Aparita

Artwood Theatre, Toronto

We were ushered in from the stifling humidity outside - ‘A mujra will precede the play’ - into the cooler insides of the theatre. It was 7:30, half an hour before the play was scheduled to start, and making our way towards the auditorium we could hear the tinkle of ghungroos, the soft strains of sitar and tabla. As we took our seat, Bageshree Vaze danced to the music of Anwar Khursid and Ravi Naimpally, all clad in costumes reminiscent of the Moghul courts of eighteenth century performing several short pieces, followed by a short musical piece sung by Anwar Khurshid.

After this brief prologue, the play started. Translated and adapted from the Hindi play by Geetanjali Shree, which in turn was adapted from the novel Umrao Jaan Ada by Mirza Mohammad Hadi Ruswa, Umrao was, overall, a pleasure to watch. It definitely fulfilled the mandate of Rasik Arts - to bring contemporary Indian theatre to Canada - and raised some interesting questions.

The play opened with a modern narrator, perhaps here in Toronto, eulogizing over the romantic notion of terraces. Into her narrative jumped in Ruswa, the supposed narrator of Umrao Jaan’s story (she is believed to be a fictitious character), which was followed by the arrival of Umrao herself, the narrator of her own story. Dramatically, then, there was a constant reminder of watching a play by using the trope of meta-theatre, or a play within a play. But it was also very interesting to see three narrators on stage, often interrupting each other’s narratives, which raises the important question of voice. The novel Umrao Jaan Ada was written by Ruswa, a male voice. But the play we see unfold on stage is shown to us through the eyes of Umrao, lending a feministic approach.

This brings an interesting twist to the play. On the surface, the play is merely the story of Umrao Jaan, replete with lovely costumes, magnificent verses and music ensconced in the celebrated etiquette that the city of Lukhnow was known for. But at the heart of the story is a courtesan - a very paradoxical phenomenon. Eighteenth century courtesans were not mere prostitutes, but were also considered the cultural repositories of the cities they belonged to. Young nawabs, or aristocrats, were sent to the kotha to learn the art of verse and etiquette. A courtesan was a highly educated woman, fluent in a few languages, besides being adept in music and dance. She also enjoyed a greater amount of freedom that was not available to cloistered women of noble families. And yet, the stigma of being a ‘dancing woman’ always stayed with her. Umrao, in showing us her trials and tribulations, brings some of these issues to light.

Since the play is set in a kotha, Umrao puts it to full effect by using it as a backdrop for the play to unfold. Throughout the performance, Khurshid and Naimpally remained on stage, accompanying Samidha Joglekar’s vocal rendition of Umrao, the singer as well as Bageshree Vaze’s depiction of Umrao, the dancer. This detail was aesthetically very pleasing and was used to good effect - every time Umrao, the actress would utter a nazm or a ghazal, Umrao, the singer, would pick it up and sing it in the background while the actors would translate it into English, or whenever there would be mention of Umrao, the dancer, Bageshree would float on stage and perform. However, it became too much at times especially when some of the dramatic action of the play was drowned by the music and dance and one’s attention was constantly flitting between the acting, the singing and the dancing.

The various performers were adept at their art. Joglekar’s voice, though somewhat uncertain at times, was a pleasure to listen to, and was accompanied deftly by Khurshid and Naimpally. One could not fault Vaze’s peformance, but it lacked a certain joy of performing, which could be seen in Ellora Patnaik’s depiction of Umrao. She was at once the innocent, the coquette, the tortured and the elegant Umrao, and when occasion required it, the sneering Pir Baksh or the hesitant mother. Patnaik’s own training in dance, as well as theatre, undoubtedly made her appreciate the complexity of the role of Umrao. Oporajito Banerjee’s Gohar was also very well performed, full of the mischievousness and the, well, femininity that it demanded.

The only small issue that I had with the play is one with which the director has grappled - Umrao loses something by way of translation. And since it was performed in English, there were times when several actors were teetering between an Indian accent and a Canadian one. Rupinder Nagra, who excellently played Faiz Ali with the brute force that it required, did well by sticking to a Canadian accent - at least there was a consistency to his role.

With just a few loose ends to tighten, Umrao is definitely a play to watch.

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