The Drama Queen

An interview with Lilette Dubey

"Theatre is a cultural habit that takes time to develop. It isn't highly developed in India, but spaces like NCPA, Prithvi, Ranga Shankara are big propellants in helping the habit grow."
-- Lilette Dubey

She has been romancing the stage for over three decades, "Thirty-five years, I think, yes, definitely," she says, and has charmed audiences with her screen presence. Lilette Dubey is the lady who has wowed us with both her striking performance and her looks, ageing gracefully as she has.
"I started doing theatre when I was in college. I was in Delhi and I was part of the theatre that was happening in places like Lady Shriram College. I did some, what I would call semi-professional theatre back then. But the bug had bitten me and it has been my most enduring passion," Lilette says.She is bringing her directorial venture, Mahesh Dattani's 'Brief Candle', to town in support of the India Foundation for the Arts on September 6 at Chowdiah Memorial Hall.
Lilette, an actress at heart, became part of the television and film fraternities around ten years back with serials like 'Raahein' and 'Aur Phir Ek Din'. With the films 'Bawandar' and 'Zubeidaa', she had etched an indelible mark in filmdom as well, with around 30 films to her credit.
But Lilette feels that for an actor, there is no other place than theatre. "Film is a very visual medium in which the vision of the director dominates. Also, since it is a commercial medium, a lot of external factors determine how it will turn out." The immediacy with the audience, the freedom of choice and the suspension of disbelief, using which actors can virtually convince the audience of anything, draw Lilette to drama.
The actress says she was drawn to direction because she wanted "full creative licence to do the kind of work I wanted to do". Whether it is experimental theatre or the traditional form, Lilette looks for original content. "The production should be context-driven and I feel the theme should explore relationships at some level," she says. Even Sammy, that was based on Mahatma Gandhi, was more an exploration of his mind, rather than his life, Lilette adds.
She founded a theatre company, the Theatre Action Group, in Delhi. "We wanted to find a distinct voice for Indian theatre in English," she says. The group will turn twenty in early 2011, and Lilette has big plans for the birthday celebration, which includes staging their best and most-loved productions at the end of next year.
Right now, she is deeply absorbed in shooting 'Pankh', being directed by Sudipto Chattopadhyay. "It is a deep, dark and disturbing film and I love being a part of it." She is also busy with "a bunch of other commercial films", including 'I Am 24' whose shoot has recently concluded. She is also planning a new stage production in another seven months and is looking for something fresh for that.
Acting and directing have been done. One would wonder if she will take up the pen next. "I enjoy writing very much, and my writing will have to be fiction. Honestly, I've never thought of writing a play because it is a very complex craft. The simplest play, I would think, is more complex than the most interesting film. But yes, I have contemplated direction in films," Lilette replies. The fans will surely be waiting for that.

Mrs Goody Two Shoes VI

When they come calling

Entertaining relatives is a game that you have to play by the rules

All this sweet talk about how they are lucky to have you in their family, how you are the daughter that they had always waited for -- it is all hogwash, patronising guff oozing with a sugary syrup that makes you go green with sickness. It is just a customary ritual that the relatives from the other side observe, perhaps out of habit, and the emptiness of the words as they tumble out one after another, tripping on each other in an effort to sound genuine, can leave you staring in amazement.
What astounds me more is when I smile back, with all the well-practised artifices of a veteran actress. A touch of coyness dripping with gratitude for having been allowed a place in the family tree, I say, "I am the fortunate one here to have found a family like you." The hollow sounding phrase hurts my ears, but it seems to please them a lot, well, at least, on the surface it does. They pat my cheeks lightly with the air that only aunts-in-law could have cultivated over centuries, a slight condescension and the kind of pitiful affection one would generally show a stray that comes wagging its tails behind you. You just take it under your shelter because you can afford to, and it seems, they have obliged me by taking me under the wings of their family.
In return, you have to make the right moves. Especially when they come calling. One afternoon, an aunt dropped in for lunch. It was a hot, summer afternoon, the kind where you just get plain lazy. But my day turned into a series of errands. Warm the food, lay the table (with perfection) -- which I wouldn't have done if I was left to myself, preferring to eat sandwiches while lying on the couch -- followed by serve the food, clean the table, give her a change of comfortable clothes, draw the curtains so that the room became dark enough for her to sleep, switch on the AC the moment she uttered, "Oh, what a hot..." No, it wasn't quite like she was pushing me to do it. No. She just took all of it for granted. If you are the daughter-in-law of the house, you do all that, and more. Yes, more. You massage her feet as she falls asleep because, "I had such a tiring walk. My feel are killing me."
Not that she did all that to torture me. It is an integral part of the whole act and since I have an almost lead role in the drama, I had to play along.
Sometimes, I just wonder at the futility of it all. It is all such a big sham. You can't pick and choose your family, and most of the times, you don't have the freedom to sift people who surround you. But sometimes, I wish they would not kill me, and my reputation, for being honest. I just wish I could scream for once, "Just let me be! I don't want to entertain aunt A, although I don't quite mind aunt B, and, given a choice, I would rather just be with myself."

