Lol, we are Parsi

Meher Marfatia's book on Parsi theatre, Laughter In The House! Is a glowing tribute to a legacy that defined the community's contribution to Mumbai theatre. This sepia-toned chronicle relives the glory days of a talented, spirited fraternity who made the city laugh

Meher Marfatia's book on Parsi theatre, Laughter In The House! Is a glowing tribute to a legacy that defined the community's contribution to Mumbai theatre. This sepia-toned chronicle relives the glory days of a talented, spirited fraternity who made the city laugh

Let's face it. The Parsis love a good laugh.

Ask Meher Marfatia, author of the just-released Laughter in the House! Her take on 20th century Parsi theatre trails the love affair that the gregarious, talented community has had with the stage since the 1800s.


Jimmy Pocha, Piloo Wadia and Ruby Patel in Adi Murzban's Hasa Has

This former assistant editor and kids book writer wove together a meticulous chronicle, which celebrates nearly three generations that shaped Parsi theatre, aided by Sooni Taraporevala's insightful photographs and peppered with numerous anecdotes and archival footage from the days of yore.
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This is a timely tribute to the community that regaled the rest of Mumbai with their comedy, talent and spirit.
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The Guide spoke to Meher Marfatia about her experiences and reflections on Parsi theatre.

Could you take us back to the early days of Parsi theatre what were the challenges that faced theatre companies at the time?
The challenges are more today's than in the past. Contemporary Parsi Gujarati theatre is struggling for its very survival. The earlier days of Parsi theatre at least, speaking of the period just prior to the decades this book chronicles (1930 to 2000) were marked by strides made by a creative, enterprising people.

Right from around the 1850s when several drama companies called naatak mandlis formed, Parsi troupes staged a prolific and varied range of productions. Between them they delivered spectacularly produced box-office successes of classic Persian and Indian sagas alike.

With the utmost care lavished over sets, costumes and music, epic plays with Sanskrit themes were written by Muslims like Murad Ali and directed by Parsis like Sorabji Ogra. This was one of Parsi theatre's singular contributions: achieving a pan-Indian identity for the performing arts.

An important progressive move made thanks to Parsis in theatre was the inclusion of women playgoers.

Moti Antia, Pheroze Antia, Mani Bamboat and Mani Patel in Wah re Behram. Play goers recall being reduced to tears of laughter at the exaggerated antics of playwright Antia casting himself as the dim but endearing title character. The Pheroze-Antia brand of innocent humour showed how one didn't need to be vulgar to be comic

At a time when ladies were dissuaded from attending the theatre, writers like Kaikhushru Kabraji (who wrote one of the first Gujarati plays titled Bejan Manijeh and editor of Dadabhai Naoroji's famous fortnightly Rast Goftar) actively encouraged women as independent members of the audience.
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He arranged for nursery facilities for their families, so that mothers of the youngest children could come in as viewers. Theatre became equally and increasingly accessible to everyone.u00a0u00a0u00a0

How did Parsi theatre survive and co-exist alongside other regional and English language theatre, particularly when theatre in the city was at its peak?
Although it ran parallel with theatre put up in a richness of regional languages like Hindi, Marathi, Urdu, English and Hindu Gujarati, the Parsi Gujarati caper still scored an edge.

Its language, peculiar phraseology complete with punning, alliteration and all, went down wildly well with more than merely the Parsi population.

At least three to four other Gujarati-speaking communities came to clap with as much delight at our plays. There were Gujarati Hindus, Bohris, Khojas and Memons, all of whom were familiar with the language. Above all, there was freedom of thought and expression.
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Its themes a tad risqu ufffd, relationships between the sexes more fluid, actors altogether sassier with bold body language; we brought in ribaldry with revelry. As Niranjan Mehta, the producer of Kanti Madia's plays, said, "Je reet ni tamaari lifestyle, e amaari nai Yours was definitely an attractive way of life!"u00a0u00a0u00a0u00a0u00a0u00a0u00a0u00a0u00a0
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How much did colonialisation impact Parsi theatre? Ands later, how much of a role did Parsi theatre play in redefining Bombay theatre?
The global vision of the Parsis readily blended local elements with foreign influences. At first it was a confluence of ancient stage conventions, Gilbert and Sullivan operettas and Victorian melodrama.

Fortunately, amid these grand-effect productions, some awareness of themes involving political relevance to the times also crept in. Companies staged theatre that inspired the freedom movement through socially conscious plays suggesting change, seen in the works of Kaikhushru Kabraji, Dadabhai Patel, Behramji Fardunji, Marzban Nusserwanji and Merwanji Khansaheb.

Dinshah Daji and Piloo Wadia in Hasta Gher Vasta. Piloo Wadia won the President's Gold Medal for Best Actress from Dr Rajendra Prasad. She acted in Hindi movies including Bobby, Khatta Meetha, Baton Baton Mein and Darr

Later years, in the last century, saw adroit adaptations of Broadway and West End originals, beautifully transfigured by our foremost writers like Adi Marzban, Dorab Mehta, Pheroze Antia and Homi Tavadia.u00a0u00a0u00a0u00a0u00a0u00a0
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Laughter has remained integral to Parsi theatre; is this a conscious effort maintained by directors and playwrights, over time? Does the formulae succeed always? Also, how tough was it for plays that dared to challenge the stereotypical plot?
An ever-practical writer-director, Adi Marzban would say, "People don't want to leave tragedy behind at home only to discover it has stalked them into the auditorium." The public rejected the serious side of Adi Marzban in Asha Nirasha where he appeared in a silent cameo in this critically acclaimed play about loss and bereavement; the play closed after eight nights. Likewise, audiences couldn't digest the euthanasia issue that Marzban projected in Jeevan Khel.

You've mentioned several stalwarts who've defined Parsi theatre from the past who are those who can take it forward?
At the risk of sounding like the voice of gloom and doom, I honestly can't name anyone. There continue to be a few efforts, of course, all with good intentions, aimed at the solitary Navroze (Parsi New Year) revival play. But there's no go.

Firstly, there are no new writers who use the language with the dexterity and aplomb of earlier playwrights. Nor are their sparkling enough actors. Forget the era of singing stars and their versatility.

It's almost impossible to even find young Parsi actors speaking Gujarati lines with the verve, class and brilliant sense of timing that typified generations of powerhouse performers before them. The rehashed versions of old hits aren't only unfunny, they are downright crass a travesty of the genre.

Finally, how much time from idea to final product was required for this labour of love?
Two and a half years. The first year was particularly tough, what with most of our golden oldies (this is no clich ufffd, it's the best way to describe them) either unable to recall large chunks of the theatre of their heyday at all or contradicting each other with the haze of memories.

Accuracy set in gradually and from the Babel came at last, the basic order that any oral history needs. Once they were chided, coaxed, encouraged to recall, the sheer blinding love for their craft set things straighter. I've had the rare privilege of sharing their stories, which they told with the greatest passion and recollection.