Read Online And Then One Day: A Memoir by Naseeruddin Shah - Free Book Online Page B

look timid and funny. And when required, he could just disappear. An actor-manager in the old sense of the word, he always played the central parts but conceded to his fellow actors the space they merited. Never once while watching him perform—and I watched him perform over a period of well-nigh forty years—did I feel that he was at all concerned with anything but serving and conveying the text. That, along with his astounding versatility, produced the sheer clarity and precision of the result. Mr Kendal always had the same effect on me as that mystery man dancing on that platform in another lifetime... I wanted very much to be up there with him.
    But to return to the red jeep, lent to them by the legendary Principal of Mayo College Mr Gibson: its load also consisted of a pair of familiar-looking folding arches, a throne-like chair and a small stool—usually all the setting they ever used. Flinging my bicycle aside I sprinted up to the jeep, heart pounding in anticipation of a conversation with HIM. He didn’t exactly seem delighted at my offer to help them unload, but before he could refuse, I was at it. Somewhat disappointed at how little stuff there was, I deposited it in the auditorium and hung around for as long as I was allowed to. There was no sign of a rehearsal about to begin and I was obviously overstaying my welcome. After a brusque ‘That’ll be all, thank you very much’ and a brief handshake, I reluctantly departed. But I had shaken hands with this great actor. He was real too! I had actually touched him. I resolved that at the first opportunity I would pour my heart out, beg him to let me join his troupe and come away with him. The ‘To bait fish withal... ‘ speech he would doubtless ask for as audition had long been performance-ready anyway. He couldn’t turn me down, he’d be getting another actor cheap and I would and could do any part he asked me to. Certain that I would knock him over, I commenced fantasizing about travelling and performing with Shakespeareana while my classmates were slogging over physics and maths. Poor benighted souls, my heart bled for them. There was of course the small matter of breaking it to the parents but surely Mr Kendal would take care of all that. Baba was partial to the English anyway. And now that there were only four in the troupe surely they could do with an extra hand.
    When Shakespeareana visited Sem, it was an occasion. Usually ten to fifteen strong, they were the toast of the school. Some then youthful Indian aspirants who later moved on to greener pastures were also among them. Their very presence among us whether in the dining hall, on the playing field or onstage was invigorating. They were a very cool bunch of people all playing many parts, all having a grand time. The productions themselves were basic in design. The costumes were functional but the authenticity of the acting and the intonation of their voices—I reiterate I have never heard Shakespeare spoken better—made these straightforward uncomplicated presentations appear more splendid than anything I had seen on the stage till then or have seen since. The troupe over the years shrank in size, most of the members having taken what I can only hope were their own directions in life. But the Kendals’ spirit and their conviction in the path they had chosen were strong as ever. In the mid eighties when there were just Geoffrey and Laura left, I witnessed what would prove to be their final performance in India, and not only had they not wearied of their mission, they were in a state of thanksgiving for having had the opportunity to lead their lives the way they had chosen to. Seldom have I encountered such contentment in people at the end of the road; the complete satisfaction of knowing you have done whatever you could with your life.
    Watching them perform was to know what it is to be one with the spoken word, and the verve and joy with which those two septuagenarians still approached their work