World Theatre Day Special - A Favourite Theatre memory

This World Theatre Day, we asked the lovers of all things live performance to share with us the moments and memories they have made in the theatre that have stayed with them. Their responses were heartwarming, exciting, and honestly reflected the generous spirit of this artform. See what they had to say:

Rohit Kumar

So it was 2014 when I was doing my graduation from DU. That year I experienced true theatre. On 5th Feb evening when college gave us half day to watch our Annual theatre Production , which was happening at SRI Ram Centre. I had done so many plays during my school days but never went to an auditorium. That evening one of my friend had an extra ticket of the show, so he asked me to join him, and I just said ok. We went to watch the show and it was Badal Sircar's Spartacus and directed by Mr. Ajay Manchanda( The man who later taught me true meaning of Theatre). I was so amazed and enthusiastic after watching the show. I made a promise to my friend that next year you are going to see me on stage, and he laughed on me, because I was so introverted, he seen me many time to struggle while even talking to cohorts. College was offering a certificate course for personality development through theatre and the fees was 5500 only. On other side I was planning to join a computer course. When I told this to my parents my

papa took loan of 5500 from his boss and asked me to join that personality development course and I joined. It was year 2015 when college's theatre society was taking auditions for the annual theatre production, I have the audition and got selected. So in 2015 I was onstagr performing(as I promised to my friend) my parents and that friend all of them were so happy. Since then I never looked back, it's been 12 years and now I have completed my Master's in performance studies and preparing for my PhD in same field. I have worked with so many reputed institute including NSD. THEATRE gave meaning to my life. I love theatre so much, even if someone will ask me to choise between food and theatre I'll choose theatre.

Ritika Shrotri

Stage, Screen & a Race Against Time – My Thespo 22 Journey

The world was on pause, but theatre never waits. When the lockdown shut doors, we opened windows - digital ones. Thespo 22 embraced the challenge, announcing an online festival, where performances would be staged live, filmed in a multi-camera setup, and streamed to audiences across the world.

I had two plays in the festival! The Light Catcher, a solo I performed, and Nightmare, an ensemble play I directed. The excitement was unmatched when both got selected. But just as I thought everything was falling into place, life threw a plot twist my way.

I had signed a contract for a film shoot in Madurai, Tamil Nadu, but when the dates shifted, they suddenly clashed with Thespo’s final performances. The classic “all is lost” moment, straight out of Save the Cat. Two plays, two cities, a commitment to honor. Was it even possible?

But I’ve always believed that theatre is not just about the people on stage; it’s

about the ones who hold you up behind the scenes. My incredible teams refused to let this dream slip away. SP College performed Nightmare in Pune, while my Light Catcher team from theatron drove all the way to Madurai, with my director Sanket, ensuring I could perform my solo from there.

Against all odds, we pulled it off. Two shows, two cities, one heart-pounding experience. And then came the climax—awards night. Best Actress, Best Director, Best Ensemble, Best Production Management, and Best Supporting Actor for our team. The cherry on top? The results were announced on my birthday, December 20th.

From chaos to triumph, from near-impossible odds to unforgettable memories—Thespo 22 was more than a festival. It was a testament to passion, resilience, and the magic of theatre that refuses to be confined. Cheers to the phenomenal teams who made it all happen!

Dumpy Sharma

I am an actor and I never imagined myself to be anything other than that. But during theatre training days I realized I love writing too. I wrote my first play The Guardian Angel. The magic happened when 8 actors came together to rehearse. During the course of entire rehearsal all of us released so much emotional burden that we never knew we had or just locked it in for a very long time. The type of story we were rehearsing to perform opened a gateway to reflect upon everything in our heads. We still go back to rehearse knowing that it's our unintended therapy sessions!

प्रिया कश्यप (Priya Kashyap)

