Auckland based theatre society Prayas celebrate their first fifteen years of endeavour with Yātrā, an eclectic procession of plays connected by the broadly socio-political themes of class, identity, generational values and government, among other things. Eight pieces from eight writers, five directors and twenty-five actors in all, they also vary stylistically from relatively conventional drama to direct address character narration, with plenty of humour and a measure of absurdism.

The first two works feel like extracts from longer plays. Set in the seventies, if the costumes are any indication, Keats was a Tuber sees Sarala (Gayatra Adi), a young English teacher with a tendency to distraction, struggling to measure up to her elder colleagues’ expectations. When she meets the new substitute teacher Raghu (Ruzbeh Palsetia), an urbane Freddy Mercury-styled young man with self-entitled anger issues, it sets up the prospect of an ensuing drama which explores shifting generational and gender politics, that we don’t get to see as the scene concludes and the next piece begins.

Similarly, I Really Have to Meet God introduces us to two household servants Das (Shivneel Singh) and Dasi (Sudeepta Vayas) in the opening scene of a kind of screwball comedy as narrated by Das. Through an absurdist lens and some flirtatious banter, the premise of a class-based philosophical enquiry is established – and once again left hanging as we advance to work number three.

Aurat (Woman) intercuts an excitable game of charades with the impassioned proclamation of what being a woman means to five female characters portrayed by Arti Kansara, Gayatri Adi, Porvi Fomra, Shweta Tomar and Sudeepta Vyas. As their men look on and occasionally participate with an air of entitlement and some derision, the women confront us directly with cathartic denunciations of the unfair and unnecessary obstacles to true self-realisation women face in their society (and many others), and declarations of commitment to personal and political change.

The simplest, longest and most humorous work in the first half is Guards at the Taj, concerning a young upstart royal guardsman Babur (Agustya Chandra) and his older colleague Humayun (Raj Singh), chatting and bickering as the sun rises for the first time on the newly completed Taj Mahal. Their banter is funny and often interesting, although given the allegedly excessive penalties they face if caught talking on the job, they are remarkably loquacious, often shouty, not really present to the jeopardy they claim.

This play’s climactic moments are also confusing. Having established which way East is (and therefore West), they then gaze offstage at what would be north-north-east according to the established compass. I believe it would be more effective, certainly less disorienting to turn their backs to look in the previously determined direction, at the same image we can see. 

Opening part two, Thaneer Thaneer (Water) is a more complete narrative involving a village of 300 suffering a five-year long water crisis as their pleas for aid are continually ignored by their government. Vellaisamy (Roji Varghese) is a crime-of-passion murderer and fugitive of the law who makes a daily fourteen mile journey to bring water to the villagers, thus they are reluctant to turn him in although the benefit of the reward money is discussed in some depth. When local candidate Naicker (Utsav Patel) arrives to demand his subjects’ loyalty, the community is understandably cynical about their chances of finally getting the assistance denied for so long. Their solution gains media attention and leads to an encouraging, possibly idealistic outcome.

Know the Truth is a fairly straightforward presentation of a blatant Fake News production. In a time of violent political upheaval across the nation, a talkback presenter (Shweta Tomar) assures callers with typical phony compassion that the hardship, suffering and worse that they are ringing about is not actually happening – even to the ones reporting their own suffering first-hand. Written twenty years ago it may have had more acerbic satirical bite at the time; sadly now it’s so accurate as to be cliché.

My favourite title, Ten Ton Tongue has three actors (Fomra, Kansara and Gemishka Chetty) describe a singular experience with a pushy date which reaches a rather shocking, grimly cathartic conclusion. The dark humour is none-too-subtly accentuated by the rear-wall projection of important classic female-empowerment phrases such as ‘Me Too’, ‘My Body My Rules’ and so on.

Finally, Harlesden High Street follows three Pakistani characters living in London: Immigrant grocer Rehaan (Ansh Malhotra), his associate Karim (Bala Murali) and his mother whom he calls Ammi (Ayisha Heble). This time the three protagonists take turns narrating their thoughts and anecdotes as they go about their day, comparing life in London to ‘back home’ and reflecting on what home really is anyway. A somewhat poetic, almost dream-like note to finish on.

Across the bill, the casts’ performances are largely demonstrative, which seems appropriate for some works while others could benefit from more naturalism. Some of the more intense and emotional content falls short of engaging the desired levels of sympathy when actors don’t fully inhabit their characters. The solution could be as simple as needing more hours of rehearsal, with some pieces presenting more as a work-in-progress than fully realised.

Noteworthy credits are due to the fairly monumental work of costume and makeup designer Padma Akula and the accomplished simplicity of Natasha Iver’s versatile set design, while the atmospheric visual enhancement of lighting designer Calvin Hudson is a most appealing and vital component of the overall theatrical experience.

I feel it behoves me to note that due to my relatively limited knowledge of the various South Asian cultures presented in this anthology, I daresay there are many references and allusions that I didn’t get that would no doubt enhance the experience further. That said, Prayas clearly aspires to their work being accessible and engaging to anyone who is interested, and indeed they are – be they exploratory, impressionistic or poetic – without any discernible compromise to their own collective cultural identity. 

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