Ramu Ramanathan's SHANTI, SHANTI, IT'S A WAR (1993) is a musical spoof of the Mahabharata. Ramu Ramanathan's take on the mythological text plays with issues of identity, power, duty, free will and desire, while paying ''tribute to the freewheeling loknatya tradition in Maharashtra'' (stage directions by the playwright). Along with humour, the play also incorporates strands of feminism. The paradox of the title translates meaningfully into the performance of the play.
Rangrej's production of the play at Haute Haveli on March 19 2014 left the viewer with mixed feelings. As with any good farce, the script is a demanding one. It is full of puns, satire and witticisms which require superb timing if the actors are to carry them off. By and large, the cast rose to this challenge quite admirably. The farcical elements and the comic touches were handled deftly. However the lack of fluency and smoothness in dialogue delivery left an otherwise honest attempt floundering. It was as though the production curled over at the edges; its sharpness and witty repartee dulled by the problem of language and delivery.
This was specially a problem with Raina Vashisth, the actor who played the fairy godmother quite inadequately. The introduction to this production by the charming and charismatic Devroop Sharma, who played the several Krishna-like figures, called it a 'Hinglish' play but the script is a great deal more English than Hindi. One eagerly awaits a Hindustani production by the same group on which work is to begin soon. In the meanwhile, I am inclined to agree with the playwright, in whose assessment this performance, was a ''brave'' attempt by ''a bunch of kids who don't speak English except perhaps two or three actors.''
The production effectively uses a contrasting presentation of the two primary groups, the Pandavas and the Kauravas. The Pandavas in this rendition are a bumbling but united lot dressed in indigenous clothes whereas the Kauravas are gangster-like, roguish, dressed in western outfits and clearly have a stylish self-image. Self-reflexively, the play introduces a writer figure who cannot write and needs a fairy godmother to provide inspiration and advice. The writer is also constantly manipulated by the Kauravas on the one hand and the Pandavas on the other; and for good measure, by the feminists Draupadi and Gandhari (both dressed in western attire) as well. It is the writer who is hypnotised into gambling away Draupadi to the Kauravas in a farcical-comic twist to the Mahabharata story.
In the tiny space at Haute Haveli, exits and entrances were either down or up a staircase at the rear or through a door on the left and in front of the designated staging area. The awkwardness of the space was managed well by the actors. The lights and sound was managed by technicians whose heads and shoulders were visible to the audience above the corner of the rising staircase at the left but this did not disturb the production. These factors instead highlighted the farcical and performative nature of the script, serving the production well.
The performance deviated in several ways from the script using a touch of Bollywood and gangster films. By and large this was successful in lending a farcical air but sometimes overdone, as in the Bollywood style dance which was enjoyed by some in the audience but was without meaning. The script is farcical but not arbitrary like the dance. It is a relevant, hard-hitting socio-political commentary on issues such as corruption, the influence of the media, the position of women, etc. Perhaps the sheer plethora of issues is responsible for a loss of focus, both in the script and its performance, leading the director Ayatullah Khan to include arbitrary improvisations.
The most serious change was the femme fatale fairy godmother, who is business-like and brisk in the script but unlike the whip-holding, horned, little-black-dress-wearing avatar seen in this production. In the script, Gandhari and the fairy godmother are one, giving the question of identity an intriguing twist. Here, with two different actresses playing the roles, the performance lost its ability to provoke a sudden, surprising shift in perception where the script breaks stereotypes of motherhood and fairy-god motherhood in a single master-stroke.
The final tableau with the constable/Krishna figure playing on the flute and asking the question, ''Who will decide the future of the planet?'' with all the other actors ranged around, was an effective and well executed end to a production of uneven quality.
*Jaya Kanoria enjoys literature, drama and theatre performances. She is an artist with a background in the Fine Arts and is currently working on a PhD in the broad area of Performance Studies. A former lecturer in English at Sophia College, she has varied interests and resists being slotted into conventional categories.
This was specially a problem with Raina Vashisth, the actor who played the fairy godmother quite inadequately. The introduction to this production by the charming and charismatic Devroop Sharma, who played the several Krishna-like figures, called it a 'Hinglish' play but the script is a great deal more English than Hindi. One eagerly awaits a Hindustani production by the same group on which work is to begin soon. In the meanwhile, I am inclined to agree with the playwright, in whose assessment this performance, was a ''brave'' attempt by ''a bunch of kids who don't speak English except perhaps two or three actors.''