हेलो मेरा नाम प्रिया कश्यप है और मैं एक हिंदी की अध्यापिका हूँ। यहां मैं अपना एक अनुभव शेयर करने जा रही हूँ कि किस तरह एक डरी हुई नादान सी लड़की स्टेज पर जाकर परफॉर्म करती है और अपने टीचर से बहुत-बहुत ज्यादा शुभकामनाएं पाती है। यह बात है 2009 की मेरी गर्मियों की छुट्टियों में मैं अपनी नानी के घर लाजपत नगर गई और हमेशा की तरह नानी ने मुझे बाल भवन में एक एक्टिविटी में डलवा दिया। इस बार मैंने थिएटर चुना और भरतनाट्यम। हालांकि मुझे एक्टिंग और डांस और गाना तीनों का बहुत ज्यादा शौक है कभी-कभी ढोल भी बज लेती हूँ। 2 महीने में कोई कैसे सीख सकता है। जितना भी थोड़ा बहुत सीख पाई और उसके बाद आखिरी में वहाँ पर एक नाटक हुआ । नाटक चीटियों की जिंदगी पर था, जिसमें मुझे एक रोने वाली चींटी का रोल करना था। शुरुआत में मुझे लगा कि नहीं मैं नहीं कर पाऊंगी इतने सारे लोग और कैसे रोना आएगा सब क्या सोचेंगे और हमारा जो कॉस्ट्यूम था वह भी पूरा चींटी की तरह ही हमें बना दिया गया। मैंने कभी नहीं सोचा था कि मैं ऐसे इतने बड़े मंच पर परफॉर्म कर पाऊंगी और मेरा अलग से एक कोई रोल होगा। जब मैंने परफॉर्म किया और जो तालिया की गड़गड़ाहट पूरे हॉल में गूंज उठी सच में या अनुभव मेरे लिए किसी सपने से काम नहीं था,मैं तो अपने आप को एक

एक्टर समझने लगी थी। उसे नाटक को देखने के लिए सुषमा सेठ मैंम जो की एक बहुत बड़ी एक्टर है फिल्म में काम कर चुकी हैं। उन्होंने भी हमारी बहुत तारीफ करी सच में यह अनुभव मेरे लिए एक यादगार लम्हे जैसा है।

Salone Mehta

Its utterly hard, if not impossible, to isolate a fav theatre memory. Or one that stands out. Perhaps because of a chaotic collision of so much magic and so much horror in equal measure, in the stories behind the scenes, in the wings, back stage, ‘cause rain or shine, the show must go on!

There are those moments that freeze in time and space, like the time I stood before an audience of over a thousand, and not a word emitted my mouth: “Bona Sera Seniorita Bona sera” illuded me. My ears were on fire and eyes brimming with tears, but head empty, frozen, blank.

Or the time at the end of Ionesco’s The Lesson, When my flowing white dress went up as I was being carried out, but since dead, I had to allow the ‘wardrobe malfunction,” and we got disqualified from the festival.

Probably ‘The King and I’ memory is most vivid in my head. It was a crazy run up to show day, with insane hours of rehearsal with live musicians who had flown in from Calcutta. As show day approached, my voice started choking and gagging and slowly petering out! The hours of tedious rehearsal were taking their toll, and my vocal chords were just trying to be a diva, by playing up (or down) at this nth hour.

So it was garam haldi dudh, and inhalation, and keeping warm. The XLRI auditorium was freezing, and I would keep warm with quick sips of haldi dudh from a flask placed strategically in the wings. Also wear my Thai airways move socks, as these were extra thick and cushy.

Entry exit, Thai socks, haldi dudh, entry, exit, Thai socks, haldi dudh. That was the beat.

But the horror of it all, when I had to raise my right foot to say to Anna, “We need to put our best foot forward,’ and the bright move Thai airways sock stared back at me, to my utter dismay.

But these horrors, that unforgivingly pop up in post show director’s notes, are often what an audience is blissfully unaware of, like the monologue in Roshomon Blues “Cherry Phuli Thi,” which gave me butterflies, cause it was in deep hindi. But one covers it all up, right? Or tries to?

Like meeting my better half, on stage, cupid playing his tricks, and us stealing quick pecks and sharing sweet nothings, before stage entires, thinking no one knew about our offstage shenanigans, when the whole sound department chuckled and rolled on the floor, as it came to them beautifully through our lapels. Those very lapels which spluttered and fizzled out under the 9th June monsoon rain that pelted upon our open air 40th show of ‘The Legend.’

But what memory shall one choose? The time when the audience in Latur laughed when they should have cried? The time when our show played out in relative darkness ‘cause Intelligent lights were fairly new? The time when we walked on nails cause showtime hit before the set was entirely up?

One’s life is a collection of these moments, its always magic…Why, barely few weeks ago, two co-actors forgot cues, and my fabulous A, prompted and pulled out their lines with a clever improv…

We live in this beautiful bubble, which only we understand. It keeps us safe, from a harsher real world, and even as people keep questioning “Why?” “Is it a Hobby,” “Why you do it, does it pay the bills?”

We do it bro, ‘cause, its not a choice. It’s a keeda? Its home. And its not a hobby. Its a way of life.

