Final leg - to Tashkent

THEATRE:I am going to begin this week's column on a rather personal note. Of course they were 'personal' all the time but this is very personal and in the present. Tomorrow, July 6 is going to make me a 75-year-old man. I don't know why I felt like mentioning the fact.

Perhaps I am worried that I will not last long enough to complete this diary of mine. Not that it matters very much. But I have enjoyed writing this column and I do hope my readers have enjoyed it too - at least some of my contributions. I have much more to relate too !

I have been subjected to a CT scan and a MRI scan recently due to a problem in my stomach. At first I thought it is going to be recurrence of 1999 - cancer of the colon. Perhaps it is not, the scan are not conclusive due to the mess in my stomach.

But I am in good hands and they are going to do something about it exactly a week from hence. So ....

The other day a man who interviewed me for a Rupavahini program asked me how I feel to be 75. I told him what I feel, frankly. Life is precious even to the most miserable creature. It is precious for me too and I am thankful that I have been rescued a couple of times from an earlier exit.

Nevertheless I sometimes wonder whether it is worth living in these sad, chaotic and relentless times with so much unmitigated brutality - to hear, see and perhaps even experience such mayhem. And that, not only here, but all over the world.

I would like to ask that question from my very dear ones who have preceded me - whether they would rather be here at this juncture or whether they are happier 'not present.' Anyway, Que sera sera' what will be, will be.

Narrative

So, back to my narrative. That lovely ball of a little girl I spoke of last week at the end of my column did turn up next morning at the hotel with her beloved 'Babushka'. I have this note in my diary.

"My little friend came in the morning with a present and a beautiful smile. She somehow always looks as if she is dancing for joy. So much beautiful life in her ! The Babushka is obviously very pleased and proud of her little grand daughter. Olga - Olya in pet form - spoke to me in English as best as she could. Our chats were translated to the old lady by 'Valya'.

"This is not exactly my job ..." She joked, but obviously she too was fascinated by the buoyancy of the little thing. Olya kept on saying "kaak udobnaya, kaak krasivaya, kaak prekrasnaya" and more endearments in Russian.

I asked Valya what she meant and Valya was having a hearty laugh. "She is describing you. She says you are so kind and handsome. She says your eyes are so kindly ...." I must have blushed in embarrassment.

"I wish I will have a little daughter like you some day..." I told Olya and she came running to me, embraced me and kissed both my cheeks while the Grandma was beaming. They stayed for about an hour and left. I presented the old lady with a packet of tea and the little girl with a tiny decorated 'Perehera Tusker' and she danced for joy when she received the gift.

I could not take any pictures of the little girl because my camera had gone bust and Valya had run out of film rolls. Fortunately she presented me with one of her pictures ..." Unfortunately I have misplaced that picture in the process of packing an unpacking my books, diaries and albums so many times over. I feel as bad as I have lot a life long friend !

That evening (Saturday, 10 April) we saw a play called 'The Birthday of Theresa' at the Russian Dramatic Theatre. It was recommended highly by some of the players last night. This was a play about the heroic struggle of Cuba. It was so disappointing that we did not even want to go backstage. I telephoned from the hotel and made excuses - that I had a headache etc.

Diary entry - 11, Sunday. "Asoka was with me last night and we slept until a little late this morning, being Sunday. I borrowed fifty roubles from him. I have run out of cash. What with so much dining etc.! At 11.30 we went to see a matinee shows of yet another national opera 'Arshan-Mal-Alan' (Street Vendor).

Reminded me strongly of the early Sinhala films. Four couples get married on the same day at the end of the play ! In the evening we were taken to hear a Brazilian Ensemble. These boys are touring. They also stay in the same hotel. For me it was too big a dose of jazz and jive. Valya seemed to enjoy it".

Interview

Diary entry - 12, Monday. "A small interview with two press and radio men early in the morning. It's a cloudy and windy day. Could not go anywhere in the morning. Strangely, a meeting with the Vice Minister of Cultural Affairs at three in the afternoon.

He gave me a token present too. I was quite taken aback with this unusual event. Meeting with writers and poets is one thing. But being greeted by a Vice Minister was another thing. I presented him with that silver tray I had earlier offered to Zoya, which she politely refused.

I had been carrying this thing for a long time and it was taking too much space in my bag. So, why not offer it to this appropriate Govt. Official and get rid of it. I had offered it to Valya too, but she too refused it saying it was 'too much'! This thing was becoming a bad omen more or less.

I was happy I could get rid of it. Today I have decided never to carry a silver tray with me, if ever I travel again.

Asoka came to say goodbye. He was getting back to Moscow after his assignment here. We had lunch together - on borrowed money ! A ballet in the evening - the very first one in Azarbhajan.

It was called 'Girl's Tower'. Extremely interesting story. Rather like a Greek tragedy but presented so differently. The Queen has just given birth to a child and the King brings gifts - sure it is a boy and heir to him. When he finds out it is a girl he orders the infant to be killed. The mother dies of grief.