Where nonsense makes sense

I sat and listened to a dialogue between a mature adult and her very young audience. A dialogue in gibberish. Riddled with meaninglessness for the mature, 'sensible' adult. And then I realised that 30-odd toddlers, hovering around the age bracket of one-and-a-half and three, were sitting mesmerised and responding instinctively to those absurd noises. It made me wonder whether those young, impressionable minds may not have a much better understanding of intuitive communication, something the process of growing up has robbed us of.
The tiny tots were watching a play.
They were at Ranga Shankara, not creating a ruckus, only pottering about once in a while for a better view of actors, Jule Kracht and Jörg Fischer. Did you just say, a theatre performance for 20-month-olds, that too something that holds their attention, is inconceivable? Not quite.
Ask the members of Schnawwl Theatre, a German group who brought 'The Great Lalula' to town as part of Ranga Shankara and Britannia's AHA! children's theatre festival, and they will tell you.
Anne from Schnawwl says that even the "very small ones" have the right to take part in what is aesthetic and cultural in society and so, they thought of making the theatre experience more inclusive, reaching out to toddlers. 'The Great Lalula', directed by Marcela Herrera and Nicole Libnau, involved intense research for two years before such theatre could take shape. The members visited kindergartens to study child behaviour. They had to understand infant psychology and "find themes and games toddlers are interested in and then, create a theatre pedagogic and an artwork theatre production".
Using Christian Morgenstern's 100-year-old nonsense poem, Schnawwl came up with a unique theatrical experience for little ones. "This poem has a good sound that great for theatre. The research also involved work with Dadaist artists to know about languages," says Anne.
The kids get to sit on the stage, and can almost touch the funnily, very colourfully dressed actors. And when the artistes start speaking a lingo that only they can fathom -- mumbles, laughter, jabber, weird noises and wordplay -- their day is made.
When the actors went "Bifzi, bafzi, hulalemi... laloooooooolaa...", one could hear tiny voices in the auditorium, making conversation on similar terms with them. As they repeated phrases, sang and frolicked about, the toddlers became part of the action. "La, Lu," they responded.
"The play evokes curiosity about words, how they sound, what colour they are and how to play with them. 'Theatre From the Very Beginning' project is not only about addressing a very young audience but also about rediscovering theatre in its original form," say the directors.
The only props are utensils, sand and a bucket, and the music the artistes make out of them -- 'choo choo' of a train, tunes to which they sing 'lalula', background score et all -- can get anyone hooked. For the kids, it is the universe they love to be in, represented in a more glorified way.
Anne says, "There are two different sides of our project. One, creating a professional play for toddlers and second, developing games and theatre pedagogic for and with toddlers - little presentations in a warm and known atmosphere can take place too."
I asked two-year-old Aliya, who was busy playing with the props, about her experience. "Naaaice!" When she looked up with imploring eyes to ask, "No popcorn?" I realised how important it was for them to have come to an experience removed from the usual television and movie-going ones. It was 'naaaice', when, forgetting the popcorn, she turned back and said, "Lalu!!"

Shatarupa Chaudhuri
shatarupa@epmltd.com

Mrs Goody Two Shoes V

Battling the brochures

I salute the salesmanship of my colleagues. And I envy their ability to make some extra money, that too, at my cost