Yuvraj Kausadikar

I performed the character of Shaheed Shivram Hari Rajguru on 23rd March 2023 in the state level project by government of Maharashtra "aazad hind chi gatha" ... it was as an amazing experience!🙏🏻

Shriekanth Nandkumar

Back in 2016, our team was putting on Devdasi for a play competition in another city. Theatre life - One person juggling a million roles like a circus clown! 🎪 I was playing multiple characters - Shikur (the big bad antagonist), a random mob guy, Gafur, and some fantasy weirdo. Oh, and on top of that, we had to assemble and disassemble our stage props ourselves because, you know, theatre = resource management on a shoestring budget.

So, picture this: after the mob scene, there’s a blackout, and I’ve got to transform from a bare-bodied villager in just a dhoti into Shikur, the fully orthodox Muslim guy. Full costume change. Guess how long I had? Twenty-five seconds. Yup, 25 measly seconds to go from “shirtless farmer” to “serious villain vibes.” 😱 And since we were in a different city, our backstage crew was nonexistent - onstage artists had to fend for themselves like some chaotic DIY project.

I thought, “Okay, actor, let’s save the time!” So I decided to slap on pajamas over my Dhoti - perfect shortcut! Then I grabbed this loose kurta that matched. I darted behind the third wing to change, but it was pitch black. Like, “hello darkness, my old friend” level dark. 🌑 While fumbling, I put my pajamas on backward. Eh, who’s gonna notice? I tied it up from the back. Like, So what? Hushhh, crisis averted! Then I threw on the kurta - only to realize it was flipped too! The pajamas were adjustable, but a backward kurta? That’s a fashion crime even Shikur wouldn’t commit! 😅

Five seconds left. Fade-in music kicked in, and my fellow actors started entering from the first and second wings. Now, my heart was pounding like a drum solo! 🥁 Meanwhile, the kurta got stuck on my arms as I tried to fix it. But what? Holy shoe! It was inside out - because, of course, it was; that’s what happens when you yeet your clothes off in a hurry! I was like, “Nope, no time to deal with this nonsense!” and chucked the kurta somewhere by cursing myself.

My legs were ready to sprint to the stage, but my brain yelled, “Hold up, dude! Bare body and pajamas? You’re the antagonist, not a pajama party host! You idiot!” I lost it right there. Patience gone, sanity out the window! So I yanked off the pajamas too. And then, by the grace of Lord Nataraja 🙏, I realized I was still in my Dhoti, The one I hadn’t removed to save time - time saved me! {Later, no one (apart from our team) noticed this fuss, as playing Shikur in a different voice was usual. And yeah, we won three prizes for the play that day.}

The stage lights were already fading in, waiting for me. My co-actors were side-eyeing each other and were ready to improvise random thoughts on “Wait, Shikur miya is about to come”. 😅 No way was I letting that happen! I switched gears fast - forget Shikur’s slow, menacing walk; Shikur now entered the stage by seriously stomping! 😄

Shriekanth Nandkumar, Performing Artist and Research Scholar. Now in Hyderabad. Insta @shriekanth_

Vaishnavi Swami

I have known QTP since the time i have entered college and been dreaming to become Thespo fellow. I came to Mumbai because of Thespo -24, because i know these people are trustworthy and honest. I have always wanted to be part of Thespo and its adventurous ride to organise the festival. During my time at Thespo - 24, i had hurt myself and i had known the folks only for like 4 weeks or so, but they took care of me like we know each other since years and loved me soo much that I didn’t want to leave Mumbai. They made sure I fall in love with the city because of these people. This showed me that theatre people are born with golden heart and loving nature. And this will be the most cherished memory for me.

Tanushree Baruah Sapkota

From Stage Left (A Tribute of Love)

When I volunteered as one of the backstage managers for Alyque Padamsee’s Romeo and Juliet, produced by QTP Productions, I thought I was helping out with a play. What I didn’t realise was that I was signing up for the most vivid, chaotic, unforgettable education of my life.

I was stationed at Stage Left, managing props and scene shifts, reporting to Karl Alphonso, the ever-unflappable head of production. On Stage Right, Larina held down the other side with an enviable ease. Together, we made sure everything flowed; fans, goblets, veils, swords; things going off and coming on at the right time, in the right hand, with the right mood.

Before each show, Larina and I would quietly lay out the props in order of appearance, placing each sword, goblet, letter or knife in its rightful place, ready to be picked up and swept into the world of Verona. It became a kind of ritual for us, careful, silent, almost meditative. In the hush before the house lights dimmed, those few minutes of preparation felt like a pocket of calm before the storm. We rarely spoke during it. We knew what had to be done, and doing it soothed us.

