There is some trepidation with which you enter the new Akvarious production. Its plush fittings and effects on stage do not necessarily assuage the gnawing fear that you are about to witness the virtual smack down of a certain kind of people. After all, the play is titled COMMON PEOPLE and it is ostensibly about (as announced by the blurb) the growing tribe of the nouveau riche, whose antics are usually rife for the kind of collective sniggering genteel audiences can engage with rather safely. But then, as immediately, you are taken aback by the utter obliviousness of the characters themselves to this pre-determined voyeuristic gaze, as they emerge unscathed from the melee as real (and almost endearing) folk, not just a 'type' that must be lampooned.
Director Akarsh Khurana has assembled a tight quartet of performers (with a 'star' cameo thrown in at the end, as a twist) who fit together well on stage, and allow the crisp text by Apoorva Kale to sink in, to some extent. The script situates itself inside the 'homes' of its principal inhabitants - it does not wryly look in from the outside, although there are occasional well-observed nuggets that do give us a glimpse of the glaring insularity that informs the lives of this particular class of people, but for the most part, the tone is that of gentle reproach, lacking the astringence of true satire, even when the excitable bunch indulge in the most outlandish schemes.
The basic premise is centred on recent heiress Maya (Shriya Pilgaonkar), moving back to India with her writer-husband, Nikhil (Aseem Hattangady), to ostensibly take over a sea-facing heritage property left in her name by her recently deceased father, 'Papaji', who was a cinema legend, a fact not evoked particularly well by the unimaginative backdrop, lackadaisically strewn with vintage photographs (easily Googled, it would seem) from cinema's bygone era. They meet old acquaintances, Preeti and Karan (Abir Abrar and Chaitanya Sharma), who seem to have hit the high road to prosperity, and it makes sense for both aspirational couples to get in with one another, their financial parlays over mimosas and cheese given a hilariously crackling quality. There is casual name-dropping of the thriftless consumer's objets d'art; conversations that range from Bugaboo Bears (a pram, if you must ask) that knock you back a couple of lakhs, to luxury watches, the best wine and the most authentic Scotch. Mr Sharma holds forth in this department, amping up the entertainment quotient with a 'local lad' gaucheness offset by a calculating veneer, that allows him to soar at first but is ultimately the millstone around his neck.
The two characters in the drivers' seats are Maya and Karan, who spend much time trying to outwit one another even if their schemes of grand larceny come cloaked with the respectability afforded by their perceived affluence. However, the piquancy of delivery the play has in spades is not quite matched by the plot, which is set up (in the first act) to reap rich dividends, but which ends up with the audience being short-changed in a second act littered with quick fixes. That is why our two gallant frontrunners, Ms Pilgaonkar and Mr Sharma end up not quite fulfilled as characters, and remain woefully one-dimensional. Ms Pilgaonkar, especially, who otherwise pitches her performance well and allows us to buy into the notion that such a homespun woman could be dangerously gaming a situation, brings us no nearer to Maya's diabolical persuasions in the end. Even her fractured relationship with her father becomes a side note in the play.
Which brings us to Mr Hattangady's Nikhil, more a poseur than a writer, who perhaps isn't an effective stand-in for the playwright himself (as writers as characters are wont to be) even as he is put forward as the play's sole voice of reason and moral centre. The actor takes his time making sense of the play's universe, as if he's not been completely sold on the mechanics of mendacity his character (and he, in turn) would encounter. His dithering indecision could've been well served by a good dose of gravitas.
The play's true delight is Ms Abrar in what would seem like a thankless part, as she is frequently sent away to stand in the corner like an errant child, or hired out for light tipsy musical 'items' (in the style of the old-world music from Papaji's oeuvre). In all that frivolity, with remarkable verisimilitude the actor manages to pull off a triumph, her Marie Antoinette-esqe flair holding well the inequities of class that the play wants to train an eye on, and her well-judged performance nicely laced with observational tics in both delivery and deportment.
Ultimately, for Akvarious Productions, with its marked propensity for 'tried and tested' pieces in recent years, this new original piece is certainly a step in the right direction (Mr Khurana and Mr Kale had collaborated a decade earlier when they were Thespo neophytes). If it falters, it is probably due to the dictates of an imagined demographic, which possibly means it hasn't faltered at all.
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