Kishore Singh: Who says I can't act?

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Some days ago, returning from dinner at the Purana Qila in Delhi, I asked my wife to dust out my achkan for me. "Isn't it a little warm for you to consider wearing an achkan," she said. "You wouldn't understand," I responded, "but I have to slip into character, and for that I must be in appropriate costume."

"Character, costume," said my wife; "have you gone mad?" "No," I said, "but I may be doing a role in a play and would like to get into the skin of the character." "Really," said my wife, "and who has been crazy enough to offer you a role?"

I explained that while I was having dinner at the Purana Qila, I had been asked by theatre producer Aamir Raza Hussain whether I would like to act in a production that he and his wife were working on.

"I hope you had the sense to say no," my wife said. "Actually, I did," I said, "but he has asked me to reconsider my decision, and that he would like to call and check whether I am still open to the option."

"I hope," my wife said, "you will still say no." "I'm thinking," I told her, "that I might say yes." "But then why didn't you say yes in the first place?" "Because that would have looked too grasping," I said, "we actors have our reputation to protect." "You aren't an actor, you're a writer," my wife reminded me, "besides, you don't even like Aamir Raza Hussain much."

"That's not true," I said, "I don't like his plays much, but that's only because our friend Sarla, who is a director herself, thinks he only does huge extravaganzas that are big on hype but low on substance. Perhaps if Sarla hadn't said so, I might have liked his plays."

"But what will you tell Sarla now if you act in his play?" asked my wife. "Actually, I think Sarla may just be envious because his plays are so successful and her's are not," I said, "and it isn't as if she's ever asked me to act in her plays."

"That may be true," said my wife, "but you don't have any experience in acting." "Actually, I do," I said, "I acted in two school plays, and once while in college, and even though that was some while ago, you don't ever lose your talent. I can feel in my bones that I could be a good actor."

My wife didn't look too convinced: "What's the role you've been asked to play?" "It's quite a good one," I replied, "I've been asked to play Nehru." "Nehru? You?" she laughed.

"Well, I did tell him that maybe I was too tall for the role, but he said you can't have everything, so I guess I'd better start practising my speeches about a tryst with destiny and so on." "I wouldn't get my hopes up yet if I were you," my wife snorted. "You'll see when he calls tomorrow to ask if I've changed my mind yet," I retorted.

I hadn't expected to hear from him over the weekend, and wasn't disappointed on that score, but was mildly surprised when he didn't call on Monday, or Tuesday, or during the next fortnight, for that matter.

"He must be busy casting the other characters," I said as I flipped through pages of Nehru's Discovery of India. "Of course," said my wife, smothering a fit of giggles.

"You know," I said to her, "I do not like to be kept on tenterhooks about some stupid role in some stupid play, so when Aamir Raza Hussain calls to offer it to me once more, I'm afraid I will have to turn him down yet again."