Figuring out the stage food for every performance became its own kind of backstage production, and we loved it. For the Ball scenes that called for alcohol-like beverages, we would mix part Coke and part Sprite to create a murky amber liquid that passed, if you did not look too closely, for whiskey. For the Capulet Ball, where Romeo first lays

eyes on Juliet, we arranged for trays of the NCPA’s famous cheese and chutney sandwiches, sliced into delicate squares, elegant and believable. They were just sandwiches, but they mattered. They were part of the illusion, part of the atmosphere. And we were proud of them. Twenty-two years later, I still remember the taste of those sandwiches. And I swear they do not taste the same anymore.

Backstage crew often got drafted as extras, and I was no exception. At one point, I had to run across the stage and get my head chopped off, not figuratively, but quite literally, as part of a scene. Chandan Roy Sanyal, who played the part that required this dramatic execution, went at it with so much gusto that it always brought a chill down my spine.

I was also pressed into service as one of the mourners in the funeral scene for Mercutio. Earlier, I had been assigned a bright orange party skirt as part of my costume for the Capulet ball. In a rush, and without thinking, I wore the same skirt for the mourning scene. It was beautiful, festive, and completely wrong. Later, Toral came up to me, ever so gently, and said, something like, maybe wear an old petticoat next time, something a little more suited to grieving. And that was that. No scolding. No drama. Just a quiet redirection, the kind that sticks with you.

We also found it hilarious to write pretend love letters to Zafar Karachiwala, who played the role of the Priest. These were meant to be props, but we could not resist slipping in ridiculous messages and over-the-top declarations inside the folded parchment. Each time he opened one on stage, he had no idea what he would find. But he never once broke character. Not a flicker. He was such a professional with absolute, unwavering focus. That made it even funnier, of course.

The sheer scale of the Tata Theatre left me breathless. I remember walking into that majestic space for the first time, the curtains, the sweeping arc of the stage, the weight of its silence before an audience arrived. It felt like standing in a cathedral built for stories. There was something sacred about it. It made you want to get everything right, not out of fear, but out of reverence.

There is something about being backstage that sharpens every sense. You learn to listen differently, to move silently, to feel the story without seeing it. You become deeply aware of timing, not in the abstract, but in the pulse of it. Everything matters. Everything must click. And when it does not, you fix it without drama, without noise, and hopefully, without being seen.

One night, the actor playing the Nurse missed her cue. She had a sudden coughing fit and had dashed offstage for a glass of water. But Juliet was already onstage, waiting. Without blinking, she turned to the actor playing a servant and pretended to slap him across the face, in character, and demanded, with perfect fury, to know where the Nurse was. It bought us the seconds we needed. The Nurse returned, breath caught, entrance made. The audience was none the wiser.

That is the kind of save you do not forget. Not just because it was sharp, but because it was generous. She held the story in place so someone else could return to it. That is what theatre teaches you, that your job is sometimes to carry the moment for someone else, and to do it without expectation, without applause.

Then there was Alyque. Magnetic, maddening, brilliant. One day he decided he wanted a whistle to direct the actors. We were at the NCPA, deep in Nariman Point, surrounded by banks, glass buildings, finance towers. Absolutely no chance of a sports shop or a toy store anywhere nearby.

For reasons still unclear to me, we had party blowers backstage. They were not props. I have no idea why they were there or where they came from, but they were there, and I started pulling them apart to extract the little plastic noise-makers inside, thinking maybe I could fashion one into a whistle.

Q, wandered past, took one look at what I was doing, and said, stop. Just distract him. He will forget. And sure enough, Alyque was on to something else by the time I looked up.

Another time, during a PR photoshoot, AP, as we all lovingly called him, barked from across the stage, Tah-nush-ree, I need a red rose. I said yes AP, because no was never truly an answer, and dashed off in search. I found a boy selling bouquets at the traffic signal outside NCPA. He sensed my desperation, charged me a hundred rupees for a bunch, and I ran back with the prize in hand. Of course, by then, AP had discovered a flowering bougainvillea and no longer needed the rose. The rose was never used. Welcome to show business!

Some memories are just stitched into the fabric of those days. Like the time Nadir Khan, who was always exact about his gear, suddenly panicked because his beloved Oakleys had gotten mixed up with the prop sunglasses. In a complete frenzy, he had me empty out all the prop boxes backstage until we found them. When we finally did, the relief on his face was something I will never forget.

And then there was Aditya Hitkari, our Romeo. During a sword fight, his face got nicked. It was a small cut, but it started bleeding and he rushed backstage, clearly rattled, asking me for ice. I scrambled for whatever I could find. Later that evening, during a time when land lines existed, he actually called me at home to thank me. He said that when you work as an actor and model, your face really is your career. That quiet explanation stayed with me. He was such a gentleman.

