The first thing we notice when we enter the world of PEREIRA'S BAKERY AT 76 CHAPEL ROAD is a scaffolding-like structure that is part of the impressively mounted set-design by Vivek Jadhav. A modest bakery sits in the corner unassumingly. Sewn around it are the doors and windows of homes that evoke a tenement of rather ramshackle beauty, with the accoutrements of suburban living that season this milieu delectably. It does give away very little of the hamlet's vintage, and the strong foundations that go back generations, given how it has an almost transient makeshift quality. On the other hand, it seems like a perfect backdrop to the lives made newly precarious by the circumstances of the play.
The play deals with old-time Bandra denizens who have been asked to vacate the homes they've inhabited for years. Asia's biggest shopping mall would come up instead. Indeed, the cantankerous shadow of an industrial-strength demolition squad seems to be constantly looming in the play's texture of urban sounds. However, as the women march into the balconies, trading barbs over the piazza that takes up the rest of the stage, we are suddenly accosted by the sturdiness of the old homes, and the warm lived-in ethos is wonderfully evoked by a lively cast of characters who have now emerged from the woodwork. The time-frame of the play are the two months that the inhabitants of 76, Chapel Road are left with, after the eviction notice is first served.
The passage of time is duly announced by a calendar on the side; its pages flipped over by some observant member of the cast, most likely by the lead actress, Ahlam Khan Karachiwala, who also doubles up as the proprietress of this venture as she seems to notice every missed cue, every forgotten line, or which article of dramatic import has fallen askew. It is an encumbrance that actually benefits her otherwise one-dimensional do-gooder part. Dinshaw Shroff plays a crusty old fart who revels in his boozy punch-lines-there is that certain character to his comedy, and a definite aura of authenticity that somehow passes the others by. Tahira Nath and Deepika Amin bring in contrasting styles of performance to give us two women who are compelling in equal measure. There is some good humor that peppers the narrative-a scene in which the folk wait for a politician (called Godbole) to arrive, makes for a wonderful 'Waiting for Godot' reference by a deadpan Sohrab Ardeshir.
After a while, the lightness doesn't continue to regale. As the date of eviction approaches, Ms Menon decides to milk the uplifting premise of the human spirit that cannot be quelled by adversity. The Bandra esprit de corps, the never-say-die quality so characteristic of this lot, takes over the proceedings. It's a cliche that can be used well for the purposes of elemental drama, but stoicism in the face of bad things always covers up a subtextual world of rich emotional cadences. We have one of our more resolutely stoic actors at hand (Hidayat Sami plays Vincent, the owner of Pereira's Bakery), but in the bonhomie all around and in the petty quibbles and amusing banter, we don't quite get to see the laceration underneath. For that the writer brings in some old-fashioned melodrama. Where we need some foreboding, or a sense of the psychological toll on the inmates, we have instead, women coughing up blood (Ms Nath is always up to the task), the Indian Idol ambitions of a bathroom singer (Nisha Lalvani) thwarted, and yet again, Mr Ardeshir looking like he would drop dead any moment. A disconcerting lack of pragmatism informs the goings-on, infantilizing the motley crew we have now grown fond of.
For such an indomitable bunch, they do give in to defeat easily. People break faith with the initial plan to stand up to the oppressors, and move away to Goa or Dubai to sons and relatives. The legal wrangling that may be involved to save the premises is considered untenable because the outsiders cannot be trusted. A narrative, dangerously tinged with a 'them and us' spin, brings us face to face with a parade of Indian stock characters- A Marathi postman; some sensation-hungry TV reporters; a mealy-mouthed political lackey; a couple of tapori goons; and the embittered scion of the Gujarati property-owner, the chip on whose shoulder about the 'Anglos' sits uneasily with his fondness for fugias. Even Ms Karachiwala's Hindu love-interest turns out to be a snake in the grass. Several of these walk-on parts are performed by journeymen Hussein Dalal and Vinit Sharma, not in any poor fashion, but there seems to be a sectarian point being made repeatedly here (and in several other Writers' Bloc plays), which isn't a perfectly reasonable one.
By contrast, 76, Chapel Road, is a repository for upright idealism, for the old-fashioned values that are being eroded over time. Modern conveniences (like innocuous ATM machines) encroach upon this idyll. While parallel cultures and distinctions are a part of contemporary Mumbai existence, Bandra's communities are more amorphously intertwined than this retelling would have us believe. As Ms Lalvani belts out an off-key rendition of the old Gloria Gaynor classic, I Will Survive, it is as if Indian Idol represents the ultimate appropriation by the mainstream. The drama works conveniently off this implied alienation, but it it doesn't ring true.
It would seem that a darker telling of the tale (in an earlier draft by Ms Menon) was specifically asked to be suffused with levity, the tricks and treats to charm the soul. We've seen what the process has yielded in the festival. An airbrushed Kashmir tale in THE DJINNS OF EIDGAH, shorn of the essences that would make it truly local even if you're still left with beautiful theatre. A writer like Purva Naresh has had her plenteous organic style curtailed by structure in OK TATA BYE BYE; Siddharth Kumar, of the no-holds-barred sardonic wit, comes up with the straight-laced play SPUNK; and Annie Zaidi's macabre tale JAAL is reduced to a Tintin and Snowy excursion of sorts (with a real dog to boot). These are the tell-tale signs of moments lost and landscapes whitewashed by imposing machinery, much like the little hamlet that is being razed to the ground at 76 Chapel Road.
The climatic scene hinges upon Vincent deciding to stand witness to the bakery being brought down. Mr Sami conjures up a martial presence, standing resolutely amidst the detritus of splintered pride and the irrevocable loss of a legacy. It is an affecting scene that carries a lot of raw emotion (and Mr Sami is clearly moved by his own delivery) but it is almost like the coda of a completely different play, one that we haven't quite been privy to. It is a display of stridency that comes too late for a play that hasn't kept any of its promises. It is possible that audiences may still be able to relate with the cursory treatment of a pertinent reality, but a humdinger it is not. That's more the pity because the Mumbai stage is hungry for homegrown tales of this ilk.
*Vikram Phukan runs the theatre appreciation website, Stage Impressions- www.stageimpressions.com
