Embedded Files
I still don’t know how long I’ll remain enchanted by that vast ocean. Every time I see it, every time I’m with it, I find myself asking questions again—fumbling, searching, and slowly rising once more. The questions I ask myself, and the answers I stumble upon, the sea has always given me the strength to look at them objectively. It did the same even during our recent meeting.
As the lighthouse melted into the dusk, I don't know why, but it didn’t feel like a lighthouse anymore—it felt like the setting sun itself. And once again, I found myself returning to those words: “I understood all that was beyond the words.” I began searching for the meaning of that line all over again. Of course, I had no expectation of finding any definitive answers then, and I don’t have any now either. They’ll come to me when they are meant to.
We had reached such a far-flung corner that Sawantwadi was now just thirty minutes away. So, we decided to return via Amboli. When we set off the next morning, we realized amidst our chatter that we had taken a completely different route. By then, it was clear that a rehearsal of a play was taking place nearby. Naturally, due to time constraints, we weren’t planning to stop—but just as we were about to drive on, we decided it was worth taking a detour to find out where we had gone off-track. And so, we turned the car around and headed straight to where the rehearsal was happening.
I’ve always loved Goa—for many reasons—and I deeply admire the people there. There’s such genuine appreciation and respect I hold for them that even their smallest actions impress me. And now, here they were rehearsing a play. A group of young people, likely between the ages of 20 and 28, were preparing for a performance to be staged that evening at their local village fair.
Where we stayed—Arambol—I saw several posters of plays. None of the performances were happening during our stay, and perhaps that’s why fate brought us to the rehearsal instead.
A strange and beautiful blend of Dashavatari theatre, folk traditions, contemporary drama, and cinema reflected in the story, acting styles, and various other elements of the play. To someone like me, with a narrow frame of reference, such maturity was both surprising and enlightening.
Though the play was in formal Marathi, the actors and directors conversed among themselves in Konkani, returning to standard Marathi when needed. Even this switching of language felt theatrical. The play itself was set in a house in Mumbai, with characters most people would recognize from daily life, making every interaction feel deeply familiar—as if it were happening in one’s own home.
Often, the dialogues weren’t memorized completely, so there was a prompter. It felt like he was doing the most acting! You couldn’t afford to ignore or forget him. During the climax rehearsal, the main character wasn’t present—perhaps they were yet to arrive—so the prompter suddenly stepped in and played the role on stage, while still prompting lines. That dual role—playing the character and prompting others—was a skill in itself, worthy of admiration.
Whether or not there was an official director present, I’m not sure, but there was definitely a rehearsal master—someone closely observing and guiding. The young actors likely knew the play very well, having performed or watched it several times before. They were in tune with each other. Still, the rehearsal master made the subtle, necessary adjustments to suit that day's performance.
Another striking feature was the film-like music that accompanied the scenes—adding layers to the performance and blending beautifully with it.
For someone like me, this was a learning experience—and what a way to learn! If this journey of learning ever stops, I fear I might come to an end too.
Author’s Disclaimer:
The author does not claim any creative rights over the content performed or written by the theatre group mentioned. The intention of this blog is solely to reflect on a personal experience and learning, and not to claim ownership or credit of any kind.
Page updated
Google Sites
Report abuse