An introvert's imagination

I must've been in the 3rd or 4th grade when our headmistress decided to host an Indian epic, Ramayan. The story was familiar, and as have countless children, I too had heard it from my grandfather. The school kids were to play the characters in it.

Like many kids, I waited for the day when we would be chosen for our roles. Apparently, it came and went without much fuss, for one morning when I arrived at school, I came to know that some of the major actors were already chosen.

The audition process itself wasn't very complicated. Our headmistress, an ex-kathakali dancer, made some of her choices even as she taught us English. I was a wee bit disappointed but consoled myself. Afterall, I didn't want to be chosen as one of the monkey leads, Sugriva, Bali or Hanuman, or the demons, Ravana or Indrajit. To be chosen to be Rama or Sita, now that, would be a super acheivement, but I was quite sure that wouldn't happen. Afterall, I was one of the kids who always got left out on the Friday routine.

Every Friday, our class teacher would choose the next week's class captain from one of the kids. This was an important position, the class captain got the chance to clean the board after every teacher finished their 40 minutes class, and got to scream "silence" at the naughty children who talked incessently during the brief 5 minute or less break that chanced between when one teacher finished up and the next entered the class. They also got a black badge with class captain written on it to pin onto their uniforms. So every Friday, the children who hadn't yet gotten the chance to be class captain, sat with their eager faces shining, hoping that the teacher would call their name to be the next week's captain. When she chose someone else, the eager faces fell, but hope continued to live, afterall there was another Friday just one week away. So, I was pretty sure I wouldn't get the chance to be Rama or Sita, but I did have a hankering over the role of Lakshmana or Bharata, so I strengthened my resolve to look smart and attentive during the rest of the English classes.

Rehearsals soon started, and were conducted in the free room adjoining our classroom or in the hall where the members of the youth club played badminton. The actors got called, typically in the afternoon session of the day, and they left the class, looking very important as they walked out for their respective sessions. When the rehearsal happened in the room adjoining our classroom, we could hear it quite clearly in our own room, for the walls weren't very thick. When the rehearsal happened during the lunch break, I would run all the way to the badminton hall and sneak a peek through the thick creepers that grew over the wall and roof of the badminton hall. As days passed, the routines got better and better, the music was coming together, the boys mastered the art of looking like monkeys without makeup - this was no simple task, you had to puff your cheeks with air and hold for the entire duration your scene lasted. However, our teacher had still not finished her choices for all the important roles, so I still continued to hope that one day she would see me through those kajal filled eyes.

Another day dawned, and dashed my hopes, as I heard my friends talk about the choices for the prime roles. A tall, long haired girl, our senior, had been chosen for Rama, and two of our classmates had been chosen for the roles of Sita and Lakshmana. Sita was chosen for her "inner beauty" and Lakshmana had been chosen as the girl was a terrific dancer. I couldn't argue with that. I asked around, did anyone know who'd been cast for Bharata, and people didn't know yet. Since I didn't get any answer, my hopes began to creep up again. Bharata really didn't need special skills, he didn't have to dance, he just was an important person, with a sterling character. I was sure I had it in me to do that role. But alas, I heard later that day, that wasn't to be me either.

I was trying hard to be content with just watching the scenes come together. All my sneak peeks had given me the ability to recite any dialogue, recall any dance step that someone missed, I knew who was supposed to do what next. If only when the prompters were fumbling for the next dialogue, they could hear me say it! But ofcourse, I was hidden, and watching from where no one else could see me.

A couple days later, our teacher dropped another bomb-shell. She wanted to add more celebration to the Sita-swayamvaram. There had to be a dance, a kolattam dance. This time, I was uninterested. Afterall, I didn't make it to the roles that mattered, I certainly didn't want to be some nondescript dancing girl. But as fate would have it, a dancing girl's role seem to perfectly fit me, according to my teacher. She chose me, and a couple other girls, and soon we were rehearsing the dance, too.

I wasn't very good at dancing, and since I didn't want to be in this role, I made no effort to learn either. I tried telling myself that participation was the thing that mattered, but I guess I could never "just participate" - it mattered to me that my participation be seen and applauded.

A few more weeks and a lot more rehearsals passed. Our teacher decided we could stage the play. But wait, we had to get costumes now. This was the most onerous task of all. I had to tell my parents and grandparents to get me the appropriate costume. That meant, ofcourse, I had to tell them that I was just a dancing girl. My parents did know that our school was hosting a play, but they didn't know what I was doing in that or anything else. I felt so ashamed about telling them that I was only a dancing girl, that I spun a neat little lie. I told them that I was indeed Bharata, but everyone got costumes stitched for someone else. So I would need to get the costume stitched for a dancing girl, but another girl (the real Bharata) would get the Bharata costume stitched and we would exchange at the time of the play! Now that I think about it, the exchange story just screams "its a lie"! But sadly the introvert's imagination was limited by her age...


My parents immediately called up the headmistress. I remember them all sitting together in her living room, and that I was told to go out and play. I remember them knowing that I was just a dancing girl, but I also remember them not screaming at me or scolding me. I was kindly told to just do my role well. But that was worse than getting screamed at, I suppose.


I wonder what would have happened if I had had the courage to walk up and recite the lines someone forgot, or act out the step that someone missed, among those countless times that I was hiding behind the creepers looking into the hall. Maybe, that would have painted a different picture of me in my teacher's kohl lined eyes? Or is that another introverted speculation? Maybe...