Answering the dreams..
Tasveer Theatre Group was one of the most famous theatre group
of Delhi. The theatre group that mostly took up stage as a means of
expression as all the theatre groups did. Presenting both melodrama and
the serious topics side by side was in the forte of Tasveer Theatre Group.
By serious, it meant that the theatre group hit the righteous chords
with the times. As was the society, so was the expression shown on the
stage. It wasn't that they took up the same plays always. But, the
special factor about this team of theatre artists was the fact that they
were ready to practise on new themes and that was what made it
different from the others.
Theatre was meant to reach to the audience's taste. To bring fun, frolic, laughter, tears and dreams to one's imaginations. There were many definitions to theatre, that too ranging from person to person. As sincerely, it was the interpretation of life for one person that meant life to that person. Theatre was also practised to bring a change in the orthodox ideology but most importantly it was needful a fact that it was to entertain people and to not let the viewers leave their seats before the play was over and before its very meaning sensationalized. When it won the heart's of the audiences and in some way or the other influenced the person. The influence if was positive, it was then that its very job of interpretation was done beautifully.
How could the hearts of the people be won, how could they feel the connect? Who could do that, who could bring the masses to watch the play? After all the play was meant to be performed and it was for the people. Without the presence of men and women in the audience, there was no justice done to the hard work input by the artists. Many questions ranged in the director's mind. But, it wasn't merely in the hands of the director to influence the actors and the team, that included even the musicians and the light's team. It was a joint effort, when the spirits of togetherness were brought up and likewise, celebrated. Love always found its way, it was never stagnated. Love that was mutual, love that was universal, and that was a force to capture the world. It was in this combined effort that the beauty of acting could be configured. The hard work when wasn't met by completing the play but it was justified yet again by the claps of the audiences, once the play was over. It was to catch this spirit for which the artists worked day and night.
Acting always made a person know oneself better than before. It wasn't a cakewalk, it was what came with experience. From experiencing the mockery of yourself by people, to challenging yourself, of what you are capable of doing. There was never a full stop to learning, but always a newer awakening to cast the balloons, to fly higher towards the gate of enlightenment. For the true artist, theatre was like relaxation, like relieving oneself from the problems of the world. For they didn't call themselves any struggler's. They were in love with life, and that was what mattered the most.
To balance life, to make oneself busy and at the same time relaxed. About brotherhood, about caring, about being honest to self and to the people around. To know what is right and wrong, while at the same time exploring the truth.
From bringing the plot together, to the climax of the story; telling the public the highs and lows that life went through. To let them know that they were a part of the society and not exclusive of it. To let them know, that life was as painful as it was wonderful. So, there was a dire need to be vigilant from point to point in life. Life that happened to them as a gift, and they had to take it as a gift. A gift was always seen as charming and affectionate, so there was another need to see it as one; in every moment as the signature of love. A gift to the self one could give, through one's work.
The public took the seats in the theatre halls across the city. There were three such halls in the city of Sita Nagar, where Shamsher acted in his Tasveer Theatre Group. Being the director of the plays, he often acted in his own plays and also wrote them by himself. He was quite different from his counterparts, who worked as director's in other theatre groups. Shamsher took up plays and stories to be portrayed on the stage, that were written by him as well. He could easily change the script the way he felt that it did justice to the play. It was what could connect to the audience in the forefront; it was not a race to be better from anyone, but to give a better shot from the one before. Like it's often said, “Learning with the doing”. Quite serious business from one dimension, Theatre meant. Life could also be be funnier at times, but very serious in its outlining if seen with an eye of resilience and understanding. It was at last left to the actor to visualize the role that he/she was fitted into, looking at the need of the character. No role was ever any small as even an “Oh”, and a “Wow” sound could give an actor, enough space and power to reach to the hearts of the public. In the mimes rung the beauty of silence, in the solo performance rung the challenge to hold the audience together, while keeping high the morals and spirits of acting.
