Homeward Bound

I returned to my country after exactly one year and two months. Was I upset to leave London? May be a little but that was less because of my attachment to the country and more due to having grown used to that lifestyle.

But I was eager to return to India - return to my family and friends. As I stepped out of the International airport, a gush of warm wind hit my face. For most coming to this country it could be a little disturbing. But to me it was my country welcoming me back.

This was just the beginning of memories. Five days later I left for Lucknow. It is my cousin's wedding; a cousin I have not met since we both were nine. I was going back to the house that I had not visited since I was four. I did not know what to expect. The family was excited; they knew all the people - I was blank.

But I guess memories have their own ways. I walked inside the front gate and surprisingly I remembered every little detail. The front veranda where I spent hours playing frisbee with my grandfather (technically my grandmother's eldest brother) and then sulking because I lost, the Eucalyptus tree that no longer stands tall near the front window whose branches I touched while I lazed on the bed inside and bodo dadu told me stories and read me Sanchaita (of course, I discovered the name of the book years later), the balcony on the first floor that is now smaller in size because a room needed extension and the terrace that still held my memories intact.

I had returned to that house after 20 years and yet I felt as if I had never left. There is only one difference that can never be put back to match my memory - bodo dadu (my grandfather) is no longer there, sitting tall, smart and impressive, impeccably dressed, always craving for knowledge and a good, stimulating conversation.

There is a wedding in the house tomorrow, my cousin is about to embark on the most important journey of her life, we sisters are waiting for the moment when we can ensure that the groom has given up every single penny that he brought with him and amidst all this I know that bodo dadu is having his share of fun, watching over us.

The last time I left this house I left with the hope of returning some day but it took me 20 years. This time when I leave I don't know when I shall return. But I know that I shall carry the four year old me playing frisbee and sulking to bodo dadu forever inside me; I shall carry bodo dadu with me even if I never ever return to this house.

Oh yes! I have come back home.

Hakuna Matata

Walt Disney's 1994 animated classic, The Lion King is one of the most popular animated films across the globe. Set in an anthropomorphic African jungle, in very simple terms, it is what we film buffs call a 'coming of age' story. But when this 'coming of age' story comes to life on a theatre stage, you are forced to wonder if really the power of cinema is greater than the power of the stage.

The only word to describe this entire experience is awestruck. And this is not because this is the best musical ever (there are definitely others that are way better). It is because it is a spectacle to see an all animal film being brought alive to stage with such style and panache.

The play follows the participatory format with characters springing in from all directions of the auditorium. It uses every possible theatrical craft - from humans in animal costumes to hollow puppets, from acrobatics to shadow play - there is no device left untouched. The high point of the performance is a live orchestra and six foot, black men move on stage with feline agility, literally.

There are, no doubt, a number of changes and additions to the musical. Rafiki is a female on stage as opposed to the male in the film. There are additional songs and sequences. There are two prominent additions to the storyline. First is when Timon nearly drowns in a waterfall and Simba feels helpless to save him, haunted by the helplessness he felt when his father, Mufasa died. The second addition is Scar's desire to make Nala his mate and Nala's departure from Pride Rock.

The costumes and make-up are the bonus factors. But the real treat are the mechanical headgears of the principal characters that can be raised and lowered to create the illusion of lunging cats. A slight disappointment was that these headgears were given to Mufasa and Scar but not to Simba. I think that would have completed that show.

It is not without reason that the musical has been on stage for so many years and has won a number of awards. And when you see everyone from the age of five to 80 enjoy the performance with the same amount of enthusiasm, laugh at Timon and Pumba with the same fervour, feel together for Simba and Nala, boo Scar's last bow with the same playful dislike and leave the theatre with the same broad smile, you know that it was a real success. It is a must watch for all those who love the film and even more for those who love the stage.

Say Cheese!

Watching a play at London's West End is an experience of a lifetime. A year back when I came to London, there were three plays that I wanted to see - The Phantom of the Opera, The Lion King and The Mousetrap. After a year I got closer to that dream.

Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap is the longest "initial running" play in theatrical history. This means that the play has never gone off stage since its first performance. I was amongst the fortunate who became a part of history. The Mousetrap is currently in its 58th year and I witnessed the 24, 134th performance. 

The Mousetrap opened at the West End at the Ambassador theatre next door in 1952. It was performed here till 1974 when it was transferred to St. Martin's Theatre, without missing a single performance. On this occasion Agatha Christie gifted the Ambassador theatre with a model of a mousetrap as a souvenir, which remains on display in the foyer. It has played at St. Martin's Theatre ever since.

Agatha Christie is known to the world as the Queen of Crime. She wrote about 80 novels and short story collections. She also wrote about a dozen plays but is seldom recognized as a playwright. I am not unfamiliar with her writings; the little grey cells of Hercule Poirot being a personal favourite. The genius of her work lies in the details. Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot are possibly two of the most famous private detectives in the literary world. Their popularity surpasses that of their creators. The key to both the detectives was to concentrate on the details. And yet I recall being partial to Hercule Poirot.

It has been many years since I last read a Poirot mystery. I remember competing with my younger brother while reading Agatha Christie's stories. We had to guess the real killer and the motive and also explain how we reached our conclusion. Years later, sitting at St. Martin's I decided to play the game once again; only this time with myself.

Although plays are performed in the evening, there are limited matinee shows. But in this case, not surprisingly, the play was houseful. It began right on time - 3.00 p.m. As the lights went out and the performance began, I sat back and relaxed in order to absorb every little detail and employ the little grey cells.

To begin with, I could not help but marvel at Agatha Christie's brilliance as a playwright. Her characters and dialogues are no less than those created by the most famous playwrights around the globe. They, like majority of her characters, are truly British. The stage time is 24 hours that is covered in the 2 hour 30 minutes performance time. And during these 2 hours and 30 minutes you cannot help but sit at the edge of your seat while your doubt shifts from the very peculiar Christopher Wren to the sudden arrival, Mr. Paravicini. And yet you can never guess that the real culprit is ... Sorry! I can't reveal the name because in the tradition of this play, I was not only a viewer but also their partner in crime. My lips are sealed! But I must confess that my little grey cells are no match for Monsieur Poirot's.

The beauty of the play lies in the fact that even after watching n number of performances you will still await the revelation with bated breadth. Partial credit for this goes to the medium of theatre, as was very aptly pointed out by a friend of mine with whom I shared my experience and excitement. Each new performance, even if performed by the same set of actors, will vary. And it is this variation that brings with it a new sense of mystery every time. But it can be said without doubt that it is the playwright's genius to create a story line that will seem new even after a number of performances; evident from that fact that the play has been attracting viewers for so many years and the audience does not seem to be getting tired.

If London is your next stop then St. Martin's should be on your 'Must Visit' list!