I had always known that today, performance day, would be a tough one. There was a lot to do. Put up the set, point and focus the lights, rig the sound (once the guys had managed to rouse the caretaker to let them in.) I arrived at eleven or so, and was immediately alarmed to find some of the team outside, welding together Prospero’s raised platform (without the use of any sort of mask, naturally – he merely squinted.) But all was well – health and safety prevented them from doing this onstage, apparently. The hope was that, once everything was in place, we could have a rin-through of the tech cues, then a dress rehearsal, then two performances. Like I say, a tough day.
I had been determined to remain patient throughout, but my patience was being sorely tested. It was not the tech side of things that was the issue – they had been remarkably efficient. But we also had a small army of volunteers from Mimesis to dress the set, and it was them who, tying long strips of cloth to lengths of bamboo; wiring together cleverly constructed skeletons, huge spiders, enormous Venus fly-traps; and attaching greenery to the tower, caused the delay; there was absolutely no sense of urgency, you would think we had all day. Still, not to worry so I was told, and had every reason to believe it. It was a sjort play, lasting just about an hour. The matinee was due to start at 3.30. A nd Indian time meant it was a bare minimum of 4.
So although it was gone 2 before we finally cleared the stage and began the dress run (no time for a tech, they would just have to work it out as we went along) and we were cutting it fine to have any sort of break before the matinee, we ought to have been fine. Not that the dress run was going particularly well; far from it There was a small group of students who were sat in the auditorium; slightly irritating for me, all the more so since they were scarcely witnessing anything of quality. But then they were joined by a larger one. They were trying their best not to be noisy, but they disrupted my attention. And then the floodgates opened, and in the students poured. Which was the point where I lost it. My patience, my temper, my sense of proportion all went; the fact that it was not going well only added to my distress. “What is going on?” I raged, unforgivably, at Rohit. “We have to stop the rehearsal,” he told me. “We need to start the show.” “We can’t!”
For some reason, crowds of students had arrived early, and Rohit, concerned that there might be an accident, had bowed to the inevitable and let them in. The one time Indian time had ceased to operate was the one time we needed it to. As the play came to an end, I stormed down to the front, and brought it to a halt. The cast were corralled into the largest dressing room, and I raced through giving them (most of) my notes, before exiting into the stairwell and into tears, aa privately as I could manage.
We managed to start the matinee at 4, and at last I could almost afford to relax. I took my place once again at the back of the auditorium, writing my notes by the light from the tech office. As I had hoped, things went far more smoothly this time. We were almost full, but everyone seemed to be focused on the play, and especially in comparison with what had gone before, it went pretty well. I was still in no mood or condition to change into the smart clothes I had brought, but everyone there seemed to enjoy it, and we received a lively, enthusiastic response. I was somewhat swamped by the small crowd wanting selfies, autographs, information. I am sure I would have appreciated it more had I not felt so tired, so hot, so grubby.
After a short break, and far fewer notes, we started again. This time, I had time to change, and felt a little less stressed, and sat, as I usually do for the final performance, on the front row, between Val and Saba’s husband Fehmi (Geeta had been going to come, but had had to go to Delhi, so had sent her apologies.) And the performance was the best yet, my only slight disappointment being the storm – the tempest, I suppose – which had been tremendously loud during the afternoon, and now seemed curiously muted.
The show was an undoubted success – standing ovation and all that. But neither Rohit nor I were in a state to enjoy it as we ought: too much pressure, too much stress. Inevitably, there was a post-curtain call scrum on stage, first with every man, woman and their dog called up to be thanked. I don’t enjoy all that at all, it reeks too much of amdram to me, would never be tolerated on a professional stage back home. But here, it’s the culture, and I understand the inclusive sentiment, which I do approve of. But then there was what seemed an endless round of meeting people, receiving thanks, shaking hands, taking selfies. It was families, friends, relatives, and again I cannot disapprove of the sentiment. But Val and I just wanted it to be over, to go home.
Beautiful..