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V Gangadhar

All in a day's work

It was a Monday morning -- April 21 to be exact -- and I was watching the direct telecast of the swearing-in of yet another Indian prime minister, Inder Kumar Gujral, and his tired-looking cabinet colleagues. The ceremony lasted for about an hour and I dozed during most of it.

I asked my wife and daughter to watch the telecast with me, but they refused because they had more important things to do. Later in the day, I checked with some of my friends and neighbours. No, none of them had bothered to witness a new chapter in the history of India.

The swearing-in took place right at the beginning of the school summer vacation. But the young boys and girls preferred to watch cricket or play video games. No youngster had the initiative to think of political games which would have included defections, pulling the rug from under someone's feet or instances of misplaced loyalty.

This was not so when I was young. Besides cricket, football, marbles, hopscotch, hide and seek and other games, we also played games about governments and rulers. No, we did not play at Parliament, Swearing In or Prime Minister. Our focus was on royalty, the royalty of ancient India. At home and outside, we spent a lot of time playing games featuring the raja, rani, mantri and senapati.

It was more of playacting than a game in the true sense of the word. During the holidays, when it was too hot to go out, we devised indoor games and, most of the time, ended up playing Raja Rani. This required a lot of imagination. Since, I was the only brother among three sisters (with one sister and one brother being too young to participate), casting was a bit difficult. The part of the king should have come to me, but it was felt that I was too young for the role. It, therefore, went to my eldest sister who had a slightly gruff voice.

Sister number two was a formidable personality, even in those days. She always got what she demanded. In this case, it was the role of the queen. During our playacting days, she was never anyone but the queen. Sister three was more amenable and agreed to play the mantri, the senapati and even the royal maid. I was the youngest of the lot and was given the role of the prince, who did not have much to do. The major decisions in the play were always taken by the king, the queen and the minister.

I must have been seven or eight in those days. Playing a prince who had nothing to do often irked me and, occasionally, I rebelled, threatening to walk out. Immediately, the king and the queen conferred and, to placate me, declared war against a neighbouring kingdom. This was more to my liking because, as the prince, I had to fight to save my country. Perched on the legs of an upturned camp cot and swinging a stick which was supposed to be a sword, I emitted one war cry after the other and went to war. This lasted about 15 minutes and then the enemy fled!

Why did we always play the Raja Rani game? Our reading consisted of the epics which were full of such tales. We studied Indian history at school and learnt everything about famous kings and emperors like Chandragupta Maurya, Harshavardhan, Narasimha Pallavan, Raja Raja Chola and so on. The Tamil magazines, which we received regularly at home, were full of historical novels which glamourised monarchy. The famous writer, Kalki (R Krishnamurthy), wrote wonderful historical novels about Narasimha Pallavan and his ill-fated love affair with a dancing girl, Sivakami. Our young minds were fired with all kinds of fantasies and we enacted them to the best of our abilities.

It was great fun too. The dialogue was written by my two elder sisters who, naturally, gave the best lines to themselves. Occasionally, we dressed up for our parts, using mother's old silk sarees and father's silk dhotis. Make up consisted of applying large quantities of Cuticura talcum powder on our faces. No play was complete without songs. We wrote own songs and set them to all kinds of tunes, most of them based on popular film music.

Looking back, I am quite impressed with the range of our creativity. We held new plays almost every day, though the characters were the same. Sister number three felt the need for some melodrama and insisted that there should be pitchkari (beggar woman) role in every play. "We can't have kings, queens and ministers all the time," she argued. She got her way and penned some pitiable songs for the beggar woman.

How did our parents react to all this? Father, of course, was too busy with his office. On Sundays, when he was at home, the playacting stopped. Mother of course, knew what we were doing and was only concerned that we did not use her new silk sarees. Sometimes, she had to settle disputes over the casting. Actually, most of the complaints came from me and, whenever mother decided issues in my favour, my sisters hinted she was favouring her chella kuzhanthai (favourite child). I did not think this was a proper accusation because mother was always fair in her judgements.

It was a wonderful and harmless way of passing time. The Tamil movies of those days were dependent on Raja Rani themes and some of these did influence us. When sister number two tried some innovation in her queen's role, it was no surprise she was imitating T R Rajakumari, the famous heroine of Tamil cinema. Our plays always had a happy ending. Sometimes, the leading characters did undergo a lot of suffering, but virtue always won the day. At times, there was direct divine intervention and one of my sisters would play God.

India was on the verge of attaining freedom while all this was going on. But the political activities did not interest us. We stuck to our traditional themes. The kings were always good and virtuous. The queens occasionally had a streak of vanity and tended to outshine the king. Today's political activities offered much more scope for playacting; it's a pity that the challenge is being ignored by our youngsters. Imagine a play where Gowda and Kesri flex their muscles, while Urdu couplet-quoting Gujral steals the major prize!

Illustration: Dominic Xavier