Dreaded December

I hate December. It could be the winter blues. Or the fact that it’s the time to recap on another year where you didn’t do everything you wanted. Or that everyone is wearing those ridiculous hats in anticipation for Christmas. Or maybe it’s just because of THESPO. Don’t get me wrong. This feeling has almost nothing to do with the stress of organising the largest youth theatre festival in the country. It is more because each year Thespo reminds me — a “relatively” young and at one time “exciting” theatre practitioner — that I am neither. It is very ego-satisfying going into a Thespo rehearsal room, where the eager theatrewallahs of tomorrow hang on your every word. Then you watch their work, and realise that you don’t feel dismissive, or admiration, or joy at their success. The nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach is actually jealousy. I go through the same rigmarole each December and watch as the bar is raised higher. I realise I was never that good then. And truthfully, I am not that good, now! While oftentimes the craft might not be well-honed, the passion, determination and content often wins through; that unabashed arrogance of beating out your own path, and daring to tread where predecessors didn’t. There is also something very immediate about youth theatre. Uncluttered by the “commercial” expectations of their work, they are free to think about the story they want to tell, rather than “bums on seats”. This year’s fare is no different. The topics all seem to be very contemporary. God=Father and Naav are journeys of soul searching and identity. Apradhi Sugandh and Line take on the corruption and absurdity that we accept in our lives. Being Sartak Majumdar is about the digital influence on our imagination. Even the short plays are decidedly current. Facehooked and Love Day Loot both tackle our Internet obsessions. And then of course there are the plays that poke fun at our social and political systems — Proud to be Indian and Jaati Kabhi Nahi Jaati. Theatre in India has always seemed to “hold a mirror up to society” more than any of the other arts. We have a long tradition of didactic theatre, and it’s not surprising that Bertolt Brecht borrowed a lot of his Epic theatre techniques from folk traditions such as ours. But in the urban landscape, this role of moral compass has been missing from our theatre. The decline of Communism seemed to take the wind out of IPTAs sails, who were the torch bearers of such theatre. Today, theatre in Bombay shies away from the very controversial, and often the punches are cloaked cotton wool. Thespo plays, conversely, seem to take the gloves off and often fight the system bare knuckled. In the past, plays like Butter & Mashed Banana, Accidental Death of a Terrorist, and Geli Ekvees Varsha have taken on difficult topics with their biting satire. Maybe that’s why these plays live on in Thespo folk-lore. And why letters accompanying the cheques that come to the Friends of Thespo crowd-funding initiative, often cite these plays as examples of the kind of work they want to support. What is even more interesting is that the commentary straddles multiple languages. This year’s line up is in Marathi, Hindi and English. So it is with a familiar dread that I make my way to Prithvi next week to see which of the Thespo 14 plays will re-affirm my status as a “has-been”. Oh to be young and exciting again.