Krishnan's Dairy, a play by the Indian Ink group in New Zealand, deals with the legendary love of ordinary people, one that changes the way you view the world. Playwright and performer Jacob Rajan speaks to Saritha Saraswathy Balan about how masks can take the audience on an imaginative sojourn
It all happens in a corner-shop dairy, the scenes set in front as well as behind the counter, and a few in the bedroom. Gopikrishnan -an Indian immigrant in New Zealand- runs the shop. He finds it a hassle to teach customer-service to his wife Zeena. Zeena just doesn’t care, and only dreams of going back to her homeland. You can always find her conversing with her beloved ones back home.
Jacob Rajan is seen donning both roles with consummate ease. Making use of masks, Rajan switches roles in split seconds, admirably altering his body language and sound modulation. So captivated are the audience that you find them involuntarily on the look-out for Zeena, whenever Gopikrishnan engages in a monologue. The play, directed by Justin lewis, was presented at the Delhi International Arts Festival on Friday, in association with the New Zealand High Commission in India.
How does love evolve between a couple whose marriage was arranged by their familiesIJ The dairy shop figures as a monument to their love, on the lines of Shah Jahan’s love for Mumtaz Mahal. Rajan appears on stage as Shah Jahan too, of course with the help of a mask. The emperor of the bygone era puts in frequent appearances, with Seena narrating the historical love-story to her toddler, Appu. In the course of the play, Shah Jahan is seen reiterating his claim that no husband in the world could love his wife more than he did.
Rajan chooses to counter this by singing of the love of Gopi and Seena. “The story of Gopi and Seena does partake of the story of my parents who migrated to New Zealand from Kerala decades ago, in search of a better life. Another couple whom I knew did the same. The husband who returned to his homeland after the death of his wife came back to run their shop as a testimony of his love,” shares Rajan, an infrequent visitor to India.
His visit to the Taj Mahal with his aunt long ago left a lasting impact on his young mind. “There could be stories of violence related to the emperor’s reign, but I wanted to tell the story of the monument. My attempt was to show the contradiction of love in an arranged marriage, as compared to that in a romantic union. In arranged marriages, love may or may not happen. When I began to script the play, I was not consciously penning my parents’ story. It was only later that self-realization struck, taking even me by surprise,” he grins.
A theater artist since 1997 who graduated from the New Zealand Drama School, Krishnan’s Dairy is Rajan’s maiden script. The play that has been performed at numerous venues across the world is now entering its 20th year. “During graduation, we were asked to pick a topic and research on the same for a 20 minute-play. That is when I stumbled on the fact that most dairies in New Zealand were set up by Gujaratis during the initial days. Since my parents were from Kerala, I gave it a Malayali turn.” On the use of masks, Rajan opines: “By hiding the face, I let go of the ego. A mask has the ability to take the audience on an imaginative soujourn, possible only in theatre. I do not relate to the realism shown on television.”
Though he knows not a single word in Malayalam, in between the dialogues, one did hear his native tongue. “I wrote those dialogues with the help of my mother,” he chuckles. The very Indian concept of an arranged marriage for a global audience did not worry him in the least, when performed elsewhere. But in India, ironically, it did make him a bit fluttery. “When immigrants return to their native soil after many years, their whole life may have changed. But then, they become more Indian than those who never left its shores,” he observes.
The Indian Ink-mantra to leave an indelible imprint on the viewer’s heart managed to do just that with Krishnan’s Dairy.