A post about Prachyanat Schools 10 Year Anniversary and The Tempest

"It's today, it's today, it's today!' In the demure shell of my oncoming adulthood (I hope) I was caging an enthusiasm that reminded me of George Little in Stuart Little as he dashed across the corridor screaming with joy that the day had finally arrived to bring his new brother home. I had no idea what to expect of the day. But anything new and untouched allures me like light does a moth and the oblivion itself was enticing.

 

I was up and dressed for the occassion (or so I thought) much sooner than needed. Yanking along my nonchalant younger sister as my only willing companion, I started off towards the Shilpokala Academy. After an annoyingly long ride to the location we were finally there.

 

Alien! I was completely estranged in this artistic realm and in the back of my mind I kept expecting an alarm to go off somewhere in the building. Everyone around me was a some-one. There was creativity in every corner of that confetti-carpeted lounge. Girls clad in multicoloured sarees, men with heads wrapped in tightly wound fabrics, a circle of smiling students swaying with the rhythm of their tablas and lively Bengali songs...I had never felt so happy being a complete outsider. I was enthralled at having the opportunity to be a spectator of such a stimulating environment.

 

Oddly enough, somehow I felt at home. Perhaps it was because of the string of oddity itself that emanated in that atmosphere. I have always felt slightly out of place wherever I have gone or been but as I looked around me I realized that there wasn't a single person in that room who was not proud to say they were different. The more I observed them the happier I became.

 

I was so consumed by this hitherto untasted ambiance and engaged in devouring every second of it that an hour passed without my notice and it was eventually time to make a que for entering the hall. Just when I thought my senses had been satiated, a loud, pulsating drumming began to fill the air and a group of cheerful, clapping young men and women added to the thumping with songs and tambourine playing. What a sight to behold! The first thing that struck me and that left the deepest mark was the avidity and rapture they exuded as they sang and danced with utter bliss. They were doing what they loved. And it showed.

 

The audience poured into the hall one by one, eager to get the best seats and after finding myself a comfortable spot I sat down. After the three opening speeches and certificate-giving ceremony were over, the moment I had been waiting for was finally here. Down fell the classic red curtains and all went silent in anticipation for the play to commence.

 

How do I even begin to describe my first theatre experience? Exquisite, superb, unsurpassable, insurmountable? My futile scribbles don't seem to do it any justice. Sitting in the far end of the darkened hall, mystified by the magic of the performers on stage, the one thing I regreted above all was not having a notepad in my tiny clutch. Too many reeling emotions sprung like a wildfire within me as the play proceeded and the whole while I tried desperately to engrave each thrilling sensation in the pages of my mind. There were times when the annoying flash of a friend's camera would awaken me from my sleep-like trance and make me realize that my mouth was actually hanging wide open in an embarrassing neglect of manners. And then ofcourse, the onset of self-reproach: what had I been doing this whole time? How had I managed to lock myself out from such an extraordinary world? Enough! Concentrate on the play!

 

But even that proved a challenge. Amidst the enchanting, traditionally-inclined background music ebbing in harmonious synchronisation with the actors' lines and the marvelous acting ability of the performers, I found it difficult to prevent myself from simply gaping in awe at everything I saw and heard. But somehow I managed to keep my head in the story and as I watched I picked my favourite actor.

 

From the very first moment Caliban came on scene, animal-like in his stance and wreathed in rags, I was an immediate fan. His performance was outstanding and he had me captivated entirely in his every word. I was stupefied at the way he moved across the stage as though he were truly a half monster. And that voice! It rang through till the very end of the large hall with a power that superseded that of all the other voices. After every act, the croud was instinctively thrown into a clapping fit. I was not alone in my admiration.

 

When the last scene had been performed and that final veil of darkness clouded my vision, I felt a mixture of emotions rushing through me: amazement, delight, disappointment and the fiery sting of finality. It was over and as I watched the curtains rise to expose the actors bowing to the audience, I gazed with reverence at the performers. I tried to catch a glimpse of the expression each one wore. Like evidence of their talent. Yes, there it was: pride. My last thought as I left the hall was: I cannot wait to be a part of this again.

 

Sir, I'm really grateful for this experience. Thankyou so much!

Author

Sarah Iqbal