Distant events gleam brighter when seen through the lens of memory, so they say. In writing of a play watched 18 years ago, I may be guilty of over-enthusiasm but for me, Starlight Express, a school production directed by Aamir Raza Hussain, is still the most spectacular play ever.

The play was based on Andrew Lloyd Webber’s rock musical, a sort of cross between Toy Story and Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar (Starlight Express,1984, predates both). Starlight Express is the quintessential underdog tale set in the world of toy trains: Rusty, the steam train, is ridiculed for being not fast enough by the "villains" – Greaseball, the posturing diesel locomotive and Electra, the slick new electric train. Starlight Express is the midnight train, a metaphor for God, that the other trains trust and look up to (while some question its existence). The play culminates in a high-energy, beautifully orchestrated race between the trains.

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The stage is pitch dark when a fireman walks onto stage. A light comes on. Other firemen troop in through unusual entrances (the side and top audience exits), take position, and the spotlight moves to another part of the stage.

When a surprising declaration is made, the moment is emphasized by abrupt darkening. When there is confusion, the lights quiver gently. When alarm, the curtain behind rises to reveal a wall-sized screen with a huge red silhouette. At the end, what remains is darkness broken by candlelight.

Fire spells destruction in the hands of arsonists who plague the unnamed city in this play, but the brilliant use of lighting serves to remind that fire can also mean light; we choose what it will be.

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How should an artist respond to a critic’s negative response to their work, especially if they think the critic has got it wrong? When dealing with brickbats, is it fair of an artist to expect other artists to rally behind in support, simply because they are of the same fraternity?

The recent spat between actor-playwright Leslie Jordan and theatre critic Elisabeth Vincentelli has been rather ugly, and it has raised many such questions about the nature of conversations between artist and critic, between artist and artist.

The Indian theatre scene is bereft of all such wars. I wonder if that is something to be pleased about or worried about. Better rows over well thought-out criticism than verbatim reproductions of the play’s promotional text, I say!

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On the face of it, Bust is about a treasure hunt, the quest for a mythical magical relic buried beneath an old temple. Actually, Bust is a big banner advertisement for the city of Bangalore.

No surprise there – Bust was developed under a Robert Bosch Art Grant as part of a research project about the city.

The play traverses Bangalore’s geography, history, demography, weather and what have you, throwing nuggets of information in various guises. Sometimes it is in a sparring "Did you know" game between two friends, sometimes in conversations about time and memory and identity. We pick up a lot of GK trivia in the process and chuckle over the little present-day details, like the profusion of women’s hostels in the city and sparrows at BIAL.

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Elling is a delightful Norwegian drama centered around the eponymous Elling and Kjell Bjarne, a pair of rehabilitated members from a "nuthouse" as they call it. They must make a success of independent living in a flat in Oslo or return to the asylum. The play traces their attempt at leading normal lives in the big bad world under the scrutiny of social worker Frank.

The script, based on Ingvar Ambjørnsen’s 1996 novel, is brought to stage by Dramanon, a group that’s made a forte of productions with individualistic characters and a quirky sense of humor. Elling sparkles with wit and very affectionately details its eccentric leads. The pace is laid-back but there isn’t a dull moment – you wait expectantly to know what the characters will say or do next.

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In writing about Tahatto‘s A Funny Thing Called Life, Sowmya made a remark that set me thinking of how a theatre troupe’s ability to connect with the audience can overshadow one’s actual opinion of the performance.

After the play was over, members of the Tahatto troupe mixed with the audience, thanked them personally for coming to watch the show and asked them for their feedback with humility. That was enough. It takes care of the rest.

This does happen – we are swayed by how nice the actors were to us, sometimes more than by how well they acted or how good the entire production was. She mentions another experience of the actors narrating personal stories in between set changes:

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