Saturday night, our school marked its first anniversary with a musical. Set in modern day India and loosely based on the story of the Pied Piper, Ratting Out is the story of a small town with a big problem.
Complete with lively markets and corrupt politicians ( of which I played one), the town has been pestered by rats. When an unusual hero, a piper steps in to save the day for a lakh of rupees, everyone is delighted. Of course, as the story goes, the mayor refuses to pay him, and the piper sets off to take his terrible revenge. But this is modern day India, that stuff can't happen. Instead, we have a bunch of reporters taking up the Piper's case, widespread protests and a public interest litigation against the government, before the mayor and her councillors are forced to resign. And there it is, a happy ending. Well, except for the councillors, but they deserved it anyway.
That was the story, but summaries of musicals don't make satisfactory subjects to write about ( like English teachers say : if it's a summary, you get an F). I will proceed by writing about what this play did to me.
Having never acted before, I found this play to be quite a thought-provoker.
I had always believed acting to be a shallow profession; after all, who can live their entire life pretending to be someone else? Especially in this world where everyone is permanently preaching about the importance of being your own unique person, acting to me was simply not comprehensible. Of course, I was part of the drama club ever since it started ( up until the school decided that twelfth graders did not need the club block because we needed to focus on their studies - yeah right, as if we're ever going to open a textbook), and drama was fun. But up until now I had never perceived drama as something other than pretending.
I realised that acting is more about studying people than it is about imitating them. People are programmed to respond in similar ways to similar situations and to pick up subtle clues about what people are feeling without realising it. In drama, as I learnt, every single countenance, gesture and movement is emphasized, made larger than life not for fun but to unmistakably get across our own, personal message, because everything looks smaller from the seating area than it looks from on stage. To an audience, perhaps, it may just be pretense, but to an actor, the reality is different.
I discovered this reality for myself when I played the role of the corrupt Minister of Food and Agriculture in the musical, and this too when I had just two lines. After the initial disappointment of having just two lines in the entire production wore off, I was determined to let them be the most perfectly delivered two lines in the history of drama ( of course, that doesn't really happen but I was determined to try). I was already used to being a girl and I decided that I wanted to be a man ( and that women had to wear saaris and the last time I wore one it was a fail) and because my hair was long, I was made a sardar. I'd decided that I didn't want to just go up to the mic and say my lines just as everyone would, but that I would be that character, with his culture, history, swag, accent and of course his looks. I started learning Punjabi and observing men, the way they walked, sat and ate, and then I began imitating them. I walked like a man, sat with my legs apart and tried to speak Punjabi myself. I modified my lines and sentence structures to sound like my corrupt minister. By the day of the play, I had created an entire context for my character, an alternate reality, after stepping into which I ceased to be me but was him.
After the play, many people congratulated me. During a speech when the chief guest said that parents and teachers should let children choose their passions, a teacher whispered to me saying, " I do not want you to be a doctor or an engineer. When you grow up I want you to be a Sardarji". I guess I can take that as a compliment.
Enough with jokes, but the truth is, when I was up there, I was no longer Srishti. The council meeting was my reality. I could not see or hear anything beyond the semi circular stage of the amphitheatre.
It was not until then that I realised that acting is not just pretending but observing fundamental human behaviour and using it to your advantage. When your character has not just lines but a context, a history, a culture, a family, he automatically becomes more believable. When you understand your character on a deep level, it shows: you put up a better act.
Complete with lively markets and corrupt politicians ( of which I played one), the town has been pestered by rats. When an unusual hero, a piper steps in to save the day for a lakh of rupees, everyone is delighted. Of course, as the story goes, the mayor refuses to pay him, and the piper sets off to take his terrible revenge. But this is modern day India, that stuff can't happen. Instead, we have a bunch of reporters taking up the Piper's case, widespread protests and a public interest litigation against the government, before the mayor and her councillors are forced to resign. And there it is, a happy ending. Well, except for the councillors, but they deserved it anyway.
That was the story, but summaries of musicals don't make satisfactory subjects to write about ( like English teachers say : if it's a summary, you get an F). I will proceed by writing about what this play did to me.
Having never acted before, I found this play to be quite a thought-provoker.
I had always believed acting to be a shallow profession; after all, who can live their entire life pretending to be someone else? Especially in this world where everyone is permanently preaching about the importance of being your own unique person, acting to me was simply not comprehensible. Of course, I was part of the drama club ever since it started ( up until the school decided that twelfth graders did not need the club block because we needed to focus on their studies - yeah right, as if we're ever going to open a textbook), and drama was fun. But up until now I had never perceived drama as something other than pretending.
I realised that acting is more about studying people than it is about imitating them. People are programmed to respond in similar ways to similar situations and to pick up subtle clues about what people are feeling without realising it. In drama, as I learnt, every single countenance, gesture and movement is emphasized, made larger than life not for fun but to unmistakably get across our own, personal message, because everything looks smaller from the seating area than it looks from on stage. To an audience, perhaps, it may just be pretense, but to an actor, the reality is different.
I discovered this reality for myself when I played the role of the corrupt Minister of Food and Agriculture in the musical, and this too when I had just two lines. After the initial disappointment of having just two lines in the entire production wore off, I was determined to let them be the most perfectly delivered two lines in the history of drama ( of course, that doesn't really happen but I was determined to try). I was already used to being a girl and I decided that I wanted to be a man ( and that women had to wear saaris and the last time I wore one it was a fail) and because my hair was long, I was made a sardar. I'd decided that I didn't want to just go up to the mic and say my lines just as everyone would, but that I would be that character, with his culture, history, swag, accent and of course his looks. I started learning Punjabi and observing men, the way they walked, sat and ate, and then I began imitating them. I walked like a man, sat with my legs apart and tried to speak Punjabi myself. I modified my lines and sentence structures to sound like my corrupt minister. By the day of the play, I had created an entire context for my character, an alternate reality, after stepping into which I ceased to be me but was him.
After the play, many people congratulated me. During a speech when the chief guest said that parents and teachers should let children choose their passions, a teacher whispered to me saying, " I do not want you to be a doctor or an engineer. When you grow up I want you to be a Sardarji". I guess I can take that as a compliment.
Enough with jokes, but the truth is, when I was up there, I was no longer Srishti. The council meeting was my reality. I could not see or hear anything beyond the semi circular stage of the amphitheatre.
It was not until then that I realised that acting is not just pretending but observing fundamental human behaviour and using it to your advantage. When your character has not just lines but a context, a history, a culture, a family, he automatically becomes more believable. When you understand your character on a deep level, it shows: you put up a better act.
