More waiting, more frustration
THEATRE: I had to hang around in Moscow for one full month
more before I could finally leave for Leningrad. I did not 'hang around'
literally, I had plenty of things to do and see.
Yet, the 'waiting' was exasperating, to say the least. By now it had
more or less become a test of wills between me and the Ministry and a
whole lot of other restricting circumstances. My diary is full of notes
about the situation.
Tues. Feb 16 - "Waited for news from the State Committee in the
morning. No news. Took Zoya for a farewell lunch - she is to be sent on
another assignment and Vasily is to come back to work with me. I wanted
to present a silver tray from Ceylon, I had been carrying, as a gift for
her. She refused to accept it. "It's too much for me." She insisted.
"Perhaps you should present it to someone at the Ministry...!" And
she laughed. That beautiful, motherly laugh. I laughed too. Finally she
agreed to accept a carved mini-tusker and some tea.
She kissed me goodbye and her beautiful blue eyes had misted over. I
felt it in my heart too. I kissed her eyes and her forehead ever so
lightly, but she hugged me for the first time, kissed both my cheeks and
told me something I will always treasure.
"You have been a good man Gyenry..." she said, holding both my hands.
"You always behaved like a gentleman..." That was a rather nice
certificate I thought..." "Saw a different production of 'The Caucasian
Chalk Circle' at the Gogol Drama Theatre.
Nowadays, I go alone, most of the time to see plays. I don't want to
bother Zoya or Vasily. Zoya has her old father to look after and Vasily
has a four year old son. Zoya told me a rather endearing story about her
father, the other day.
Russian names, especially the female names, have three to four forms
which the user uses according to particular situations.
For example, Zoya becomes 'Zoyinka' or 'Zoyichka' in endearment and
becomes a commanding 'Sophya' in annoyance or anger. It seems, my friend
Zoya likes playing that game with her father. From his special chair he
would start calling his daughter for some small thing. First He would
call her endearingly - "Mayya dyevushka Zoyinka..." (My dearest girl
Zoyinka) he would call and Zoya pretends not to hear.
Then he would say "Mayya dyeti Zoyicka" (My daughter Zoyichka) and
still she would pretend not to hear. He would wait for some time and
summon his daughter for the third time, but this time with an impatient
'Sophya...Idi suda, ti, ploha zenshina..." (Come here, you no good
woman...!) And then Zoya would appear from her kitchen, frowning - or
rather pretending to be frowning at her father's indelicacy.
War veteran
Then they would not laugh and make friends. I have a feeling that
Zoya did not get married, because she wanted to look after her old
father. She was his only child.
Apparently her mother was dead or divorced - I never asked. Her
father may have been a war veteran - I never asked.
To get back to the 'Chalk Circle' at Gogol Theatre. The chorus in
this production was used very much like our choruses in our Nadagam
plays. This was an interesting interpretation of the play, although not
as powerful as the one at Mayakovsky Theatre.
No stage sets whatever except for a raised platform in the middle of
the stage which serves many purposes. A single 'type' costume for every
character. The chorus gets into the parts of various characters, by
putting on a shawl, a helmet, a cap or whatever is necessary."
Wed. 15, February - 'Vasily came in the morning and we discussed my
program. (We seem to be doing a lot of discussion and not much more!) To
Writers' Union at 2.30. Met a Soviet playwright - Joseph Pruit. I had to
explain our 'stylized theatre' to him. From there proceeded to Mr.
Kochetov's with Miriam Salgenik.
He lives outside the city limits of Moscow. It is a 'Writers'
Colony', I am told, surrounded by a natural pine forest. The snow was
knee deep everywhere. Met Mr. Kochetov (A writer, friend of Mr.
Subasinghe) his wife and young son.
We had a very interesting chat about Ceylon etc. with thimblefuls of
good cognac. Kochetov is a very pleasant and wise man. They have a
lovely, friendly dog, who Mrs. Kochetov tells me, is a 'little bit
pregnant.' We left at about 9.30. I was dropped at the hotel."
Thurs. 18, February - "As there was no program for the morning,
Vasily suggested that we go skiing. I took a bus and met Vasily near his
home and he took me to the skiing grounds. It was a pity we had no
camera to take some pictures of my numerous falls!
It was a very pleasant experience though, and I did manage to slide a
little bit, later on. Had lunch at Vasily's and then we all came to town
to see 'Three Penny Opera' performed by the GTC (Govt. Theatre College)
students in their own little theatre. It was a good performance."
Painting exhibition
Friday, 19, Feb. - 'Went to Embassy to collect a letter from Manel.
To 'Dom Drushba' (House of Friendship) at 4, for the opening of Senaka
Senanayake's paintings exhibition. It was very well attended and among
the speakers was Mr. Baidakov, a former secretary of the Soviet Embassy
in Colombo.
