Sulabha Deshpande, A Student of Drama Not a Diva: Chitra Palekar

        
                                                                                                                                                                                             Photos of Sulabha from the play Raktabeej  

  At Chabildas hall, discussing future of theatre

         

In her famed mother roles

On the evening of June 4, I was stunned to get the news that Sulabha Deshpande, a doyenne of theatre and films, had passed away. At the beginning of the year, I’d met her at a function of her theatre group Aavishkar. She did look frail but when we chatted, she seemed like her usual self and not like someone who was unwell. Soon after I went abroad for a while, so didn’t know that she was seriously ill.  It was difficult to sleep that night as old memories kept flooding my mind. They still do.
 
I first heard about Sulabha in the early 1960s through her younger sister Asha Kamerkar, who acted with a group of people known to my family. It was Asha who told me about Rangaayan, the group that was formed by like-minded theatre activists to give a new, modern direction to Marathi theatre.
 
The group’s main pillars were Vijaya Mehta, Vijay Tendulkar and Arvind Despande, Sulabha’s husband, while Sulabha was one of its lead actresses. I also remember Asha proudly telling me about her sister’s brilliant performance in a play called Badha. At the time, besides studies all my free hours were taken up by competitive table tennis. So despite my interest in theatre, I had not seen Sulabha perform on stage.
 
The opportunity to meet her came in 1967, when Satyadev Dubey cast me in the Hindi version of Girish Karnad’s now well-known play Yayati. It was my first play in serious theatre. Except me, the entire cast– consisting of Amrish Puri, Tarla Mehta, Sunila Pradhan, Dubey himself and Sulabha –was highly experienced.
 
So when I reached Sydenham College for my first rehearsal, I was very nervous. Then I saw Sulabha sitting quietly in a corner, intently watching while Puri Saab and Tarlaben did a scene. I was shocked to see that Sulabha seemed more like a conscientious drama student than the diva that I had imagined for years.
 
The moment we were introduced, she gave me a warm, beautiful smile that lit up her face and I instantly relaxed. “Just call me Sulabha,” she said to me, and added with a twinkle in her highly expressive eyes, “no need to attach tai or bai after it.” And that’s what she was to me for half a century –Sulabha. Not a distant actress, but a friend.
 
In the next few years I came to know Sulabha well in her professional as well as personal capacity. When Dubey cast us both in Ibsen’s Ghosts, the long rehearsals at Walchand Terrace with Sulabha were like practical acting lessons for me… a wonderful demonstration of what Dubey explained about diction, projection, finding motivation or emoting. I saw how she developed a character through its emotional graph, rather than through external mannerisms.

The opportunity to meet her came in 1967, when Satyadev Dubey cast me in the Hindi version of Girish Karnad’s now well-known play Yayati. It was my first play in serious theatre. Except me, the entire cast– consisting of Amrish Puri, Tarla Mehta, Sunila Pradhan, Dubey himself and Sulabha –was highly experienced.

 
I also realized that though by nature she was a strong instinctive actress, she could combine the emotional approach with the cerebral one. Her performances, on stage as well as on screen, seemed extremely natural and spontaneous, but they were well thought-out and controlled.
 
I was curious to hear from her about her previous work with Dubey but she was too unassuming – a quality she retained all her life – and did not like to talk much about herself. I had to find about her highly praised performances in Band Darwaze (No Exit by Sartre) and as Gandhari in Dharmaveer Bharati’s Andhaa Yug, through photos and reviews lying scattered in dusty trunks at Walchand Terrace.
 
After Ghosts, I never had a chance to act with her again, but we met often. When Dubey trained me as Manasi in Badal Sircar’s iconic play Evam Indrajit, Sulabha was directing Tendulkar’s Shantata Court Chalu Ahe in Hindi for Theatre Unit. Sulabha scheduled her rehearsal after mine, so I usually stayed back to watch it.
 
I found her to be a very relaxed director who handled her cast of both senior and new actors with confidence. I had not seen the original Marathi play, so had missed seeing Sulabha in the central role of Miss Benare, which had brought her major accolades.
 