An attendant smuggles the child away. She grows up to be a beautiful young girl. The King sees her one day and falls in love with her. He forces her to marry him against her wish. (She has been told about the relationship). The King does not believe her because he thinks that the infant girl was killed according to his orders.

The poor girl is helpless but the King is in her clutches. She orders him to build a tower for her - 'The Girl's Tower'. She jumps into the sea from the tower to protect her chastity. The King realizes the truth and dies of a broken heart...."

The next day we were at the airport on our last leg - to Tashkent, before I would return to Moscow and proceed to London on the second phase of my fellowship. The weather was very bad and the flight was delayed.

We were at the airport for nearly eleven hours. Finally at about four in the morning we arrived in Tashkent. It was very warm in Tashkent. Two men from the Ministry met us and took us to our lodgings - the Tashkent hotel.

Diary entry - 14, Wed. April - "Having arrived here in the wee hours of the morning, slept till late. I was tired too after the long wait at the airport at Baku. The men from the Ministry had been very kind not to fix up anything for the morning. But we attended a very interesting ceremony in the evening.

It was a ceremony to celebrate the 60th birthday of a well-known and much respected playwright here in Uzbekisthan, by the name of Nazar Safarov. The event was organized by the State and he was loaded with presents not only by the State, but by the Writers' Union, various Theatres and even by the Collective Farms in his village.

Here, like in India, they make token presents of very expensive and colourful shawls. Mr. Safarov would have been presented with enough shawls to last a generation. The evening ended with a display of his latest stage play. It was a long evening that went on almost up to midnight."

Carts drawn by horses

Tashkent was a very different place from all the other places I had been to. To begin with it was searingly hot there. It was hot but one did not perspire. I believe it is the lack of humidity.

The men, women and children here looked very much like us except that they were a few shades fairer. There were buggy carts drawn by horses in the streets mingling with the latest Russian cars - just like in Colombo, except that the carts were drawn by horses and not by bulls.

Life was at a nice and slower pace. Nobody was in a hurry. I rather liked it after the hectic run so far. I will talk about the Usbekh Theatre later. Frankly, that man from the Gosconcert in Moscow itself - of course in 'Moscovied' versions.

But this trip was great. I saw so many places. Met so many interesting people I was even allowed backstage, in most places. I think those last two months were spent usefully. It gave me a fair cross-section view of the Soviet Union.

Tashkent was very much like home. We were even invited to the home of our coordinator from the Ministry, whose picture appears today with Valya. His home, in a suburb of Tashkent was very much like one of our middle class homes except that is was far less pretentious.

His father, a large man in baggy trousers, slippers and a well worn long sleeved vest, was already in the arm chair when we arrived. He greeted us without getting up from his chair. He even had a couple of days' stubble on his face. He smiled charmingly even though there were not many teeth under his heavy lips. We (at least) felt immediately at home.

The time was about 11 in the morning. We were treated with biscuits and hot tea. I thought that was that and was ready to leave for lunch, to the hotel. Nothing of the sort. After the tea we were treated to the best of Vodka and cognac.

Valya was of course very careful with the drinks but I allowed myself a few thimblefuls of the good Volka - I was getting used to this searing stuff called Vodkha! I avoided the cognac. In fact it was only the old man who partook of a couple of good sips of the stuff, followed by a long drawn 'hrrrrr' that came from deep within his round belly.

His wife, a thin woman in a sort of fancily patterned 'housecoat' - except that it was much prettier and smarter than our local ones - came out only to replenish what we had consumed, smiled sweetly with us, and faded away into the house.

Thought of the week

The FIFA World Cup games are on right now. I see little bits of the highlights in the noon when I have done with all my other work. I am amazed not so much by the play and its player, but by the stupendously massive crowds that throng the pavilions.

And Good Heavens, HOW MUCH energy is spent in those few hours not only by the players but also by the crowds, the coaches, cheer gangs and the whole lot. Watching all this I had a bright idea.

Why cannot human energy wasted on useless and meaningless wars be deployed for far better use is this kind of Sports Activity? And perhaps use some of it in Cultural activities too? Our own 'warriors' too could think seriously about this.

In sports you can always have a win - or at least a draw. In a war nobody 'wins'. Simply because the land, the sea, the oceans and the air belong to nobody. They belong to Nature itself. They belong to God - not to self appointed 'Sun Gods' or to 'Bushes' or to 'Blairs' or WHOEVER they are!

Let's give it a start here. Let our Forces as well as other 'Forces' get themselves into 'Energy Teams' and train themselves in all kinds of Sports and Cultural activities. Let them contest each other like the FIFA chaps do. There will be massive crowds. Both parties could charge huge gate fees too.

They can collectively improve the poor conditions of the country - North, South, East and West. The winners could be awarded Cups and Trophies instead of the Land, the Sea and the Air.! The contenders will confront each other NOT with guns and other destructive missiles, but with bats and balls and footballs, rugby balls and nets.

There will be no killings. Only injured knees and a few bruises. How about it? We will need no facilitators either. Only Coaches, Referees and Umpires and the like.

It will be like Amir Khan's 'Lagaan'. We will be fighting for eradication of taxes and that sort of thing. We will not be staking human lives......

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