Holidays at our ancestral home, 'Gokulam' were a much-looked forward to affair. There were the usual games – playing with tops, cricket, seven stones
(or 'puncture-the-back' as we called it), kites and of course the eternal Hide
and Seek. Most of all, during summer holidays – there was also an extra grand
spectacle – The Gokulam Theatre Production.
It was a whirl of colour, drama and activity to me, rather younger than my cousins who pulled this all together. Preparations were usually elaborate. Scripts were written, costumes planned and designed and most of all – practice sessions day after day to get the scenes right. I usually sat out, a watchful audience all through, too young to be actually given a role, but awed at the mammoth efforts that my cousins (who seemed huge and immensely professional) put in for these family gatherings.
The programme itself was presented in a make-shift stage –
usually the cows and the cars were driven out of the two sheds, an area cleared
for the performance and seating organized for the audience – relatives,
friends, neighbours. It was a mini-event in the neighbourhood. Consenting
friends were roped in to act and participate.
Sometimes these theatre productions even garnered enough attention from
passers-by on the street, as they crowded behind the wall to witness this
unexpected event, uninvited though they were. Once, in fact, the proceedings
got very exciting when an unknown member from the janta outside, proceeded to fling a pebble over the wall and into
the stage proceedings. There was a furore and while my male cousins swore vehemently to
pursue the suspect, they were cajoled to give up and continue the programme
indoors.
It didn’t matter to me much, whether the proceedings were
disrupted or continued as planned. It was all dramatic and a very engaging childhood adventure.
An open-mouthed audience through practice and performance, I
got the opportunity to potentially make my stage debut – at the tender age of
about 5! While I was witnessing one of the practice sessions, my cousins were
hard pressed for someone to play the role of a female character. The
male-dominant production team had short supply of willing female players. In
desperation they saw me sitting and watching and proceeded to enroll me into
the act. “It’s nothing much” one of my annas said, “All you have to do is to
strike a pose like this”. Director-like he mimicked the action that I was to
enact. I agreed heartily.
My epic role consisted of standing in a corner of the stage in the manner
suggested, while the remaining dialogues of that one scene, played out for the next few minutes. I
practiced furiously for the next couple of days. (This was saying something, as
actually I had nothing much to practice except stand and leave at my cue).
The day of the programme dawned. The preparations hit a
feverish pitch. A short while before the production was due to be staged, thatha called out to me. “Going up to
the shops for a few errands, would you like to come with me in the car?”
Driving out in the car was always a delight and I loved hanging around when
thatha went shopping. He usually commanded the shopkeepers and made determined
purchases, so much that the shopkeepers looked doubtful, if they should charge
him or actually pay him for shopping! Excited I jumped into the car behind him,
forgetting completely that I was to make my maiden effort on stage soon.
A string of errands later, we returned, just in time for the
magnum opus. A harried cousin met me at the door – “Where have you been,” he
hissed “You were supposed to get ready for your role. Now we had to make emergency
changes.” The emergency change consisted of my brother, doubling up
for the role I was supposed to have played, attempting to look unconvincingly coy
and feminine right after the scene of a battle.
I didn’t mind much not having to play the part, so long as I
could see the programme. My cousins came and went in their assigned roles. I
sat, right next to thatha during the show, enjoying every minute and laughing
loudly whenever he laughed. There was some battle, some mythology, some
religion all in it – none of which I understood, but nevertheless found exceedingly enjoyable. Soon the show ended. There was
much mirth and excitement all around when it finished. My uncle, usually the
one who gave the verdict and the critics’ views, especially on those who had
acted well, commended the show and thereby it was declared a certified success.
Over the years, as my cousins grew older and as they began
finishing school and college, the enthusiasm and focus given to the show steadily
decreased. By the time I was old enough to actually participate or contribute
in these shows in a concrete manner, they had virtually stopped as we, the
younger lot of cousins, were not as enterprising as to put up our own show.
Summer
holidays still continued to be time of fun and games, gathering of cousins,
laughter and ragging. With 25 of us, we were capable of much noise and disruption.
Though I never actually made it to the stage in that childhood phase, till today,
some of my most memorable childhood summers, my moments of nostalgia, remain the ones which had seen the
staging of the 'Gokulam Family Summer Theatre Production'. It was an era,
etched into my memory with the colour, glamour and glory of modern-day film
productions, only at a much more personal level - a world where we could be
producers, we could be kings & queens and we could be just a bunch of young
people, living life to the fullest. It was our Gokulam family of happiness.