Karl, our unshakeable backstage captain, had been given a pager, which was quite a thing back then. Of course we used it for everything. Every minor delay. Every costume glitch. Every made-up emergency that felt real in the moment. We paged him so often that the messaging company started recognising our numbers. One day, a service rep even asked me what exactly do you all do. I said, we run on paper tape, endless sandwiches, and whispered panic.

And at the centre of it all was Toral Shah. She had this remarkable gift for holding things together. She had an instinctive grasp of what needed doing, and she did it without fuss, bringing calm where it was most needed, clarity where there was confusion, and a kind of elegant precision that made everything run smoother. She was brilliant, unfazed, and always ahead of the game.

It was the era when even incoming mobile calls were charged. One evening, Q, Toral and I were at his mum’s apartment when Alyque called asking for Toral’s number. After Q hung up, Toral, completely calm, said, well, all my phone bills can now be paid by the production. That dry delivery was pure Toral. Sharp, steady, already looking five steps ahead.

Later, through Thespo, she had the space to show just how creative she was too. Thespo is a youth theatre festival for theatre geeks under the age of twenty-five to audition from across the country, and the top picks get to stage their productions at professional theatres. It’s a big deal. For so many, it was the first time young theatre geeks were treated as serious theatre-makers, not just enthusiastic students. It gave you a stage, yes, but it also gave you rigour, deadlines, peer feedback, and a chance to be part of something bigger.

Watching Toral move through that space, balancing quiet logistics with bold creative vision, felt like a masterclass in leadership, though she would never call it that. She did not need to raise her voice. She did not ask for credit. She certainly did not play to the gallery. She just did the work, beautifully and efficiently, without a trace of fuss, and somehow made the whole machine hum a little smoother.

I have worked under celebrated leaders in big tech, people with titles and teams and TED Talks to their name, but Toral remains the gold standard. Not because she was trying to be, but because she simply is. She taught me, without ever saying it aloud, that there is strength in stillness, that grace can hold its own in the loudest room, and that women can carve out space without demanding it, simply by being excellent.

I am so lucky to have been in her orbit. To have learned from her without her ever needing to teach. To have witnessed that kind of grounded intelligence and generosity up close. For a young woman backstage, trying to find her footing in a space full of large personalities and even larger egos, Toral was proof that you did not need to mimic anyone else. You could lead without noise, without spectacle, and still be deeply respected. Even now, when I am faced with something complex or overwhelming, I catch myself thinking, WWTD, what would Toral do. And somehow, just thinking of her helps me find the next right step.

There was something else about those times backstage. Something less tangible but just as lasting, a kind of camaraderie that only comes when you have been in the trenches together, passing cues in the dark, fixing broken props with seconds to spare, laughing at chaos when it is too late to do anything else. We were young. We were tired. We were completely in it together. And more than twenty years later, many of us still are. There is something about the theatre that binds people in a way very little else can.

Backstage, there is no spotlight, no audience applauding. But that does not mean there is no magic. The magic is in the trust, the timing, the tiny saves, the prop that reappears in the right place, the quiet cue passed from one side of the stage to the other. It is in how people step in for each other, not out of obligation, but because they care deeply that the story carries on.

I didn’t walk away from that show with a title or a bio line. What I carried with me was far more lasting. I understood, for the first time, that grace under pressure isn’t about pretending nothing is wrong. It’s about helping things go right without fuss. That the best work is often invisible. That leading well means leaving no trace but just the quiet knowledge that everything held together when it mattered most.

After one show, Alyque stepped forward to give a short speech and opened the floor for questions. A man in the audience kept booing loudly, persistently, and for no apparent reason. Alyque didn’t flinch. He smiled, waited for the noise to die down, and said, ‘Any lady or gentleman is welcome to ask a question. Except the booing baboon.’

The man went quiet. The rest of us did not.

If you’ve ever stood backstage, waiting in the dark with a sword in one hand and your heart in the other, you’ll know exactly what I have been trying to say all this while. And if you haven’t, maybe try it. It might change the way you move through the world.

Q used to quote U2’s Acrobat in those days, and somehow, all these years later, it still says everything that needs saying.

And you can dream,

So dream out loud,

And don't let the bastards grind you down.

Acknowledgments

I want to thank the people who gave me my deepest, most reverent love for the theatre, a love that has stayed with me, lifelong and unchanged.

Alyque Padamsee, Toral Shah, Quasar Thakore Padamsee, Karl Alphonso, Nadir Khan, Yuki Elias, Mahabanoo Mody Kotwal, Jayati Bhatia, and Chandan Roy Sanyal. I learned more than I can ever say, just by being near you.