I had had to cook a thousand dishes for the guests who were coming in the evening, skip breakfast in the process, wear crumpled clothes and, after this morning saga of bedlam, barely managed to reach office on time. There were a million, zillion things on my mind, not least of them being how to keep the Boss happy (for yet another day, trust me, it is quite a daily challenge). I was just catching my breath and leafing through my daily planner to see where all in the city my job I needed me to be during the day. So, it wasn't the best of times to be accosted by the mini businessmen (and women) who seem to be omnipresent in office premises across sectors, and who somehow manage to find time out of their regular office schedule to make that extra dough.
Rupali, a senior in the reporting section, swooped in on me. "Look at these gorgeous little sparklers hon'." I cringed. It was nine in the morning. I was starving. In another 20 minutes I had to drive miles for an interview. It took a good ten-second pause before I could turn around and fathom what she was talking about. "Great range of colours, and 10% discount for my special customers."
If you still haven't inferred what the fuss was all about, it was a lipstick range from one of those companies -- Avon, Oriflame, Amway -- which prefer to build an army of representatives to beleaguer innocents like me instead making their products sit pretty on some supermarket shelf. And the business acumen of the soldiers, of whom Rupali is one, would be exemplary for any small-scale industry model.
"Uh, Rupali, I am somewhat hard pressed for time now, so if we could talk about this later?"
"Oh come on! Just take one look. These babies are so gorgeous (she needs more adjectives) they'll make you drool." It is just appalling how everyone wants instant gratification, kind of like it is merely an extension of instant coffee. She thrust the booklet at my face, and left with a "Just mark which ones you want, I'll get them tomorrow." How presumptuous! I hadn't even committed to anything.
Truth be told, I did not need to commit. They just know their war is won the moment they have slyly slipped the brochures into my hands. I am not avaricious, no. But, either to please the battalion of seniors or to act like the benefactor of the whining bundle of juniors, I have bought everything from Tupperware glasses, bowls, bottles to orange lipsticks and green nail shades. So, I am a 'special customer' all right, beguiled every time, and, at the end of the day, staring in horror at the pile of junk that just keeps getting bigger.

Mrs Goody Two Shoes IV

So much for being polite

Some female rituals can be quite frightening -- kitty parties, for example

It was my first time. I was stepping into uncharted territory and I was super conscious about doing things right. I had been wondering the whole of last week if I fit into the demographics at all or not, but nonetheless, as in the many other things, I had already made the commitment and been dragged into the orgy of pink lipsticks and heavy jewellery, of chiffons and silks.
I blame my extremely good upbringing for this. I mean, for the fact that I had landed myself in this mess of all things I propose to stand against. What had conspired was simple. The bell rang one evening and Mrs Bhasin made an entry with aplomb. We looked such an anti-thesis to each other -- she in her over-dressed plumpness, a thick fog of perfume hanging around, and me looking like a scraggly alley cat, lying on the sofa like a recluse munching on a leftover piece of chocolate, devouring Ralph Fiennes in the '92 version of 'Wuthering Heights'.
Mrs Bhasin's conversations never have introductions, her questions are mostly rhetorical. She swooped in on me, "You don't have any friends, no? Nothing to do in the evenings? Oh ho, why I hadn't thought of that before?" "That's not really true and I don't see why you have to even bother thinking about that," is what I had hoped I could say, but instead, I gave her that well-remembered Puss in Boots look from 'Shrek'.
"You have to, have to come this Saturday evening to my kitty party. I have organised a big thing, you know? And I am taking out my best dinner set also!" she was full of glee. I so wanted to get her out of the house, and because of my erstwhile mentioned upbringing, the "Of course" just slipped out.
That Saturday, I was in the sets of one of the Ekta Kapoor serials. Or something grander. The ladies were dressed to kill (you would die if you actually saw the heavy coating of foundation, matching bag-shoe-sari-eyeshadow).
Shriek: "Ooooh! Mr Bhasin is soooo romantic. He gave you heart-shaped diamond locket for birthday?"
Gloating: "New shoes, Latika? But I have told my husband's (no name taking and all) big brother to get me Manolos."
Drawl: "I am so bored with the Mercedes, I'm going in for an Audi this month."
They made it all sound like grocery, and I couldn't, of course. Their only other topic was Hindi serials, in which I couldn't participate, of course.So, at the end of the ritual, my head was in a tizzy. Clueless in a gang of raving females, with no diamonds or Audis in sight of my life for miles, I was being smothered. I think I even muttered in a very filmy fashion, "Mein kaun hoon? Mein kahan hoon?"

