Veterans on stage: Naseeruddin Shah & Paresh Rawal inspire young Pune audience

Pune: The inaugural session of the Shreeram Lagoo National Theatre Festival was a masterclass wrapped in a friendly catch-up. Veteran thespians Naseeruddin Shah and Paresh Rawal traded recollections, advice and laughter — shaping an evening where craft and mischief sat comfortably together.

Rawal set the tone at the Shreeram Lagoo Rangavkash with self-deprecating candour. “I always wanted to be the centre of attention. I made people laugh and disturbed the class. Teachers loved my mischief too. I never really learned acting in the conventional way. There were no books for it back in the early 1960s,” said Rawal. He described Gujarati theatre of his youth as narrow in ambition. “There was nothing to explore. I only found myself when I began to work with great actors and simply learnt on the job. I don’t overthink while acting. I’ve tried to overprepare, sit in the corner and look lost in thought, but it doesn’t work for me. I take in what I can, let it assimilate and I won’t let thought ruin my sleep,” he added.

Shah responded with equal warmth, recalling the small impulses that turned him towards the stage. “I began acting because I loved making faces. A college friend took me to see Aadhe Adhure. I was struck by the acting — Amol, Deepa, Bhakti Barwe. But it was Dr Lagoo’s performance that left me in awe. Sitting in the back of the Kamani auditorium balcony, I could hear every word. His diction and emotional control were mesmerising,” he said.

The two actors mapped out theatre’s changing horizons. Shah charted his early days doing compact character pieces like Waiting for Godot, The Typist and Chekhov’s short comedies, before moving to large-scale English productions such as Julius Caesar and The Caine Mutiny Court Martial. “People called us English-theatre wallahs, but English here is Hindustani too. I didn’t want that tag, I wanted to work in my language. Since I could not find any Urdu plays and all the great Hindi plays were done over and over again, I found myself in a fix,” said Shah. Discovering Ismat Chughtai’s stories in Devanagari “was a revelation,” he added.

On the essentials of acting, both were emphatic. “An actor must never mistake himself for the character. You don’t act to show off your skill, you act to communicate the text. Performance has existed from the time of cavemen, its purpose is to convey, not merely entertain. If the impact is cerebral, it lasts. People are entertained very easily, even fake tears do the trick,” said Shah. He recalled audience reactions to his play Father. “People came backstage in tears asking to hug me and ask if playing the role was difficult. I would tell them, ‘It must be difficult for you — I hope you understand your grandfather better now.’ That’s the effect I seek.”

Rawal offered anecdotes about the beginnings and economics of theatre. “My father earned Rs150. Producing a play in 1972-73 cost Rs300-Rs400. My cut would be 50%. When I asked my father for money one day, he gave it to me to my utter surprise. I put up my play in Mumbai. Back then, Gujarati households expected children to take practical jobs.” Rawal began his professional acting career in the Mumbai Gujarati theater scene, making his debut in 1972 with the play Vairee. He criticised a misplaced theatrical intensity that simply meant loudness and urged renewed and continued patronage. “More industrialists should fund the arts,” he said.

Meanwhile, Shah said he often urged aspiring performers to “give up their addiction to Hindi cinema” and focus instead on understanding the craft of acting. He said he was not interested in training people who simply wanted to launch glamorous screen careers, but those genuinely interested in learning performance across mediums. “Don’t think being an actor means escaping your education.” Shah said the industry desperately needed more educated actors. Acting does not begin with memorising lines or performing “ready-made emotions,” but with imagination, observation and understanding why emotions arise in the first place. He undercut the seriousness with humour, recalling that when his memoir And Then One Day was published in 2014, he had told his publisher to give a free copy “to anybody who proves he came last in his class.”