Extra Nice

Memento of the play-reading

Last year, I attended a reading of Vikram Phukan’s play, Postcards from Colaba. His work was designed as a promenade performance, in which the audience followed the actors around Mumbai’s Colaba, pausing near locations where the incidents narrated in the play had taken place. The production I attended was much more static, staged in a tiny basement theater in Lajpat Nagar, but the romance of gay life in Mumbai - both heady and difficult - shone through his lyrical prose poetry.

The gorgeous writing still rang in my ears, when I heard of a reading of his companion piece, Postcards from Goa, at a venue in Chattarpur. Unlike the ‘Colaba’ reading, by skilled actors, this was a reading by lay participants, designed as an introduction to the joys of reading a theater text out loud.   

During the break, Parul, who manages the venue, pointed us to the chips and dip on a large wooden table.

“Thanks”, I said, as I happened to be close to him, “I just need to be careful about chillies in the dip, which don’t quite agree with my digestive system.”  

The conversation around the table was energising, and though I found that the dip did have a bit of a chilly kick, I made up by monopolising the bowl of chips. A couple of hours later, the reading done, I honed into my sandals, ready to buckle up and head home. Parul was hovering around, and gestured to the fresh round of snacks on the table. 

“Have some vadas - the small plate on the side has vadas without any chillies.”

I was quite overwhelmed. In a cloud of emotion, the foyer of a studio theatre felt like my elder sister’s home: my brother-in-law likes his food spicy, and that is the default option for most food, but when I am visiting, there will be small servings of bland varietals set aside for me. Similarly, when I’m in Bangalore, my in-laws’ cook observes the same protocol. But to organise that at a play reading - to pick up my digestive concerns from a stray comment - and then to action it; that is an amazing level of consideration, a delicious bit of Extra Nice.

Those four fresh-fried vadas meant a little bit of extra work for the kitchen, but as in many acts of kindness, it was the art of listening that was key - observing the other as an individual, and responding to his needs or impulses. The amount of additional work you need to do is often tiny, compared to the warmth you can bring to another heart.

Last year, I told myself I would make notes of such acts of kindness, hoping, perhaps, to be inspire myself to a higher level of consideration. The one I picked to reproduce here also has something to do with food, which says something about me, I guess:

5th Nov 2023:

I drink coconut water at a fruit stall opposite the JNU East Gate. I ask where I should toss the drained coconut, and Satyendra says,

"It has malai - let me take it out"

I love coconut malai, and nod.

I've eaten about half the cream when I stop Satyendra from scooping out any more.

"Can't have more - it'll sit heavy in my belly when I cycle on."

"But malai is good - let me put it in a panni for you." 

I ride home with a plastic packet of malai bouncing up and down in my jacket.

Thank you, Parul and Satyendra, for these moments of Extra Nice.