Translated from the Hindi by Arpitha Jain
A few days ago that famous film, Who Is Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, played in our town. After years of screenings in all major cities, the film finally arrived in our town, and that too for a single screening. Which was enough. Considering the humiliating response to good films here, a single show of the film was appropriate. There was a huge crowd. The manager thought that perhaps two shows could be feasible, but the second show would have run empty. If we were to gather all the town’s snobs, intellectuals and Elizabeth Taylor fans, they would still not fill the theater.
So what happened was, on the afternoon prior to the screening, a rumor swept through the office that certain senior officers would be going to watch ‘Virginia Woolf’ with their families. The tale began when a junior officer entered the Secretary’s cabin and asked, “Sir, if you have the time, may I bring all the files to your bungalow?... Even though it's a Sunday… whatever you think is suitable.”
At this, the senior officer put his hand on his waist and pondered for a while. Then he said, “Bhai, tomorrow we are going to watch a film. Which one was it? Yes, Who Is Afraid of Virginia Woolf.”
This was a moment one could smile. The junior officer smiled slightly. But that very second the senior officer’s face turned serious. He wondered how he should play this. Considering the high position he held in the office, he had two options. He could either present himself as a common man who may look for entertainment every once in a while. The second option was to claim that he was above the frivolousness of watching cinema. But what could he do, his hands were tied. He said, “Baby has been after me for days saying, Daddy, let’s go, it's a good film.”
Then he shrugged, “Fine then bhai, we will go.” After a pause, he looked the junior officer in the eye and said, “It is actually a good film.”
The junior, who was still smiling, suddenly became uneasy. Bending his head slightly he said, “Even I heard the same, Sir! Someone was saying how good the film is.”
“Hmm… there is that famous, what’s her name… Elizabeth Taylor and the other actor is popular too…Ah ... who is it? I am forgetting his name.” The senior officer looked at the junior with interrogative eyes.
The junior scratched his head and looked down as if trying to think. Then he said, embarrassed, “I will find out and tell you, Sir.”
The senior wordlessly picked up the local English newspaper from the nearby rack and, having found the advertisement on the last page, said, “Richard Burton! Richard Burton, yes!”
“Yes Sir, Richard Burton,” the junior said apologetically, as if not knowing the name of the actor was a mistake.
Returning from the senior’s office the junior officer immediately rang up Gupta.
“What are you doing?”
“Swatting mosquitoes.”
“Are you coming to watch that film tomorrow, Who Is Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”
“Who is afraid of what?”
“Virginia Woolf!”
“What moronic names they come up with! I am not going, Bhaiyya. The missus is fasting for Karvachauth, so my duty is at home tomorrow.”
“Arrey lets go, yaar! Everyone is going.”
“Who is going?”
“Our Saheb is going. With family!”
“Accha!” Gupta softened a bit. “Is it really a good film?”
Gupta was served the names of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton in response. He agreed.
He did not want to be left out of any race involving the office. He informed Trivedi. Trivedi then informed Sharma. Dasgupta, who was sitting in Sharma’s cabin, took this information to Johari and Agashe. Gradually, the entire office was abuzz: “Who is Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Who is Afraid of Virginia Woolf? The supervisor is going with family, with family! Sir is going. Who is afraid of Virginia Woolf? Elizabeth Taylor. Everyone is going. Who is Afraid of Virginia Woolf? With family.”
This news, that everyone from the secretariat was discussing the English film that was to be screened tomorrow, soon reached the Heads of Department. The news also reached the Deputy and Assistant Directors. The district officers in town for an official visit also decided it was wise to get involved in anything that the other bigwigs were doing. That evening the drawing rooms of several bungalows witnessed the same discussion. It was a good film, apparently. By ten at night, all the police officers too found out that the city’s top officials were going to watch the English film showing in whatever-talkies.
“Bloody hell!” they cussed. “We will have to show up in uniform even on a Sunday morning.”
It was decided: arrangements had to be made. Four constables, one sub-inspector and two experienced traffic police were to report to the cinema at 9 am. Stomping their heels, they reluctantly said, “Yes, Sir!”
