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| Sunday, 6 June 2004 |
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Life with William... He turns actor by Carol Aloysius Man Friday William is a man of surprises. A couple of weeks ago he surprised us by revealing his hidden talent in the aesthetic field when he made a splendid peacock lantern for Wesak. True it was a joint effort by him and his friends, but William insisted that he was the chief designer. A few days later he sprung us another surprise, when together with his four buddies (mage hithavath sahodarayo, as he calls them), he decided to stage a play. The inspiration to write and direct a play came from watching my son's play" 'Bungalow Bangalore' being rehearsed day after day in my sitting room, he confessed to me. The play, a comedy, was based on the antics of the well-known court jester Andare, and the story was about how Andare ate sugar. Although the idea itself was not original, the story was adapted and re-written by William to accommodate all his friends who had begged to be allowed to play a role. Rehearsals went on every night and whenever William and his friends, Dias, Piyasena, Gamage and Pancha were free. They were held in our garage at the back of the house which was converted into a stage cum recreation centre where the five would relax playing cards or carrom during the break while rehearsing. Regular cups of tea were served gratis at my expense, in accordance with Man Friday's wishes. Forbidden from watching the rehearsals , I nevertheless had to break up the rehearsals a couple of times when neighbours began complaining of loud strange noises that disturbed their sleep. Annoyed by the noise at the ungodly hour of midnight, they even threw stones at the garage. Undeterred the actors continued to rehearse threatening to retaliate. Two days before the Big Day William and his friends began distributing tickets for the play to the neighbours. Ever since the word had gone round that a play about Andare was being staged at the Wipulasena Mawatha's kopi kade, they were eagerly waiting to see it. So it was hardly surprising that the tickets, priced from two rupees for the bench seats to five rupees for the chair seats were sold out before the end of the day. Sarath who owned the kopi kade readily agreed to loan them the entire boutique free of charge when it closed half day on Saturday. And sharp at 12 noon, William and his friends together with the help of neighbours began putting up a make shift stage and arranging chairs and benches for the audience. As for the costumes, they were sewn by the tailor across the road at a nominal charge the day before when a full dress rehearsal was held by lantern light. Came the big day and the entire neighbourhood was in a state of excitement. The play began sharp on time with my dinner gong serving as a bell to herald the start of the play. It was a play to remember!. Never had an audience been so enthusiastic! When William made his entrance as the court jester with an impromptu somersault it went wild. Jumping on the benches, chairs and tables, they cheered him on. Thoroughly enjoying himself, William, a self-confessed 'sweet tooth' was seen spooning mouthfuls of sugar into his mouth as he rolled across the sugar strewn stage with Piyasena who played the part of his son repeating the well known-words, "umbe kateth pus, mage kateth pus", while an amused King (Dias) looked on helplessly. Blearly eyed but jubilant, William came jingling his pockets early next morning to show me the money he had collected - a princely sum of two hundred rupees. "Api ekathu karapu salli ekke thava natayak danava" (We hope to stage another play with this money) he now tells me as I plead with him to get back to the kitchen and resume his erstwhile role as our cook. Ignoring my pleas, he has taken to disappearing to his room at different times of the day. His excuse: "mama thava natyak liyanawa" (I am writing another play!). |
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