The Blue Mug Blew Me Away?

Yesterday, I went to see the play, The Blue Mug, directed by Atul Kumar, starring Rajat Kapoor, Vinay Pathak, Ranvir Shorey, Sheeba Chadha, Munish Bhardwaj, and Shipra Singh. The play was about the capricious and fickle nature of memory.

The ordinary blue-coloured mug gifted to one attaches cherished memories and happy associations as it becomes a part of one’s lived reality. But over time, as it becomes special, it also gets chipped, the handle breaks, but one still holds onto it tight, having endowed it with significance and reverence, one fights those who wish to throw the special thing away. The mug becomes a symbol of memory’s tenacious hold on one’s life, just as one holds on to memory, in a viciously cyclical way. And when that memory is lost, one’s self is lost. That is one of the points the play was trying to make, as I see it.

I liked the play in most parts. I had problems with it, but I still think it was one of the better ones I have seen in the recent past. I didn’t think it was such a laughter-riot, it was funny in parts, but not ROFL at all! The humour was dark and disturbing, which was lost on most people in the crowd who were awful wannabes who came because they got to see famous actors live.. It is the illiterate masses who enjoy cuss words being said out loud in theatres (film or otherwise), not sensible thinking, intellectual human beings. It is children who enjoy clown jokes, not adults. The only legitimate laughter was the small child’s sitting a little ahead of me, who could not have had the maturity to understand the play’s serious undertones.

I know the audience's response is vital to an artist, especially when the economics of the production of art comes into play, but darn! shouldn’t it be the right sort of response? Most people would have gone home thinking it was lots of fun, “made me laugh so hard”! When the whole point of it is the silence which follows when the laughter stops.

Nonetheless, the acting was superb, and script wasn’t bad at all. The best character was definitely Ranvir’s Joginder – the lost soul whose memory is stuck in 1983. And my favourite scene has to be the chaotic walkabout wherein actors recounted, in fragments, past events – old and recent – including a self-reflexive account of the play itself. Also good was the childhood games pantomime by Vinay and Sheeba. My least like scenes were the “tweak” scene and the one I got a decent photograph of, shown below:

Most of the actors in this photograph have the same expression Vatsun probably had throughout the play, sitting next to me! We all agreed that the worst scenes were all of the wannabe modernist/absurdist/existential kinds. The most genuine were Joginder and shrink at the two ends of the stage, in the midst of a counselling session.

It may not have been the best play I have ever seen, but wasn't the worst one either! I give it 3.5 stars out of 5.

Down the Hostel Memory Lane

I went back to the hostel today. After many years it seems. I think the last time I went there was to meet Aruna. And she left India more than a year ago. So by calculation, I have not been there for nearly quarter to two years! It isn't a lot, but it feels like an era!

I went there to help one of my dad's Japanese student move in. She got the room exactly above the last room I was in, which is also the same room I first selected but decided not to take! 

I showed her around and told her about the ways some things are done. Like how to give your clothes for washing, or where to iron your clothes, where to register complaints, etc. I also took her across the street to show the main shops in Indra Vihar - especially Sardarji's shop. He recognised me and greeted me so kindly, even gave a discount on the juices we bought. And all the guard bhaiyas are the same and were happy to see me. The Laundry lady also greeted kindly. Even the rollie-pollie South Indian mess uncle was still there!! He is the cutest person on the planet and he automatically gave me a samosa that came with the tea without charging me for it! His Hindi has improved substantially, but I think, like before, he will still hand you something else in place of the thing you asked him for! 

Gosh I miss that place! When going in, I told Yuki it feels like I am returning home. I wanted to be Yuki, I wanted to be the one shifting in, I wanted to stay the night there and not drive back to Dwarka. I came back home and thought, I should apply in DU for PhD and come to live in the hostel when I get in! I think I feel this way only because I want to have my own place. I need to move out!

Nonetheless, it was nice to see the hostel again. It was nice to see again the Library I was once incharge of, to rearrange the furniture in a room I once could have been lived in, to have evening tea in the mess again, and to meet again the people whose lives were lived in service of the girls in the hostel. It was also nice to have that good feeling in your heart when you meet someone who you have unknown ties with. (I met a girl and her mother from Mauritius who knew my Dad and had asked Yuki whether she was my dad's daughter yesterday after Yuki's interview!!) 

Apart from the new Sunday brunch thing and two new papaya trees there, almost everything else is the same.

(part of my old room)

no longer at ease

"Why is life so tragic; so like a strip of pavement over an abyss. I look down; I feel giddy; I wonder how I am ever to walk to the end. But why do I feel like this? Now that I say it I don't feel it...Melancholy diminishes as I write. Why then don't I write it down oftener? Well, one's vanity forbids. I want to appear a success even to myself. Yet I don't get to the bottom of it. It's having no children, living away from friends, failing to write well, spending too much on food, growing old - I think too much of whys and wherefores: too much of myself. I don't like time to flap around me..."


Virginia Woolf had said it all many year ago. I could not have found a better echo to my lackluster voice. Using the backspace key more than what appears in font in front, I delete my words wondering if it will delete the pain I feel. Does it always have to be beautiful poetic words to say that I feel crappy. So that people will read it and go "Ah!" Does it have to be in verse so that people care? So that they listen, pay heed and stare? Heart sick and eyes filled up with blue, borrowed words for hollowed desires.


Stolen memories from TV sitcoms and dramas do not fill the emptiness of the day.