Page 5 of Musafir Cafe

P for Play

Mumbai has many happening places for plays, including Prithvi Theatre and the NCPA. If you did not watch a play in either of these two, consider your Mumbai trip incomplete. Sudha and Chandar went to Prithvi Theatre in Juhu, named after the theatre and film pioneer Prithviraj Kapoor. Earlier, one could spot Shashi Kapoor there often, sitting on his wheelchair. He wouldn’t say anything, just keep looking at people, and if you looked closely you’d notice that the tears in his eyes had become a little thicker.

Every day, Mumbai station is thronged—not just by a few people, but by hundreds of cities, thousands of people and millions of dreams. Every dream that disembarks here has its own story to tell. Someone leaves their home to come here, someone sells everything off and others come empty-handed. No one wants to listen to these stories, but each one of these is a film in itself. The distance between a story and a film is so long that many of the dreams die walking, wandering and stumbling around. Every day, millions of dreams die here, but still there is no dearth of people descending on Mumbai station the very next day. Weird city, isn’t it?

A few of those dreams visit Prithvi every evening. That’s why the ambience here is top notch. Every table is witness to a new film being made. A few literary types can be seen sitting around with notepads. Popular faces who work in the TV and film industry also come here often. Everyone is promised some work by some random big shot. People in Mumbai spend their entire lives clinging to one promise, one meeting. There’s a bookstore here that even stocks a few Hindi books.

When Sudha and Chandar reached Prithvi, all tickets had been sold out, but Sudha somehow arranged for two tickets. She watched the play very attentively, so much so that she’d often forget to blink. A couple of times, a few tears escaped her eyelids. Chandar focused more on Sudha rather than the play. As the lighting of the theatre changed, the actors on the stage displayed various emotions at the same pace, and Sudha’s face changed hues simultaneously. And as the play neared its end, Sudha, the on-stage actors and the theatre lights amalgamated into one.

Sudha didn’t say anything for long after the play was over. When Chandar asked about dinner, she asked, ‘How did you find the play?’

‘It was good.’

‘Just good? Not awesome?’

‘All right, it was amazing. You cry as well?’

‘Just during plays.’

‘Were you crying for real, or was it just acting?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I feel crying is the only time when we don’t act.’

‘I’m impressed.’

‘Shall we have dinner?’

‘I don’t feel like it.’

‘I am not feeling up to it either.’

‘Then why did you ask?’

‘Thought it would buy us some more time together.’

‘There you go, flirting again. There is a rule to flirting: whatever you want to say, just say it directly; don’t beat around the bush. It is always better that way.’

‘Sudha.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Come on, speak up now. Don’t leave things hanging like that.’

‘Can we spend some more time together?’

‘Come, the sea’s nearby. Let’s go there.’

‘You like the sea?’

‘A lot. What about you?’

‘I like the hills more.’

‘So you’ll celebrate your honeymoon in Ooty or something?’