The subject of death holds a special place in literature and in art. Enough writers and artists have been fascinated by it and some of them have fascinated us. Death too can be multi-hued. In prehistoric, ancient cultures, the remnants of which may be found even in some tribal cultures and civilisations today, including our own, death is not finality. It is just a transition. For western societies usually, death is more absolute.
Norway may be said to have a special affinity with the subject although the usual correlation between the country's long and depressing cold winters and its suicide rate could have been exhausted into a cliché. Yet death remains irresistible. It beckons. Contemporary Norwegian playwright Jon Fosse's DEATH VARIATIONS is rooted in the familiar aspect of suicide, but beautifully moulds this premise into a quasi-poetic, philosophical reflection on death and dying. The cyclical, repetitive nature of its script assumes its own timbre and has a calming and intense effect at the same time.
Ila Arun's theatre company Surnai has produced the play. Director KK Raina is perceptive of the quiet dignity that Fosse seems to have intended for his subject in spite of its essential, sombre quality that is sad, yet liberating. This core realisation of the text is Raina's triumph and his direction has an understated, but expressive quality to it. The blocking of the scenes could have been more balanced though; at certain times, the actors tend to crowd at one side of the stage, but this may perhaps be because the old and the young couples in the play, while separate in their characterisation, emerge as a single entity, responding to their daughter's death.
The production's hallmark is that the script has been Indianised not in its adaptation, but in its performance. This choice has worked quite favourably for the production but is not entirely without problems since it dilutes the playwright's unique response and attitude to death, which cannot be separated from the play's original culture and context. Yet the marvellously restrained Indian response creates a channel to localise the text. Two elements are particularly resonant.
Zeeshan Khan gives a live rendition of select Hindustani classical ragas, which according to Ila Arun include, 'Bhairavi', 'Miyan Ki Malhar' and 'Yaman'. The ragas' soulful strains accompany the production throughout, and make it atmospheric. The more pensive ragas underpin the recurrent and figurative motif of death in the play. In my conversation with Ila Arun, she briefly spoke of the inner dialogue that these ragas invoke, which is why she found them fitting in the context. Ashish Chawla's character of the daughter's 'friend' has been transformed into Krishna. It may appear sentimental but this significant choice of characterisation is a veritable attempt to connect more wholesomely with the Hindu, Vaishnava context, where death would signify a meeting with the Godhead; Krishna in this case, an avatar of Vishnu. Chawla enhances his portrayal of Krishna with his androgynous manner and style, and while perhaps very different from the original 'friend's' character, succeeds nevertheless to deliver an impact.
KK Raina and Ila Arun play the older couple and Joy Sengupta and Aadya Bedi play the younger couple. The daughter's role is essayed by Maanavi Ghagroo. As a team, they work well together. Aadya Bedi's young woman has a quiet but strong charisma about her. She is also very articulate. Ila Arun, the older woman, is more dramatic in comparison. KK Raina's old man assumes a mature, distant stance and yet again, he stands in opposition to Joy Sengupta's young man who suitably conveys the impression of a man who has been the weaker in his marriage and has bumbled. Whether this contrast is deliberate or not, it does not diminish the overarching narrative of death in which the daughter (Maanavi Ghagroo) plays a pivotal role.
Costumes by Ila Arun are thought-through and further lend the production its subtle sophistication. The visual imagery at different times in the play, both the limited video and the physical movements by Chawla's Krishna and Ghagroo's daughter are evocative in some moments. While it will be worthwhile to watch the play in its original sense, stripped off any filtering and interpretation, this production can be appreciated independently through its own cultural prism. And just as a prism would, it refracts - in this case, the idea of death, making it reflective, varied and contoured.
