Doing the rounds of suburban theatres is a play centred round marriage and divorce in bourgeois Muslim households. Written and directed by the redoubtable Imran Rasheed, Phir Se Shaadi is ultimately a comedy of errors that pussyfoots around notions of middle-class morality and conformism. The play, in ways, is not dissimilar to Rasheed’s earlier outing, the Urdu farce Bade Miyan Deewane , which is the longest-running production from Rangbaaz, the group Rasheed runs, with frequent collaborator Pawan Uttam.
The couple at the centre of the mêlée that is Phir Se Shaadi are the once-married Aiman (Farrukh Seyer) and Sheeba (Nisha Dhar), who were divorced from each other after an unsavoury episode. But they are now looking to be reunited in conjugal bliss. However, a roadblock is thrown up by Sharia law. It’s the concept of halala, whereby Sheeba would need to be married to another man who, after consummation of marital vows, must in turn divorce her. Only then would she be eligible to remarry Aiman. The premise is rife with comic possibilities that Rasheed seems keen to exploit, helped by a host of characters, who are mostly broad types albeit inked in with some affection. This includes the couple’s mentor, professor Kamaal Khan (Danish Hussain), his wife Husna (Rukhsar Rehman), and his colleague at the Aligarh Muslim University, Jiya Lal ji (Yasir Khan), who is ultimately much more than a token Hindu character in dhoti and kurta.
Social satire
There isn’t an explicit mention of triple talaq, although it would appear that it is the expediency granted by such a provision that would allow the play to move so easily between comedic set-pieces. It indicates that perhaps the makers are sensitive of the fracas currently being played out in our courts, but it can also be seen as the sidestepping of an obvious topical issue. The middle ground is where the play is happy to situate itself. The writing, colloquially rich, is never too clever for its own good, and never too overreaching in its humour to truly offend. There are laugh-out-loud moments, of course, but the facetious turf of performance is the familiar (but safe) battle of the sexes.
Setting the tone for the evening is a qawaali troupe, that solemnly observes proceedings from the sidelines, while frequently piping in with their musical two bits. Karan Desai sends up the lead qawaal wonderfully; self-mocking but still authentic. The ‘mandli’ is typical of a certain kind of musical play, which Phir Se Shaadi isn’t quite, but it also serves as a cultural marker that establishes the ethos of a Muslim social, a once flourishing genre of entertainment that has been all but wiped off the big screen, but persists on stage thanks to outings such as this.
Rasheed ingeniously draws humour from the absurdities at this disposal. For instance, the efforts to goad a cantankerous qazi into locating loopholes in religious law, or the picking of a temporary groom for Sheeba from a line-up of personable faces, or in the quandary that could be thrown up if any one of those prospects should pull a volte-face after the nuptials, and refuse to divorce her, thereby throwing cold water on her plans to promptly marry Aiman. A sub-plot involving one such transitory groom comes to nought, only adding to the play’s already prolonged running time. Yet, there are also subtleties to be excavated, but even in all the shenanigans extolling marriage, there is the begrudging acknowledgement that perhaps, as an institution, it isn’t so sacrosanct after all, and there is something to be said of human nature.
Laughing out loud
Seyer brings a disarming naïveté to Aiman as he questions ages-old customs, armed only with a commonplace understanding of love and commitment. Similarly, Dhar strikes a forlorn figure with little agency except for her heart’s desire, caught in a web of inconsistencies not entirely of her own making. The dynamic between the professor and his wife has more edge to it. Hussain brings a grey-tinged quality to his part, a crooked halo constantly atop his head, that prepares us for darker revelations. Rehman has enough residual gravitas and personal charm to pass off as a woman with strong opinions rather than the harridan who is in danger of emerging from the script. She is saddled with a propensity to speak English badly, a spurious comic affectation that isn’t fully realised. Khan and Mohammad Khaliq (as the qazi) provide great comic relief while Rasheed himself, as Sheeba’s father, steals a scene or two.
Social comment in Phir Se Shaadi comes garbed in everyday humour and the bonhomie of an engaged ensemble; in a world that is liberal to an extent, but entrenched in a conservative ethos. It’s a comfort zone the play’s denizens are in no hurry to extricate themselves from. Sheeba’s conservative parents do provide fodder for humour but at least they are aware of being dyed in the wool. Belling the cat proves much more difficult to those who pay lip-service to progressive notions. Aiman’s masculinity is challenged by the idea that his paramour could spend a night with another person. Husna suddenly finds the idea of halala unpalatable when it transpires that her husband would be the guinea-pig involved. So too, for almost every character, who each discover the perimeters of their open-mindedness. They’d much rather ‘game the system’, so to say, maintaining a dichotomy of values that somehow isn’t the source of the play’s conflicts, which are fed instead by the aforementioned situational snags. Yet, finding the means of evasion while following the letter of the law, is subversive only to an extent. The spirit of true rebellion is quelled because at their hearts, this lot are all true conformists, who cannot dislodge the status quo by much, even though the happily-ever-after ending allows them a facile vindication they can certainly savour, as do we.
The writer is a playwright and stage critic
Two shows of Rangbaaz’s Phir Se Shaadi will be performed at Prithvi Theatre on Saturday, May 20, at 6:30 p.m. and 9:15p.m..
