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...?

[email protected]

..................................

<< Artscope Main Page

EMAIL |   PRINTABLE VIEW | FEEDBACK

www.campceylon.com
www.srilankaapartments.com
www.srilankans.com
www.defence.lk
www.helpheroes.lk/
www.peaceinsrilanka.org
www.army.lk
www.news.lk

 

Produced by Lake House Copyright © 2006 The Associated Newspapers of Ceylon Ltd.

Comments and suggestions to : Web Editor