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By:

Shoma A. Chatterji

21 August 2024 at 10:49:40 am

The Pallbearer’s Tragedy

Three decades after its premiere, Rangakarmee’s Mayyat remains a searing theatrical indictment of caste. Rangakarmee is perhaps the only theatre group that has been producing and performing plays in Hindi in Kolkata for 50 years this year. Founded and headed by the late Usha Ganguly, it is still as active and dynamic in presenting Hindi plays mainly new and sometimes recreating for the new audience, old plays that are timeless in their content and their appeal. The amazing feature of Mayyat...

The Pallbearer’s Tragedy

Three decades after its premiere, Rangakarmee’s Mayyat remains a searing theatrical indictment of caste. Rangakarmee is perhaps the only theatre group that has been producing and performing plays in Hindi in Kolkata for 50 years this year. Founded and headed by the late Usha Ganguly, it is still as active and dynamic in presenting Hindi plays mainly new and sometimes recreating for the new audience, old plays that are timeless in their content and their appeal. The amazing feature of Mayyat is that it was first performed by Usha Ganguly and her troupe way back in 1997 and has already performed around 500 shows spanning 30 years and signifies the cross-generational reach and popularity of the play. We saw a group of absolutely new actors dedicated to Rangakarmee. Their performance defined the strict discipline, the constant workouts and rehearsals to keep mobile and flexible because the very big cast needed to be perfect in body, mind and spirit during each 45-minute performance. What does the word Maiyyat mean? It is said to have its roots in Arabic and literally, it translates as ‘dead body’ or ‘corpse.’ The play is rooted in the deep internalization among the low castes of their exploitation and torture by the Brahmins of their village. The Brahmins are proud in their gait, their body language and even in their pure form of dress with the holy thread of Brahminism proudly on display. The custom of the proud, arrogant and rude Brahmins is to choose at least one among the four untouchables to become the pall-bearer when someone of the upper-caste dies. Instead of feeling sad or insulted, the chosen untouchable feels blessed and proud for being allowed by this strange custom of becoming a fake “Brahmin” if even for one day. Lakku is one such untouchable who lives somewhere near Aurangabad and leads a miserable life of poverty with the burden of a mentally deranged, motherless son he takes care of. The pall is decorated heavily with flowers and instead of looking like a bourse, it is decorated with lots of flowers like a palanquin. Someone obviously among the Brahmins is dead and the other Brahmins draw lots to find out which untouchable will be chosen to offer his shoulder to the bourse. `When Lakku’s name comes up in the shuffling of the paper chips, he is thrilled that at least for one day, he will enjoy the ‘blessing’ of becoming a “Brahmin.” But forced to run through the village on an empty stomach and with a weak body, Lakku collapses and dies before the bourse can reach the crematorium. Now, the question is – who will carry his body and carry it to the cremation ground? The entire performance, with 23 theatre actors, originally scripted, designed and directed by Usha Ganguly, is now performed by a new young cast under the guidance, training and supervision of Amal Saha, Deepesh Rajak, and Anirudh Sarkar. It has been conceived and designed like a musical opera with every Brahmin member of the cast, including the young women, dressed traditionally in pristine white with lots of marigold garlands and a sandalwood tikka adorning their foreheads. Though there are dialogues in the performance, these are either among the leading and decisive members among the Brahmins or scoldings and threats from the Brahmins to the four members from the untouchable tribe, each one representing a different low caste. These four men, alongwith Lakku and his mentally retarded son, keep waiting eagerly in one corner of the proscenium for the results of the lots to be drawn. They hug each other for joy when their names are announced and Lakku specially is thrilled with the responsibility of being pallbearer and becoming a Brahmin for just one night. Whose corpse is being carried in the bourse is not important. What is important is who are the pall bearers? At least, the Brahmins are not. What one carries home after watching a performance-play like Mayyat is the marvellous synchronization of the entire female cast wandering right around the proscenium space singing songs in complete harmony with not a note of error and the Brahmin men discussing, arguing and quarrelling over not how the corpse will be cremated but which low-caste man will become the pallbearer for one night. The bottom-line is caste is a continuous, historical evil. But should it remain so? (The writer is a noted film scholar. Views personal.)