Shamsher had been quite adamant, as he would keep to his own writings. Having earned enough name in his line of crafts there was a passage in his life when he saw his career graph fall down. Actors didn't like his Plays. Few complained, that he added unnecessary humour to the game. They felt that acting was a game. It was a difficult time for the Tasveer Theatre Group, and it's survival didn't appear in the far-sight. The challenge remained, life stood still. Looking at the situation, at his job of being a director slid by as his actors didn't consider his expertise, he felt that it was right to keep his art with him and to take it further on. To keep it alive, he started to write only. He felt that writing was his passion and as he wasn't able to strike the chord with either his actors or his audiences; he would still work towards it. Shamsher, went to several publishing houses across his city of Sita pur but none agreed to launch his writings. The publishers, complained that his writings weren't attuned with the present scenario of the society in the world, contrary to what he confessed to them. Ideally, he wondered that he wouldn't sustain in this world where his art wasn't given enough weight and consideration.
He felt weak, within himself. Heart broken, he studied the environment, spent even more time with the Nature, his only friend in his times of loneliness. He had no family, other than his books. Having grown up in a temple in Sita pur, he had known that life wasn't always cheese and butter. It had its harsh phase too. Shamsher had become a recluse in days, ever since his group had shattered along with the many dreams. Anyhow, he was still stubborn to write his Plays and Writings. At times, he thought of asking for help from his near and dear one's. Soon, he realized that no one was there for him, and he had been like that; alone and dissipated, sans any hand of warmth outstretching his shoulders. He was young, around twenty four years old; he knew a new start could win him his world. With a fresh belief in self, he read extensively about the news of the world. What were the expectations of the people in his surroundings, in the so called society. Were they together or were they getting farther from one another. What were the reasons behind their actions. He thought all this, life was a flower; it had to be colourful and not pale, all this he said to himself.
In fewer days, he started to work at a Petrol Pump, in order to sustain his living. Then was the time, when yet again he was made the butt of jokes in his surroundings, where he ought to bring a change. These people were not understanding, let alone their virtues of being of any help. Were they useless? No, you can't say this; he wondered all by himself. No one was useless, only ideas could be so; people were meant to work towards their goals other than standing amidst the goals of others, who were serious about them.
The lines of his school master rung in his heart yet again. “No job was ever small in this world, if it filled your stomach. Rather, it was the most important gift bestowed upon you, by the Lord.” He smiled and in his free time from work at the Petrol Pump, he would write and read. From interacting with the drivers, whom he met in large numbers; he knew their complaints for the car engine at times and also on the government just like that, as it was the best past time for everyone. Shamsher was a part of every active humour that his friends in the Petrol Pump played. They were a good bunch of like-minded people who respected Shamsher the most for his cordiality of manners and disposition. On a serious note, Shamsher read the faces of people, who came up with complaints at times about the petrol hike by the government. To answer to their ambiguity, he told them that there was a machinery set up at the parliament level that decided upon the Petrol hike, and these hikes were essential at times. He shared his Economics' understanding with them. He made good friends, in his daily customers. In the lunch time, he would make the staff act and likewise cherish every moment spent under the sun. They interacted, they met, they hugged, they scolded each other at times but in the end of the day, a joke or two could bring them closer yet again. It was rightly said by someone, that love was the greatest gift, for it could bring strangers to become friends and doing justice with the ideas of brotherhood and friendship doing rounds in the Philosophical texts in the world of dreamers and game changers. Everyone thought of life from a different point of view, everyone wrote dreams, but few lived them; those few who really believed they could do it, that they did. The sun, the stars, the moon were all the same for them. Just they gave life a way, a chance, to what their heart called the most. There was no losing in the waiting. Needful it was to wait for the right moment to spring in. To let all the labour step into the righteous direction. Yet make life a victory, a song of nourishment and an honour for the generations to sing and prolong. That in its ringing, the calibre of a million stars could glow and twinkle. Then, life could say that I have made a difference by standing unaltered in the misty clouds, with grey sepulture around, whilst still smiling and waving the hard times to pass by.