Mrs Goody Two Shoes - III

Living in adland

My eyes fill up with tears when these ads show the wives washing, cleaning, caring all day. How well they know my life. Except I can't do all that with their robotic smiles

7 a.m. Lights, camera, action. I wake up, slip on my milk white silk gown, run my fingers through my hair in this indolent, sensuous sort of way, and head for the bathroom for the early morning beautification process.
Cut to Scene II. My lustrous hair is tied neatly in a bun and I splash water on my face in slow motion, and then look up in all splendour, smiling at the mirror as if to brighten up the whole world.
Scene III. I have strolled into the kitchen with my gown swishing in an early morning breeze. A ray of sunlight falls angularly on my face as I put the water on boil, dip Tetley green tea in it and then, with the tray in my hand, lovingly wake up my husband with a mint-fresh kiss. I smile at the world (again) and say, "I make sure that my husband begins his day in a healthy way. Do you?"

7 a.m. The alarm goes off. I am all groggy but there's no way out. There's no real Tetley in my kitchen, I look a mess from last night's movie marathon and drinking binge (yes, I do that, although the neighbours don't quite know), I feel pretty much like scum, the sun actually never peeps through my tiny kitchen window... but my life still feels like an ad film.
Come on, we know the kinds. It is a world where shiny, happy wives wear lipstick at home, are dressed in their wardrobe best and are running around to make sure the husband stays healthy and happy. When the husband fails to run the race in the son's school, it is time to change the oil she uses, of course. (Or was it the sugar? Or the cereal?). Then comes sorting and cleaning piles of laundry, making sure that the cuffs and collars of the husbands are squeaky clean (is that an expression the wife is allowed to use with reference to clothing?) or vacuuming and cooking.
And I stare at them with bewilderment. How do these guys know my life so well? When I'd rather be manicuring my nails, I am stirring the soup. Then I am scurrying to wash, dry, iron, arrange in neat stacks.
After all this, chachiji next door gives the husband a sympathetic look, throws me a lovingly admonishing look, "Look at the boy [she calls him a BOY for heaven's sake... ugh!]. He's looking so dry [chachiji, that's because he isn't drunk] and thin [you mean, not overweight, right?]. Feed him properly beta."
That's not where it ends. She has a dose intended specifically for me. "And you look so dark. What is that, a pimple? Arrey apply some cream-shreem. How haggard you look beside this young boy."
My temper had hit the skies by then. "Sure chachiji, I will do that," I give a saccharine smile. And loathe myself for doing that.

Mrs Goody Two Shoes - II

Adjust maadi with canines and felines

There is only so much one can do for them. Alley cats and the stray dogs, but can one go any further than that?


In our home, we had eighteen windows and four doors on the groundfloor. And as happens in houses with a dozen people living there and dozen more walking in and out daily, those windows and doors were never shut. So along with the dozen visitors came in the alley cats and the stray pups who gradually overpowered our senses and usurped our lives. These smooth operators used only heavy doses of emotional atyachaar so that the items on the top of shopping lists changed from sausages for me to fish for the cats and meat for the dogs, the first morning chore became mixing a huge bowl of chapatis with milk (full of cream), and every outing was planned around their convenience.
I have invested my emotions and time in them, adored them, been blinded in love. So no one, no animal rights activists, no ardent dog lovers or cat followers, NO ONE, can ever say that I do not know how to adjust maadi with these animals around. Well, but one must accept that I am human, and even if they say I have a big heart and am a kind soul, there is no way I could shower my love unquestioningly on the universal set of animals.
I mean, when this (senior) colleague of mine would passionately show me images she has downloaded ("I have chosen the very best ones" and oh, that gleam in her eyes) of snakes, she was testing my patience, my courage, my being-grossed-out quotient. No offence to charmed-by-snakes people, but I was traumatised by those images hours after there had been a slide show of the reptiles in the office which I had to politely watch.
Well, as I was saying, I do tolerate dogs and cats. And one day, I got talking to generous, rotund Latika auntie in our complex, who loves feeding all around her, which would include us and the large family of strays right outside the gate (who get double treats since the food she brings us also mostly go to them). So as we were having a 'conversation', she manipulated me into her ritual of giving breakfast, lunch and dinner to the animals. My grocery list now included four liters of milk instead of two, 2 kg of meat instead of one and so on and so forth. I began living with it. Until, one morning... "Beta, bring some bananas and apples also na." "Vegetarian canines and felines?" I wondered in my drowsy, fuzzy mind. "Look who I have brought. Are they not beautiful cows?" Hold it, HOLD it! I didn't bargain for this! Fresh fruits for my morning salad, being chewed by cows as they put their heads through my balcony railings. And in return, they turned their backs, liberally sprinkled their 'holy water' right outside my home (with some sprays hitting me) and left without so much as a thank you...