Later, there was Breck's cocktail party in honour of the event, at
our Embassy. After the party was over Ananda Tillekeratne took us to his
home and cooked some rice and curry for dinner. Stayed over at Breck's.
I hate to be alone in the hotel room."
Monday, 22 Feb. - "No news about my travels. Vasily, Breck and I went
to see a play called 'Twelve Chairs' at Pushkin Theatre - one of the
best slap stick comedies I have seen here.
The end though, is forced and disappointing. Breck and I returned to
the hotel and we had dinner at the restaurant. Afterwards we had a long
chat in my room. This man Breck is a superb teller of stories and he has
so many rib-tickling stories to relate!"
Tues. 2 March - "Went to the State Committee and met Mr. Mashaev and
handed over a copy of a long letter from me to Unesco. He was very
apologetic about the delay. Says he likes me because I am optimistic and
looks cheerful.
These fellows can be crafty, when they want to! I suppose that is how
I look to others. From there Vasily took me to see the Lenin Mousoleum -
this time to go inside and see the great Vladimir Ilich Lenin's
preserved body.
My first visit was to see it from outside. It is rather awe inspiring
to be taken to the presence of the great man - rather like being taken
to a shrine.
The body looks extremely well preserved - as if he died only a few
hours ago. This must be a special 'gift' for me from the Ministry for
being 'optimistic and cheerful'. Not many visitors are allowed this
privilege of seeing Lenin in person...
Breck came in the evening with a bottle of Vodka tucked away under
his arm. We had a sort of dinner (room service) in my room and I went
with him to his flat, to sleep."
Wednesday, 2 March - "At last there has been a reply from Unesco (so
they say) It appears that they have approved the expenses, including the
services of an interpreter. I hope it will be Vasily.
The Ministry says I can definitely leave for Leningrad Friday
morning. I had a rather late lunch and took a nap - I felt exhausted
after all this hassle.
When I woke up to answer the phone (Breck, to see if I am still
here!) I felt as if the whole place was dead... a frighteningly wretched
feeling. Recovered a little by taking a long bath and writing a letter
to Manel..."
Illusive permission
Friday, March 5 - "No departure even today. I checked out from
Budapest Hotel and moved into Breck's flat. Why should I be spending my
allowance on meals and room charges, doing nothing and waiting for this
illusive permission or whatever one may call it?...
A new Charge-d'-Affaires, one Mr. Pathmaraja has come to the Embassy.
Breck, Ramanathan, Ananda and I took him for dinner at the Budapest.
Telephoned Miriam and told her about what is happening to me!"
Sunday, March 7 - "No departure. Stayed in the flat all day. Did some
reading a novel by the title of 'Sequel to a Legend' by a relatively new
Russian writer. Strangely, it is a little bit anti-establishment.
This must be the effect of the 'New Wave' launched by Premier
Kurschov. In the night Breck and I paid a visit to Mr. Pathmaraja."
Monday, March 8 - "Women's Day in Russia. If I was in the hotel I
could have seen some fun. I have read somewhere that it is the women in
Russia who won the war for the men, by doing every possible labour in
the absence of their men.
Even now, women could be seen driving buses, tramcars and even taxis.
I am sure they man trains and even airplanes. They could be seen
executing all kinds of difficult labour and we marvel at their courage
and their stoic reticence.
The average Russian woman is not like the delicate, moody characters
of Chekhov. They are more like the 'Mother' in Gorky's play by that
name. My interpreter Zoya must be one of the few 'delicate' women even
in the interpreter service.
If I had been assigned a tougher woman, she may have 'bullied' me
into spending all my six months here, in Moscow, and not think of
gadding about in other parts of the Union. After all Moscow, I believe,
is their 'showpiece'!"
Frustrations
That's enough about Moscow and my frustrations there. After all the
knowledge and the experiences of theatre I gathered there far outweigh
the frustrations - perhaps 'bloated' by me in that hour of distress, as
noted down in my diary - silly diary! Instead of 'Thought of the Week' I
would like to reproduce an attempt at poetry, some years ago. It is
undated.
To me it looks good enough even in the present context. So, help us,
God.
A protest
How could they see
What is right or wrong,
Blinded as they are
In cataracts of pride
Selfishness
And foolhardiness?
For poor helpless people like us
Does it matter
Who is right
Or who is wrong?
When they -
The white men across the seas
And the mustached men in the sands
Are equally proud
Selfish and foolhardy...?
When they declare
That they have the right and the might
To hold us all to ransom?
If only
God had no oil beneath the sands
Of the desert
The white men from across the seas and skies
Would be polluting
Not our lands
But their own egos!
And the mustached men in the sands
Would be looking
For lambs only
For slaughter....!
God
How is it
That you
In your vastness
Have discarded us
Like flotsam in the seas?
Like scorpions in the sands...?
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