Shamsher used to write when he wasn't at the Petrol Pump. He had enough stories outlined to be written, by the end of the day, when his work was over and when darkness augmented it's grace over the colouration of the sky, with the chilly winds flashing by. He didn't have any expenses to incur but he was paid quite well from the place where he worked with positivity in his eyes and breathe. As if he were waiting for a big surprise for his friends at work and for himself even. You never know, when life could surprise you with your own work. People around him now believed in his words, because they had known that he really meant what he described in his talks. Also, his work and ideology of art that he had expressed was refreshing and charming in its appearance.
It was about that day. That white, bright day when Arun banged the door of Shamsher's home, the day when he didn't turn up for work, the very first time in his one and a half years at work. It was very inspiring to take his example in the team meetings at the Petrol Pump because he never took a leave from work, even earning the badge from the Petroleum company as the Most Trusted Employee of the Year. Although, he was sound in health; the past days, it was not digestible a fact that his health wasn't in good shape, that he had to take leave. Arun, his fellow worker felt nervous when his call and the bell at the door was left unanswered. He called onto his friends, and they thrashed the door open and found that Shamsher was lying on the floor, dead.
Silence only appeared at the first sight, but sooner heavy mourning struck in the aftermath of what was unbelievable. His smiling face, was atoned even on his deathbed. His spirits, wide awaken even in his destiny. A smile on a person's face is only when a journey is complete and there is appreciation from all around that a life was lived well. Whereas, his journey was never complete, everyone assumed. Still, he had left the world with his positivity in his failing to wait any longer. "What had happened to him, how had it happened to him, why did what happened, had to happen to him?" Thoughts crossed and moved over and over one's head, for the people who had gathered around the man who taught them what living was. Never was life complete with laughter merely, he went onto saying so; that pain was also an important emotion to be lived, to complete one's life.
The last rites of Shamsher Kumar were done by his employers, his friends and his customers at the petrol pump. They paid the young man their last salute. His face, his expressions, his presence would always be missed at the Sita pur Extention- Petrol Pump.
Days passed and the house cleaning of the unknown yet known man alias dead man was brought into. Many written letters, his Plays, his Comic writings, his Longer writings were brought to the hands of his Friends. Who read it in his remembrance and with interest and curiosity to know what made such a genial heart. It was on reading his works that they understood the heart of the man who lived till his last breathe for his love, the love of his life. His Plays, were performed later on, his writings published, the people wondered why didn't all that happen whence he was alive. Shamsher Kumar had died because of intense cold of the winter as it stepped in those days, after the warmer days were over.
He had been desperate to feel the cooler breeze at night, maybe he cried and felt the mist hugging him tight hence engrossing his breathe to its end. There was a time whence his co-actors at Tasveer Theater Group never heard his voice, his notes, gave an expression of form to his visual images and interpretation of life. But, now the times had changed. People read his writings in public gatherings. Actors performed his Plays and the shows were filled with public in the amphitheatre's and the halls. The tickets were sold off, before those went for printing. Such craze, such admiration for a man's craft who had gone stalwart in great regard for his love. He died but he smiled when he left. He knew, his work was complete.
People wondered how much he could have contributed had he got more years to his short yet inspiring life but people also realized that it were they, who differentiated each other for their nature of job, for their work profile. Shamsher Kumar's writings, showed world the way the values of heart and soul could still be practised, that a poor person could get shelter if his work could be given enough importance as a rich man received for his job. Shamsher had lived as an unknown and died as one too but what he had left to the world was the known reason to live life freely and gleefully. To accept one's mistake and not let loose when the failure striked in. And to also, give a chance to someone who showed a different way to look at life. It was about being honest to your own self that the world could experience a positive change because of you. A difference, a change for good as it's often said in the society's dictionary of change and emphasis to it.