The officials arrived. One by one, the fleet of cars snaked into the premises of the cinema hall. Some were on their scooters, others had made their way in borrowed cars. As the Home Secretary’s car made its way towards the cinema, the sub-inspector, who was sipping on a complimentary Cola in the cinema manager’s room, left the half-empty bottle and quickly came outside. A couple of English lecturers alighted from the buses and having bought the two-rupee tickets, were about to make their way into the hall when they saw the car of the Deputy Secretary of the Collegiate Branch and stopped in their tracks. Worried about their transfers, the lecturers wanted to butter up the Deputy Secretary since it was a free Sunday morning, and a holiday like this was ideal for this work. But the Deputy Secretary walked with his wife straight towards the Commissioner, who was smoking a cheroot.
So, the lecturers began to speak to the students who had come to watch Elizabeth Taylor. Gradually, the gathering swelled. Hands were shaken. Decked out in their best sarees, the officers’ wives gathered their palloos and greeted everyone with a Namaste. The queue in front of the window selling balcony tickets kept growing too. The two District Officials who had come to the capital for government work kept bowing in their bell bottoms and high neck coats, despite their bellies. This was nothing short of a divine opportunity for them as all the important officials were present in the same place and in a good mood. They had the chance to meet and greet everyone.
Some officials were even in high spirits. Not everyone, though. The general atmosphere was fairly serious. In fact, when the Commissioner guffawed at a Secretary’s joke, everyone was stunned. Nobody else was laughing. When the two American girls from the Peace Corps started chatting endlessly with the Director of the Agriculture Department, the young officers’ attention shifted to them. Then, the senior officer arrived in his car with his wife, son and two daughters. Everyone stopped talking and looked in his direction. The officer too looked around, shaking hands with some and greeting others with a smile, and said, “It must be a good film if everyone is here.”
A wave of smiles washed over all the faces. Having spent his entire life in dim, air-conditioned rooms, the senior officer couldn’t bear the ten o'clock heat. Looking at his watch, he told the commissioner, “There is still time. Why don’t we go sit in the hall?”
At this, everyone began moving into the cinema. They quickly put out their cigarettes and made their way into the theater. There was no business to stand outside after the senior officer had gone in. However, the queue had still not shortened as people kept arriving. Everyone was in a hurry to get in. They all wanted better seats which was impossible since the tickets were numbered. After settling down, they looked around to see who all had come. Those with beautiful women sitting in front of and behind them spoke loudly and laughed for no reason at the smallest things. They thought that they were impressing the girls. And these girls were quite possibly impressed too, since they were the type of bimbos who bothered too much about their faces and clothes. They were there only for Richard Burton and to learn new coquetries from Elizabeth Taylor.
The film began. Martha and George were slowly returning from the party. They enter the house. That was when Elizabeth Taylor’s face first appeared on the screen.
“That’s Virginia Woolf!” Under-secretary Mr. Pant whispered to his plump wife.
“Doesn’t look like a virgin to me,” the wife said.
“Arrey, her name is Virginia. What does that have to do with a virgin?”
“Then let the damned woman call herself Mrs. Woolf! Why does she use Virginia when she isn’t one?”
“Okay, keep quiet,” said Mr. Pant, continuing to stare at Virginia Woolf on the screen.
Over here, Deputy Director Ramkaran Jain’s wife whispered to her husband, “This play looks like Psycho to me.”
“No, it’s not like Psycho. It is funny.”
“Haan Bhai, let me know if there is any blood and gore in the play. I will go sit outside”, she said and then started telling Mr. Gupta’s wife next to her how she couldn’t sleep for several nights after watching Psycho.
Mohite Saheb was a prankster by nature. Him, Anandswami and Bansidhar were sitting in a separate group in a corner. Mohite whispered in Bansidhar’s ear, “Whatever anyone says, this Elizabeth Taylor is beginning to look old.”
“Hmm, she has lost her charm, brother,” said Bansidhar with a lover's pain.
“She was a real looker once.”
“Aaye, haaye!”
At this point, Deputy Secretary Mehta roared with laughter at something that George said to Martha. Mehta had already toured Europe twice. He had even been to America. He understood English. It was clear then that there must have been something to laugh about. Some people joined him in the laughter, while others mourned the fact that they missed a funny dialogue. They pricked up their ears in the hope of grasping the dialogues better. But very soon they got tired of this.
One of the bimbos sitting together said to another, “Burton is so handsome, na!”
“Handsome for you, not for me.”
“Did you just hear her?” the first girl said to another. “Says she doesn’t find Burton handsome!”
