Despite efforts to marginalise the English language, it has entrenched itself rather comfortably in every aspect of our lives. If Macaulay were alive he would probably endure a parliamentary inquiry accused of being singularly responsible for facilitating British job losses through business process outsourcing by encouraging the natives to learn English 200 years ago!
While Barclays Bank has standardised Indian usage of English to the aural satisfaction of their customers from Leeds to Luton, theatre in English in India has grappled with the appropriateness of accent for characters ranging from John to Janardhan.
More often than not it has erred -turning characters into caricatures – with thespians being far from Noel Cowardly in the exhibition of their talent.
With English not being our mother tongue none of us enjoy the authority to ordain the appropriate accent for our fellow men. The language on stage in India has led a precarious existence on the fringes nurtured in the bosom of anglophiles in the advertising industry.
However, as much as any nationality or community would protest their language reduced to high decibels devoid of articulation, enunciation, intonation for purposes of profit, there are some connoisseurs of the English language that would certainly protest what can only be termed 'linguacide'- the rules of a language and its speaking are treated with utter contempt through sheer ignorance of its appropriate usage.
In the last decade the proprietal rights of English has transformed with the knowledge sector significantly increasing its shareholding, thus secularising the acceptance of appropriate accents and language usage. It has made a quantum shift from English played in whites like Test Cricket to an IPL version where just about anything goes.
A case in point is the very popular EVAM theatre group from Chennai, who I was persuaded by many to see, insisting they offered theatre in English of a quality superior to that proliferating in Bangalore.
Succumbing to this relentless persuasion I travelled forty five minutes through traffic to Ranga Shankara and paid the princely sum of Rupees one Hundred and Fifty in times of inflation and spiralling oil prices, not accounting for transport costs to and fro to watch Evam's longest running production which they claim as their favourite!
Within the first minute, I was 'turned off' by a chorus akin to a "fiddler on the roof", attempting to mime the playing of some musical instrument - of which I am still unsure - with the facility of a battle tank doing ballet. Just when you thought it couldn't get worse, he attempts to imitate Charlie Chaplin in the Great Dictator, playing clumsily with a globe treating instead like a hot potato!
Thereafter, Messrs, Jimmy, Karthik Kumar and Sunil Vishnu K, as Sarge, Marc and Yvan subjected this writer to a relentless aural assault, in what was evidently English that sounded like ninety minutes of text messaging put to sound!
What was most curious was the fact that the audience -averaging 30 years - was guffawing sometimes in anticipation, beguiled by a play script that has all the spunk of a five finger exercise. However, I was intrigued that they remained oblivious to the rendition of dialogue done at the speed of sound with a lack of clarity and the three performers displaying unflinching loyalty to the note of B flat!
If this was Evam's finest hour and these gentlemen were the bedrock of a theatre group enjoying much popular acclaim, not to mention the support of significant sponsors, then they were doing something right - even though it bore no resemblance to good theatre.
Through the crackle, it occurred to me that these three 'performers' were being themselves with arrogance. These performances were probably the continuation of some success they enjoyed amongst peers during college festivals that had now transformed into a profit maximisation exercise.
ART was a reality show on stage! In being themselves and in the manner of their delivery members of the audience who could easily identify with any one of the three types, stripped to the bone of any characterisation.
Youngsters exposed to a stressful existence pine for a peek at the ‘lighter side of life’ that EVAM guarantees. With no previous exposure to theatre of quality they lack the ability to discern and thus quite happy to pay a price for EVAM to lead them to the promised land of mirth and laughter.
Those of us pining for an evening of good theatre in any language shall remain subjected to the tyranny of mediocrity, bolstered by sponsors who have reduced all human being to ‘eyeballs’, with wallets.
Paying one hundred and fifty rupees, for such twaddle was much akin to Sarge paying through his nose for an alleged all white masterpiece.
This writer like Marc strongly protests such theft in the name of 'ART' at the risk of facing the Dyer consequences of a Jallianwala Bagh at the hands of EVAM fans.
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