His last lines were, “Make your presence felt, even if you go away. You don't go unknown then.” He did that, as he went away only to be remembered in his endless works of written literature for the generations to read and obey his appetite for writing and dreaming hands in hand with the changing circumstances of the world. "The ethics of the world could change, but love would always remain love, and would overpower the ethics with an honest effort and response to your own heart beats, to your dreams."(written in a general context)
Gagandeep Singh Vaid
01/02/2014
10:55p.m
Theatre was meant to reach to the audience's taste. To bring fun, frolic, laughter, tears and dreams to one's imaginations. There were many definitions to theatre, that too ranging from person to person. As sincerely, it was the interpretation of life for one person that meant life to that person. Theatre was also practised to bring a change in the orthodox ideology but most importantly it was needful a fact that it was to entertain people and to not let the viewers leave their seats before the play was over and before its very meaning sensationalized. When it won the heart's of the audiences and in some way or the other influenced the person. The influence if was positive, it was then that its very job of interpretation was done beautifully.
How could the hearts of the people be won, how could they feel the connect? Who could do that, who could bring the masses to watch the play? After all the play was meant to be performed and it was for the people. Without the presence of men and women in the audience, there was no justice done to the hard work input by the artists. Many questions ranged in the director's mind. But, it wasn't merely in the hands of the director to influence the actors and the team, that included even the musicians and the light's team. It was a joint effort, when the spirits of togetherness were brought up and likewise, celebrated. Love always found its way, it was never stagnated. Love that was mutual, love that was universal, and that was a force to capture the world. It was in this combined effort that the beauty of acting could be configured. The hard work when wasn't met by completing the play but it was justified yet again by the claps of the audiences, once the play was over. It was to catch this spirit for which the artists worked day and night.
Acting always made a person know oneself better than before. It wasn't a cakewalk, it was what came with experience. From experiencing the mockery of yourself by people, to challenging yourself, of what you are capable of doing. There was never a full stop to learning, but always a newer awakening to cast the balloons, to fly higher towards the gate of enlightenment. For the true artist, theatre was like relaxation, like relieving oneself from the problems of the world. For they didn't call themselves any struggler's. They were in love with life, and that was what mattered the most.
To balance life, to make oneself busy and at the same time relaxed. About brotherhood, about caring, about being honest to self and to the people around. To know what is right and wrong, while at the same time exploring the truth.
From bringing the plot together, to the climax of the story; telling the public the highs and lows that life went through. To let them know that they were a part of the society and not exclusive of it. To let them know, that life was as painful as it was wonderful. So, there was a dire need to be vigilant from point to point in life. Life that happened to them as a gift, and they had to take it as a gift. A gift was always seen as charming and affectionate, so there was another need to see it as one; in every moment as the signature of love. A gift to the self one could give, through one's work.
The public took the seats in the theatre halls across the city. There were three such halls in the city of Sita Nagar, where Shamsher acted in his Tasveer Theatre Group. Being the director of the plays, he often acted in his own plays and also wrote them by himself. He was quite different from his counterparts, who worked as director's in other theatre groups. Shamsher took up plays and stories to be portrayed on the stage, that were written by him as well. He could easily change the script the way he felt that it did justice to the play. It was what could connect to the audience in the forefront; it was not a race to be better from anyone, but to give a better shot from the one before. Like it's often said, “Learning with the doing”. Quite serious business from one dimension, Theatre meant. Life could also be be funnier at times, but very serious in its outlining if seen with an eye of resilience and understanding. It was at last left to the actor to visualize the role that he/she was fitted into, looking at the need of the character. No role was ever any small as even an “Oh”, and a “Wow” sound could give an actor, enough space and power to reach to the hearts of the public. In the mimes rung the beauty of silence, in the solo performance rung the challenge to hold the audience together, while keeping high the morals and spirits of acting.