“Hai re!” the girl gasped. “Why you, don’t you find Burton handsome?”
“She said she finds Burton handsome so I said you find him handsome, I don’t.”
“I didn’t say that. I said Burton is handsome.”
“Same thing, same thing.”
“How is it the same thing? When did I say that only I find him handsome? Everyone does.”
“She only finds Shashidhar handsome.”
“Stop!" she said, pinching her friend.
“Uiii.”
Mr. Pai from the Collegiate Branch turned around to look at these girls because of whom he wasn't able to follow the film. The girls in turn stared back and made a face at Mr. Pai. Mr. Pai looked ahead. The girls became quiet. But Mr. Pai still couldn’t understand anything. He was among the few people in the Secretariat whose ‘English drafting’ was considered the best, even the Chief never meddled with it. What a strange situation. The film was in English but nobody was able to grasp the plot. They were all modern in their own way. Even though they hated the native tongue and relied on English to forge a personality for themselves, they were still unable to understand the film. But they couldn’t get up and leave. They all sat and looked at one another.
A very minor percentage of the audience could make sense of the film. Everybody else was only wishing that Burton would kiss Taylor repeatedly. He was not kissing her though. He wasn’t even divorcing her, or shooting her. The film didn’t show anything that they had hoped for. The film ruined the whole fanfare of Sunday films, colourful shirts and tight pants. They were all watching the film. The chief was watching, they were watching.
In the middle of all this, a young college student got up, stuffed his hands in his pocket and walked out. Watching him leave, everybody laughed. Proving that they were able to understand the film, unlike the boy, who couldn’t.
Everyone got up and stepped out for the interval. They drank Coca Cola and shook hands. They spoke in English and sounded intelligent. Their pronunciation had become better. They animatedly moved their hands and raised their shoulders while speaking in impressive phrases. They concealed their feeling of inferiority at not understanding the film by laughing loudly as they spoke. One could be proud of them at that moment. These sharp, intelligent, smart and modern men with their beautiful wives looked good.
As the tension in the film rose, the audiences kept falling for Elizabeth Taylor’s acting. Words didn’t matter, her art and skill were testimony. They watched the film and waited for it to end.
The film ended. They got up. Everyone looked really pleased. They got up with the satisfaction of having watched a good film. Nobody looked like they didn’t understand the film. They were happy. As if they got exactly what they were hoping for. Gradually, everyone made way for each other’s wives and smiled on their way out.
They stepped outside with a new-found energy. It was time for lunch. Any delay in this was against the ideals of modernity and professionalism. They got into their cars and honked at other cars on their way out. The theater premises were soon empty. The visiting District Officials left at the end and made their way to a puri-sabzi place.
“This was great. We got to meet everyone, including the senior officials. I even heard the goss.”
“What goss?”
They discussed the latest gossip about the transfers from the secretariat as they walked into the restaurant.
On Monday, the junior officer walked into the senior officer’s cabin with the file stuffed under his arm and after the ‘Good Morning’ greeting he asked, “How did you like the film, Sir?”
The senior officer turned serious for a minute, wondering what to say. Then he shrugged, “It was a nice film, of course.”
In the afternoon, the junior officer informed Agashe that the senior liked the film. “He said, ‘It was a nice film.’” All of a sudden everyone began to praise, Who is Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
“Why bhai, how was yesterday’s film?”
“It was a nice movie,” came the standard response.
By evening, everyone who had missed the screening mourned missing a film that everyone else was raving about.
At night, Gupta’s wife told him, “Ten bucks went down the drain over that English film. We could have watched Padosan instead.”
“What can I say? Since everyone else was going, we went too.” After a small pause, he began to mutter, “Who is Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Who is afraid of Virginia Woolf? Everyone is afraid, damn it, everyone! And not one bloody person has the courage to admit it.”
He roared with laughter.
Sharad Joshi (1931-1991) was an Indian poet, writer, satirist and a dialogue and scriptwriter in Hindi films and television. He was awarded the Padma Shri in 1990. Madhya Pradesh government has instituted an award in his memory titled, ‘Sharad Joshi Samman,’ given each year to individuals for outstanding achievement in the field of writing.
Arpitha Jain teaches English literature at St. Joseph’s University, Bangalore. Her own journey with stories, though, has led her to translation. She finds that exploring narratives in different languages helps her understand herself and the world in a deeper way.