The Hindi version Chup, Court Chalu Hai at last made up for it. During the same period, she recommended my name to Arvind Deshpande for a play called Lobh Nasaava Hee Vinantee that he was directing. Translated from a foreign play by Tendulkar, it was Rangaayan’s entry for the State Drama Competition.
 
This was my debut in Marathi experimental theatre, and it became a turning point in my career as well as life… all thanks to Sulabha!
 
The following years saw Rangaayan develop cracks. Arvind, Sulabha and Kakade Kaka left it to form Avishkaar. However, Theatre Unit now had a home in Walchand Terrace, which had become a regular adda, – like Prithvi Theatre in later years – for people in experimental theatre.

I was shocked to see that Sulabha seemed more like a conscientious drama student than the diva that I had imagined for years.

So, I kept meeting Sulabha there. Many times I even went to her house for a play reading, or for the post-mortem cum party after the first performance. What I remember is that when we met one on one Sulabha not only chatted affectionately, but would also tease, joke and laugh a lot.
 
However at the theatre parties, she was invariably reserved. She was a great cook and hostess. But while everyone talked nineteen to the dozen and argued vociferously -especially after drinks –Sulabha remained silent, at times literally merging with the background.
 
Her transformation puzzled me. But I slowly realized that if she remained calm and quiet during these gatherings,it was not because she was inhibited or had nothing to say, but because she preferred to speak only when people were in a condition to listen and grasp what she said!! Her core was so strong that she did not need to exhibit it.
 
However, she did demonstrate her strength when it was needed – during the controversial break up from Rangaayan to start Aavishkar from scratch, or when Arvind suddenly passed away, leaving her to look after their personal as well as theatre families.
 
When Chabildas School suddenly asked Aavishkar to vacate their premises, giving a terrible jolt to the Marathi experimental theatre and effectively ending what was known as the Chabildas Movement, Sulabha never gave up.
 
Against all odds she managed to get space in a Municipal school in Mahim, so that the theatre activity of Aavishkar and other experimental groups could continue. Being a school teacher for a long time, Sulabha was very interested in Children’s Theatre.
 
Arguably her greatest contribution has been Chandrashala, the children’s branch of Aavishkar. Through theatre/dance workshops as well as actual performances, Chandrashala trained generations of children, many of whom went on to shine in theatre and films.
 
The Marathi film Shantata Court Chaalu Ahe made by Satyadev Dubey and Govind Nehalani in 1971 was Sulabha’s first film, and though not used to the camera, she was simply brilliant in it as Miss Benare. In the film, Sulabha’s playful actions, teasing tone, mischievous expression– all of which are actually a cover up for the protagonist’s inner misery – are completely unaffected; without an iota of self-consciousness. I only wish she had shown more anger and less self-pity in the last soliloquy. Otherwise, the performance was faultless.
 

Arguably her greatest contribution has been Chandrashala, the children’s branch of Aavishkar. Through theatre/dance workshops as well as actual performances, Chandrashala trained generations of children, many of whom went on to shine in theatre and films.

Sulabha’s film debut coincided with the rise of the alternate cinema movement and she appeared in a number of these films, mostly in the role of the mother. I remember seeing and liking most of these films. However, I hardly remember Sulabha’s roles in them. The exception is that of Shyam Benegal’s Bhumika, where she plays Smita’s mother. There is a hint in the film that this character has had an affair with her son-in-law. Sulabha is able to convey all the nuances of this complex relationship even without dialogue, mainly through her silent presence and eyes. Shantata… and Bhumika show Sulabha’s vast range as an actress. I have not seen Sulabha’s later films/serials either in Marathi or Hindi, so cannot say whether any of these have done justice to her irrefutable talent.
 
Sulabha was not merely a reputed actor/director who had won many honours. She was also a great human being who, despite her limited resources, made a huge difference in people’s lives – especially children’s – by providing a platform to express their creativity; by constant encouragement and support; by offering love and friendship. Though physically no more, Sulabha will continue to live in their hearts and mine, always.
 
 
 (The writer is a mother, actor and director of theatre and cinema; The photos were carefully accessed by the author from the archives of Aavishkar and also from social media)

    
Directing Children's Plays