Let Childhood Be Childhood

Childhood has become preparation, not experience.

I belong to an era where childhood wasn’t scheduled, measured, or evaluated. We played with mud, drew shapes on the ground, jumped over hopscotch lines till dusk, and came home with scraped knees and hearts full of joy. Life itself felt like a reward — simple, abundant, and stress-free. We lived on cloud nine without knowing the term.


Our homes were porous. Relatives dropped in without appointments, and we visited them without announcements. Neighbours weren’t strangers; they were extended family. Kith and kin were real, present, and dependable. There was attachment, emotional security, and a deep sense of belonging. We grew up knowing that even if something went wrong, there was always someone to fall back on.


Childhood then was not perfect — but it was protected.


A Startling Contrast

Today, as a tutor, I sit across from children as young as 10, 12, 13, and 14, and I hear words that were never part of our childhood vocabulary: anxiety, stress, ADHD, attention disorder, palpitations, and high blood pressure. These are no longer rare—they’re becoming disturbingly common.


As an educator and the mother of a 16-year-old, I often pause and ask: What has changed so drastically? What is stealing the childhood that children are meant to enjoy? Is it books, academic pressure, the constant push for excellence, or the entire ecosystem around the child?


The honest answer is uncomfortable but clear: it’s a combination of everything.


Changed Environment

Today’s children are growing up in an ultramodern, ultrafast, and ultracompetitive world. Life moves faster than their emotional capacity. Information is limitless, comparisons are relentless, and expectations begin early and rarely pause.


Childhood has become preparation, not experience.Children are constantly evaluated—academically, socially, and emotionally—and expected to perform, excel, multitask, and adapt, often without being taught how to handle failure, pressure, or uncertainty.


Unlike earlier generations, many no longer grow up in a naturally supportive system. Families are nuclear, neighbours distant, relatives busy, conversations replaced by screens, and emotional availability reduced—even when physical presence exists.


Losing Capacity

A difficult but necessary question arises: Have children lost the capacity to handle challenges?Not because they are weak, but because they aren’t being allowed to grow strong naturally. Earlier, resilience was built through free play, unstructured time, boredom, social conflicts, minor failures, and independent decisions.


Today, many children are constantly supervised, corrected, and controlled. Their lives are planned in advance, mistakes pre-empted, and discomfort quickly fixed. In trying to protect them, we may be unintentionally disarming them.


Today’s challenges are endless. They won’t reduce—they’ll only evolve. So the goal isn’t to shield children from them but to prepare them to face them. How? Not through pressure, constant correction, fear, or comparison—but through trust, support, and emotional safety.


Role of Parents

Be supportive. Give your children wings—but not freedom without direction. Give them guided freedom.Don’t nitpick every action, control every decision, or turn every moment into a lesson. Offer guidance and values, but allow space.


Let children make decisions, make mistakes, face consequences, and learn. A child allowed to fall learns balance. A child who is trusted learns responsibility.


When you trust your child, you’re not just trusting them—you’re trusting yourself, your values, and your guidance. If you constantly doubt your child, aren’t you also questioning your own parenting?


With the right support, love, and value system, a child may be influenced by peers, but they won’t lose their moral compass. Your upbringing becomes their inner voice. Trust anchors them—and helps them find their way back.


When a child feels anxious, it isn’t disobedience, weakness, or failure. It’s a signal—a need for reassurance, acceptance, understanding, and unconditional love. In that moment, the child needs more support, not more pressure.


Listen more. Correct less. Be present without judgement.


Children are not projects, performance reports, or reflections of social status. They are human beings in their most formative years. Let them laugh loudly, play freely, fail safely, and grow slowly. Give them roots of trust and wings of freedom.


Raising a child today isn’t easy—but raising an anxious child is harder. As parents, tutors, and carers, our greatest responsibility is not to produce high achievers but emotionally secure individuals who can face life with confidence and calm.


Give wings to your child. Let them fly. Be their safe landing.


Because a child who feels trusted, supported, and loved will always find their way — even in the most challenging world.

 

(The writer is a tutor based in Thane. Views personal.)

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