Shamsher had been quite adamant, as he would keep to his own writings. Having earned enough name in his line of crafts there was a passage in his life when he saw his career graph fall down. Actors didn't like his Plays. Few complained, that he added unnecessary humour to the game. They felt that acting was a game. It was a difficult time for the Tasveer Theatre Group, and it's survival didn't appear in the far-sight. The challenge remained, life stood still. Looking at the situation, at his job of being a director slid by as his actors didn't consider his expertise, he felt that it was right to keep his art with him and to take it further on. To keep it alive, he started to write only. He felt that writing was his passion and as he wasn't able to strike the chord with either his actors or his audiences; he would still work towards it. Shamsher, went to several publishing houses across his city of Sita pur but none agreed to launch his writings. The publishers, complained that his writings weren't attuned with the present scenario of the society in the world, contrary to what he confessed to them. Ideally, he wondered that he wouldn't sustain in this world where his art wasn't given enough weight and consideration.
He felt weak, within himself. Heart broken, he studied the environment, spent even more time with the Nature, his only friend in his times of loneliness. He had no family, other than his books. Having grown up in a temple in Sita pur, he had known that life wasn't always cheese and butter. It had its harsh phase too. Shamsher had become a recluse in days, ever since his group had shattered along with the many dreams. Anyhow, he was still stubborn to write his Plays and Writings. At times, he thought of asking for help from his near and dear one's. Soon, he realized that no one was there for him, and he had been like that; alone and dissipated, sans any hand of warmth outstretching his shoulders. He was young, around twenty four years old; he knew a new start could win him his world. With a fresh belief in self, he read extensively about the news of the world. What were the expectations of the people in his surroundings, in the so called society. Were they together or were they getting farther from one another. What were the reasons behind their actions. He thought all this, life was a flower; it had to be colourful and not pale, all this he said to himself.
In fewer days, he started to work at a Petrol Pump, in order to sustain his living. Then was the time, when yet again he was made the butt of jokes in his surroundings, where he ought to bring a change. These people were not understanding, let alone their virtues of being of any help. Were they useless? No, you can't say this; he wondered all by himself. No one was useless, only ideas could be so; people were meant to work towards their goals other than standing amidst the goals of others, who were serious about them.
The lines of his school master rung in his heart yet again. “No job was ever small in this world, if it filled your stomach. Rather, it was the most important gift bestowed upon you, by the Lord.” He smiled and in his free time from work at the Petrol Pump, he would write and read. From interacting with the drivers, whom he met in large numbers; he knew their complaints for the car engine at times and also on the government just like that, as it was the best past time for everyone. Shamsher was a part of every active humour that his friends in the Petrol Pump played. They were a good bunch of like-minded people who respected Shamsher the most for his cordiality of manners and disposition. On a serious note, Shamsher read the faces of people, who came up with complaints at times about the petrol hike by the government. To answer to their ambiguity, he told them that there was a machinery set up at the parliament level that decided upon the Petrol hike, and these hikes were essential at times. He shared his Economics' understanding with them. He made good friends, in his daily customers. In the lunch time, he would make the staff act and likewise cherish every moment spent under the sun. They interacted, they met, they hugged, they scolded each other at times but in the end of the day, a joke or two could bring them closer yet again. It was rightly said by someone, that love was the greatest gift, for it could bring strangers to become friends and doing justice with the ideas of brotherhood and friendship doing rounds in the Philosophical texts in the world of dreamers and game changers. Everyone thought of life from a different point of view, everyone wrote dreams, but few lived them; those few who really believed they could do it, that they did. The sun, the stars, the moon were all the same for them. Just they gave life a way, a chance, to what their heart called the most. There was no losing in the waiting. Needful it was to wait for the right moment to spring in. To let all the labour step into the righteous direction. Yet make life a victory, a song of nourishment and an honour for the generations to sing and prolong. That in its ringing, the calibre of a million stars could glow and twinkle. Then, life could say that I have made a difference by standing unaltered in the misty clouds, with grey sepulture around, whilst still smiling and waving the hard times to pass by.
