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Journalism of Courage
She’s part of the creative world’s mass exodus’ from Delhi to the brighter, beckoning lights of Mumbai, but it’s not something personal. Not even deliberate, in this case. “I’m too old to leave my hometown to try and become a star,” laughs Lilette Dubey in her own defence. The decision was taken simply because her husband — Tata exec Ravi Dubey — had to shift to Mumbai for professional reasons. “I would have never left Delhi in search of opportunity,” she insists. “When there’s a vacuum, that is all the more reason for you to stay. There’s a sense of belonging, you feel the need to promote an art in the city you come from.”
Having said that, she is obviously happy to be in theatre-rich Mumbai, because the city has an “atmosphere”. In Delhi, “you have to be your own catalyst, the climate doesn’t inspire you.” It’s not that there is less talent in Delhi, it’s just the way the city is. “The people are there, the theatre is there, it is just the crucial question of patronising theatre. That is not there.” Which is why she is thrilled with the India Habitat Centre. Sipping on a cappuccino at the Cafe and smoking non-stop, puffing away the nervous energy hours before the curtain went up on Dance Like A Man, she’s bubbling over with good cheer for the Capital’s newly acquired hotspot. “It is one of the nicest things to have happened to the city,” she says. “It makes artistes feel there is an outlet for them.”
Dance Like A Man, of course, is a play Delhi has seen before, but as often happens with plays, there’s never enough of a good thing. “People grow up, they may not have understood the play when they saw it last, another generation comes of age and they can enjoy it … that is the beauty of a play, it has great re-run value,” Lilette philosophises.
The theory sits well with Dance Like A Man, Mahesh Dattani’s definitive contribution to Indian-English theatre. With its emphasis on Indian-English (“We Indians speak English in a certain way. I don’t see why we have to be propah’ and acquire a Britsh accent,” Lilette explains), South Indian backdrop and slick production values, Dance…, according to its star, may just be Indian theatre’s ticket to stardom.
“If we are to make a mark internationally, we have to stop doing Western’ theatre,” says Lilette. “We have to stop being copy-cats. Why would anyone abroad be interested in a kalu doing something that has already been done, as well if not better, by a gora?” Not surprisingly, regional theatre has always managed to attain some degree of success outside India, “because it is drawing from Indian roots,” like the new generation of Indo-Anglian novels.
But her self-appointed role as promoter of Indian-English in theatre comes with its own share of responsibilities. “Because I have decided to do Indian stuff, I have also to be careful not to do just anything and everything,” she says. “I want to do original, not mediocre work.” She has young, aspiring playwrights knocking on her door, some bright, others not so bright. “With me, it’s very simple,” she explains. “A play must say to me, do me’, and I have to do it.”
It is not the name, nor the label, that matters. Which is why she’s now showing interest in a number of scripts “180 degrees opposite of each other,” and in playwrights ranging from the now-famous Dattani to little-known amateurs. On A Muggy Night In Mumbai, for instance, a play centering around homosexuality, was commissioned to Dattani by Lilette. She’ll also be bringing to Delhi a rock-musical stage version of the Mahabharata, and is right now looking into a political comedy by “a brand new” playwright. “They need a platform, they can’t write plays in an ivory tower,” she says with feeling.
Lilette didn’t find it hard to make a mark in theatre, unless, of course, you count the initial disapproval of her parents. Her story, uncannily, sounds like something out of the plot of Dance Like A Man: her parents, being “true professionals” (her father’s an engineer and her mother, a gynaecologist), wanted her to follow a “real” career. Theatre, in those days, didn’t fall belong to this category.
In school, and then in college at LSR, Dubey lived theatre, working with “mentor” Barry John in the heady days of Theatre Action Group (TAG). “It gave me a good grounding, I was always playing the lead, it was a time when I learnt a lot,” she recalls. When her parents finally came round to understanding her interest in theatre, they advised her to get a degree, from London’s Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts (RADA), or at least from the National School of Drama in her backyard. She said no: her interest lay in doing theatre, not studying it. Instead, she got a degree in mass communications from IIMC and “dabbled in it while raising two children,” before returning to theatre.
She has had little reason to regret it. Theatre, even less.
