Anokhi (Dutt) and Vikrant (Sharma), who are now estranged. The third cog in the wheel is Vikrant’s brother, Nischay (Hira), a complementary presence in his life, who is nonetheless central to this universe. A predictable dynamic between characters who occupy the same space is offset by unstated complexities that appear to be best realised in Hira’s bravura turn. As someone who cannot extricate himself from his brother’s shadow, Nischay displays a neediness that surprisingly comes equipped with a self-sufficiency of its own. He works his way around a belligerent boss, obtuse colleagues, and an uncertain equation with his brother’s beau, displaying a malleability of temper that allows him to escape unscathed from unsatisfactory situations without his self-regard being impacted. Hira comes off as a latter-day Amol Palekar, who has now grown a spine, but is also a masochist who wants to remain, even languish, in a world where the odds are stacked against him. Hira recasts this as a survivalist streak, creating a character that is never pitiable, but a grappling presence with an interiority and charm of his own.

As the play lingers on Nischay’s private moments, the central relationships are reduced to footnotes. Dutt and Sharma negotiate a strangely gendered turf, with its own tensions and contradictions. The intimacy seems affected, and Dutt is never allowed to transcend the ‘manic pixie dream girl’ mode in which she finds herself, always a whimsical being whose conflicts never rise to the surface. In contrast, Vikrant and Nischay’s co-dependence, spelled out too often, is delineated with warmth and spirit, but is also shorn of psychological detailing. In a touching scene, Nischay raises the sceptre of their unequal pairing (Vikrant can be domineering) by asking, “Jaise aapka mere saath hai, waisa mujhe mera aapke saath chahiye.” There is a strange subversion in the manner in which Adrak trains its spotlight on these unremarkable associations. We are voyeurs, not to grand deeds and great schemes, but to humble lives in bijou residences.

Words and their power

The play’s universe find echoes in a story by Gulzar, ‘Seema’, that was the basis of his unreleased film Libaas . This story was recently read as part of an evening of rehearsed readings, ‘Na Aagey Naath Na Pichey Pagaah’ , put together by Sharma and other alumni of the Drama School. Dutt read the title part of Seema, whose motivations — like the female protagonist in Adrak — get short shrift when the writer’s sympathies lie with a man whose narcissism seems essential to his manhood in a way her own mercurial temperament can never be. The event featured some well calibrated performances, including Qais Jaunpuri's ‘Teri Duniya Mein Ise Sex Kahte Hain’ which was rendered by Trinetra Tiwari (who has worked as co-director of Adrak ). It’s a piece in which unbending romanticism clashes with taboos associated with anything to do with the flesh. In Abhinav Grover’s robust rendition of a passage from Ramdhari Singh ‘Dinkar’s’ ‘Rashmirathi’ (or The Sun's Charioteer) we could marvel at the flavour of language from a bygone era; the piece was written in 1952. But ultimately it was a nostril-flaring turn that appeared to strip Karna, the warrior from the Mahabharata, of any moral ambiguity. The curation of poems by Sharma seemed refreshingly forward on the surface, and certainly the actors lent them sparkle, but the words were still entrenched in a world-view than was as much blinkered as it was progressive. This is a dichotomy which Adrak wrestles with as well.

Adrak will be performed on July 14 at 8 p.m. at Studio Tamaasha. Call 90046 09272 for tickets.

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