Shamsher used to write when he wasn't at the Petrol Pump. He had enough stories outlined to be written, by the end of the day, when his work was over and when darkness augmented it's grace over the colouration of the sky, with the chilly winds flashing by. He didn't have any expenses to incur but he was paid quite well from the place where he worked with positivity in his eyes and breathe. As if he were waiting for a big surprise for his friends at work and for himself even. You never know, when life could surprise you with your own work. People around him now believed in his words, because they had known that he really meant what he described in his talks. Also, his work and ideology of art that he had expressed was refreshing and charming in its appearance.
It was about that day. That white, bright day when Arun banged the door of Shamsher's home, the day when he didn't turn up for work, the very first time in his one and a half years at work. It was very inspiring to take his example in the team meetings at the Petrol Pump because he never took a leave from work, even earning the badge from the Petroleum company as the Most Trusted Employee of the Year. Although, he was sound in health; the past days, it was not digestible a fact that his health wasn't in good shape, that he had to take leave. Arun, his fellow worker felt nervous when his call and the bell at the door was left unanswered. He called onto his friends, and they thrashed the door open and found that Shamsher was lying on the floor, dead.
Silence only appeared at the first sight, but sooner heavy mourning struck in the aftermath of what was unbelievable. His smiling face, was atoned even on his deathbed. His spirits, wide awaken even in his destiny. A smile on a person's face is only when a journey is complete and there is appreciation from all around that a life was lived well. Whereas, his journey was never complete, everyone assumed. Still, he had left the world with his positivity in his failing to wait any longer. "What had happened to him, how had it happened to him, why did what happened, had to happen to him?" Thoughts crossed and moved over and over one's head, for the people who had gathered around the man who taught them what living was. Never was life complete with laughter merely, he went onto saying so; that pain was also an important emotion to be lived, to complete one's life.
The last rites of Shamsher Kumar were done by his employers, his friends and his customers at the petrol pump. They paid the young man their last salute. His face, his expressions, his presence would always be missed at the Sita pur Extention- Petrol Pump.
Days passed and the house cleaning of the unknown yet known man alias dead man was brought into. Many written letters, his Plays, his Comic writings, his Longer writings were brought to the hands of his Friends. Who read it in his remembrance and with interest and curiosity to know what made such a genial heart. It was on reading his works that they understood the heart of the man who lived till his last breathe for his love, the love of his life. His Plays, were performed later on, his writings published, the people wondered why didn't all that happen whence he was alive. Shamsher Kumar had died because of intense cold of the winter as it stepped in those days, after the warmer days were over.
He had been desperate to feel the cooler breeze at night, maybe he cried and felt the mist hugging him tight hence engrossing his breathe to its end. There was a time whence his co-actors at Tasveer Theater Group never heard his voice, his notes, gave an expression of form to his visual images and interpretation of life. But, now the times had changed. People read his writings in public gatherings. Actors performed his Plays and the shows were filled with public in the amphitheatre's and the halls. The tickets were sold off, before those went for printing. Such craze, such admiration for a man's craft who had gone stalwart in great regard for his love. He died but he smiled when he left. He knew, his work was complete.
People wondered how much he could have contributed had he got more years to his short yet inspiring life but people also realized that it were they, who differentiated each other for their nature of job, for their work profile. Shamsher Kumar's writings, showed world the way the values of heart and soul could still be practised, that a poor person could get shelter if his work could be given enough importance as a rich man received for his job. Shamsher had lived as an unknown and died as one too but what he had left to the world was the known reason to live life freely and gleefully. To accept one's mistake and not let loose when the failure striked in. And to also, give a chance to someone who showed a different way to look at life. It was about being honest to your own self that the world could experience a positive change because of you. A difference, a change for good as it's often said in the society's dictionary of change and emphasis to it.
His last lines were, “Make your presence felt, even if you go away. You don't go unknown then.” He did that, as he went away only to be remembered in his endless works of written literature for the generations to read and obey his appetite for writing and dreaming hands in hand with the changing circumstances of the world. "The ethics of the world could change, but love would always remain love, and would overpower the ethics with an honest effort and response to your own heart beats, to your dreams."(written in a general context)
Gagandeep Singh Vaid
01/02/2014
10:55p.m
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