It’s a writer’s dream.

To be able to say that this was the most absurd evening I have spent in a long while, and know that my dear friends who put up the play will realize that I mean it as a compliment.

It’s a writer’s dream.

To work with character sketches that are drawn with just three pens. Broad, Medium and Slim. Or as they are called, the Fat Man, the Middle Man and the Little Man. The absurdity of the play is enhanced when the three actors put on role masks and deride everything from Democracy to Desperation.

It’s a writer’s dream.

To work with three distinct sounds. The languages of posh, stiff upper lip, Anglicized Shenoy, of down to earth, rustic, hardy Varma and the near athletic band-standing of an unabashedly vernacular Eggone. And to pepper the soundscape with postman Fadnavis and the Cameo King Shewalkar.

It’s a writer’s dream.

To treat hunger with irreverence. To treat the cunning of survival with respect. To treat alliances of convenience with honor. To stretch the limits of credibility and rationale to absurd levels. To allow humor to creep in uninvited. To allow translation the freedom to stray.

It’s a writer’s dream. But it is also an actor’s challenge.

And last night Vinay, RK, Phani, Nitin and Bhaskar slipped into their roles with panache. Theatre of this kind demands that you do not question the absurdity of what you are expected to do, and in fact allow unfamiliar instincts to take over in the search for more effective, more appealing absurdity. And from the pulpit of Ramakrishna’s Political discourses to the cross of Phani’s crucifiction and to Vinay’s opportunity seeking servility, the actors pushed themselves out of their familiar comfort zones.

It was a pleasant evening. Not too many boundaries were pushed or breeched. But the magic of the horizon was shown to all. And that is something we should be grateful for.