The Second Word War

The fact that you can make a lie ring true if you repeat it so many times never ceases to amaze. Like all practices this, too, has evolved a lot over the centuries. In today’s world its advancement is staggering, for it is no longer concerned with making lies sound true. Truth and falsity are obsolete terms as far as propaganda is concerned, which tries to bring them both together on the common ground known as belief. Propaganda, a subtle mixture of science and art, is an important facilitator for the transaction of selling ideas and buying minds.

And all this is what the protagonist of ‘Khel’, a play by Fergusson College which reached the semi-finals of the Loksatta Lokankika drama competition, tries to hint at throughout the play. She is the remarkably young marketing head of a big firm and she evidently knows every little trick in the book. The play opens with her explaining this art to some mediocre ad agency students and us, using milder words like ‘convincing’. The ease with which she rejects the students’ feeble attempts at convincing her, and with which she manages to convince them in turn, makes one wonder if this thing is as practical as she makes it sound. And then Anagha goes right ahead and proves it.

The rest of the play is designed as an epic battle of words. Only after her father’s demise does the tension between them dissolve, and she finally acts on what he had been pleading her to do for a long time. She visits her old tutor and the headmistress of the college in which her father used to work, to share the sad news. They discuss him, and there is something odd about the insecure determination with which the tutor keeps asserting that it had indeed been her father’s fault, ‘it’ being a mishap seven years earlier which had cost him his job in the college. There’s little here to suggest conspiracy, but a couple of other things here and there take hold of Anagha’s imagination; following which comes a slow but steady confrontation in which she manages to coax the truth out of her old teacher.

For a brief while after the dramatic opening, this play slips into a dialogue in which condolences are given and anecdotes are exchanged. One does wonder for a short while about the relevance of this quiet little tête-à-tête, which only shows the writer’s skill in successfully keeping the audience clueless as to where it all was headed. There is a point in the play after which Anagha’s inquiries become sharper and begin to seem purposeful, and that point is marked by the tutor’s anecdote about her own father and how he taught her a lesson through love. Relating this with the mishap which cost her father his dignity years ago, Anagha pieces together a possibility of similar intentions and the presence of an unfortunate scapegoat. Thus begins a war of words, in many ways similar to the one fought seven years ago between the tutor and Anagha’s father; a hunch which turns out to be accurate.

It is made to seem as if Anagha’s was a chance visit, and this anecdote was what prompted her to delve further and consider alternative possibilities about her father’s past. Hence the presence of this anecdote is highly relevant, but it does seem odd that this tutor would just narrate it to the perceptive daughter of the man she screwed. The narrative is, of course, harmless in itself. However, it is reasonable to expect from a person so supposedly well-versed in propaganda tactics to be a bit vigilant about what she shares and with whom. She does become remarkably defensive later and elegantly dodges and sidesteps a few landmines, but confesses in the end. One also wonders about the calmness with which Anagha takes it. Instead of anger we see a touch of sadness and possibly, remorse.

The strengths of this play are both its words and the way they are said. Before the conversation accelerates into a game of composed accusations and skilful denials, it could have seemed monotonous and a bit dull, but the curiosity of the outcome keeps one watching attentively. Whether it’s the simple exchange of catharsis with comfort, or the occasional informative comment about propaganda, the writer is successful in keeping the audience involved. This makes them appreciate the intensity of the latter confrontation better. Anagha’s character is a complicated one, what with the sudden shifts from iciness to warmth and nonchalance to devoted involvement, and credit goes to Mukta Bam and Dhanashree Joshi for developing and carrying it nicely respectively. Janhavi Khoshe, too, has played the tutor well, making the insecurity and defiance appear as sincere as one would have expected.

A concept as multi-layered as this almost always has two sides, and one of the good things about this play is that it portrays both sides well. It also makes us realize that we never looked at it as the profound technique they have made it look. Its message can be summed up as follows : what you use to make your reluctant friend want to go to the movie of your choice is exactly what all dictators had used to rise to power, and what has fueled almost every extremist decision in human history. It’s a remarkable insight. Finally, as far as convincing goes, this play does manage to convince us that it was really worth our time. Again, does it matter if it is true or false as long as the audience believes it?