My First (?) School Play
Participating in
bironic’s Memoryfest II.
Now since I dispensed with the lengthy backstory about my time at the D.A.V. Public School in New Delhi last post, I can be (relatively) succinct this time. I’m not sure when this happened. It could be in the New Delhi Part 1 because I was definitely much more extroverted and outgoing before coming to the States, but it could also be during New Delhi Part 2 because I remember being upset about coming back in the middle of exams but leaving before something I was looking forward to.
My class was going to perform a play-I don’t remember the title, but it was classic folktale, probably called something along the lines of The Brahmin and the Mouse.
Once upon a time, there was a Brahmin who through his holiness had great power, as he sat meditating, a small mouse approached him and begged for help. Owls were always chasing him and trying to eat him, so he wanted power, to be stronger, to be able to fly from trouble. He begged so pitifully, the Brahmin had mercy and transformed him into a bird. Days passed, and the newly transformed bird returned, begging for help. Cats were always chasing him trying to eat him, so he wanted power, to be stronger, to be braver, to be able to fight them off. He begged so pitifully, the Brahmin had mercy and transformed him into a cat. And so it went, from mouse to bird to cat to dog and finally to tiger, with a little moral from the Brahmin after each transformation. But as soon as the Brahmin turned the mouse into a tiger, it felt resentful for always being the supplicant, for always having been at the old man’s mercy. At last powerful enough, it decided to devour the old man himself and therefore become the most powerful. As it sprung at the Brahmin, the old man looked at the mouse sadly and said, “Have you learned nothing? How could you possibly harm me, for I have made you what you are.” And with his staff, turned the tiger back into a mouse. Alarmed and ashamed, it squeaked away.
I wish I remembered more of it-the fragments seem like it would make a really interesting commentary on power. Regardless, each stage of transformation would be played by a different child and there were small parts of song and dance where the other kids could have small pieces. I was selected to play the lead role of the Brahmin (for those who know me, doesn’t that seem so entirely out of character? me acting? me as the lead role? but once upon a time, I was a very outgoing loud child). I was excited really excited about it. The whole class worked on sets and costumes. I was going to wear the traditional orange of Hindu holy men and women, and had an elaborate white wig and beard that we made out of cotton. We practiced and rehearsed, I memorized all my lines. Excited could not even describe how I felt.
But all of a sudden, NIH made an offer, and my parents decided to leave as soon as they could, which happened to be a week before the performance. The teacher was mildly upset that she didn’t have more warning, someone else got my role, and to this day, I feel a pang of regret. As if I missed out on an experience that I can never possibly repeat.
bironic’s Memoryfest II.
Now since I dispensed with the lengthy backstory about my time at the D.A.V. Public School in New Delhi last post, I can be (relatively) succinct this time. I’m not sure when this happened. It could be in the New Delhi Part 1 because I was definitely much more extroverted and outgoing before coming to the States, but it could also be during New Delhi Part 2 because I remember being upset about coming back in the middle of exams but leaving before something I was looking forward to.
My class was going to perform a play-I don’t remember the title, but it was classic folktale, probably called something along the lines of The Brahmin and the Mouse.
Once upon a time, there was a Brahmin who through his holiness had great power, as he sat meditating, a small mouse approached him and begged for help. Owls were always chasing him and trying to eat him, so he wanted power, to be stronger, to be able to fly from trouble. He begged so pitifully, the Brahmin had mercy and transformed him into a bird. Days passed, and the newly transformed bird returned, begging for help. Cats were always chasing him trying to eat him, so he wanted power, to be stronger, to be braver, to be able to fight them off. He begged so pitifully, the Brahmin had mercy and transformed him into a cat. And so it went, from mouse to bird to cat to dog and finally to tiger, with a little moral from the Brahmin after each transformation. But as soon as the Brahmin turned the mouse into a tiger, it felt resentful for always being the supplicant, for always having been at the old man’s mercy. At last powerful enough, it decided to devour the old man himself and therefore become the most powerful. As it sprung at the Brahmin, the old man looked at the mouse sadly and said, “Have you learned nothing? How could you possibly harm me, for I have made you what you are.” And with his staff, turned the tiger back into a mouse. Alarmed and ashamed, it squeaked away.
I wish I remembered more of it-the fragments seem like it would make a really interesting commentary on power. Regardless, each stage of transformation would be played by a different child and there were small parts of song and dance where the other kids could have small pieces. I was selected to play the lead role of the Brahmin (for those who know me, doesn’t that seem so entirely out of character? me acting? me as the lead role? but once upon a time, I was a very outgoing loud child). I was excited really excited about it. The whole class worked on sets and costumes. I was going to wear the traditional orange of Hindu holy men and women, and had an elaborate white wig and beard that we made out of cotton. We practiced and rehearsed, I memorized all my lines. Excited could not even describe how I felt.
But all of a sudden, NIH made an offer, and my parents decided to leave as soon as they could, which happened to be a week before the performance. The teacher was mildly upset that she didn’t have more warning, someone else got my role, and to this day, I feel a pang of regret. As if I missed out on an experience that I can never possibly repeat.