chapter 28

Shakespeare in ChicagoThere were only two days to go for our departure when A&A came into our room, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Tomorrow we’re going to see Macbeth,’ Amar said.‘Who? A friend?’ I asked. ‘Never heard you mention him before. The names parents foist on their children! Must have been teased a lot in school.’Arpitha hooted. ‘The play Macbeth, Aunty.’‘At a proper Shakespearean theatre in Chicago,’ Amar added.VK and I looked at A&A, open-mouthed. An actual play at an actual theatre? What a thoughtful, delightful surprise; the perfect icing on the cake of our U.S. trip.Amar had booked tickets at Chicago’s famous Shakespeare Theater. Macbeth, Shakespeare’s bleak tragedy, was the one on offer that season at The Yard, one of the venues of the Shakespeare Theater at the Navy Pier in Chicago. What was more, one of the directors was Teller, of the famous comic-magician duo, Penn and Teller.We left at 10 the next morning and Amar drove expertly to cover the almost 300-kilometre distance to Chicago in two and a half hours. Google maps helped us reach The Chicago Shakespearean Theater without any problem, the tickets helped us gain entry and we stepped into the premises as if we were entering a sacred grove. But immediately after, our bodily compulsions kicked in; Arpitha and I were hungry and also wanted to use the washroom. ‘Sacrilege.’ The horrified expression on VK’s face spoke volumes. ‘Is food all you can think of, when we are getting ready for intellectual nourishment?’ But Shakespeare, I’m certain, would have approved of our pandering to our basic instincts.VK and Amar remained at the theatre; not wishing to miss the lecture by the directors before the play. When Arpitha and I entered the theatre again after our successful foraging expedition, they were waiting at the entrance, looking a little sheepish, for the lecture was at another venue. We were too satiated with good food to crow over them and at 1.30, we were allowed entry into the actual venue, the Courtyard Theater.The brochure got it pat when it advertised the show as ‘an eve of magic and mayhem’, for that was precisely what we got. The theatre looked—there is special emphasis on the word ‘looked’ here, because everything could look like something else in a jiffy at the Yard—like an enlarged version of something like the Globe in Shakespeare’s London. All wood, octagonal seating arrangements, thrust stage, upper stage and galleries all around. The additions to Shakespeare’s theatre were the winding staircase to the left, small lights, a curtain at the back, and the fact that it was an indoor theatre and fully air-conditioned.We were in the front row of the gallery—excellent seats that gave us a perfect view of the stage as well as allowed us to look down, literally, I mean, on the audience seated below. It was a full house and the show began sharp at 2 p.m. with a short welcome by Teller telling everyone to switch off their mobiles and let the place become eerily dark. ‘Now you won’t be able to call for help,’ he laughed.We were super impressed with the performance. With the exception of a few improvisations, and forays into casual modern language like, ‘Thanks!’ by Macbeth when he hears that he’s been made Thane of Cawdor, Macduff and his family being played by Black actors, and the comic porter scene being very contemporary with the porter entering from the back of the theatre and hobnobbing with the audience as he walked up the aisle to the stage, the producers and directors had stuck to the original plot and Shakespeare’s stylised language.The performance was slick, the change between scenes so smooth at times it was like watching a movie. There was magic in the air all right. We willingly suspended disbelief and watched in wonder as Teller, a master of illusion, made the three witches and their cauldron disappear as if a blast of wind had blown away some smoke. We gasped when the dagger appeared floating in the air, shuddered when blood stains suddenly showed up on tunics, only to vanish with the same ease, and Banquo’s ghost startled us by appearing on the chair with a sudden ‘pop’.We applauded with great enthusiasm when the actors lined up after the performance and realised only later that the rest of the audience had given them a standing ovation. I hoped nobody noticed this breach of etiquette. Our senses satisfied, we left the theatre to confront reality once again and began looking for restaurants and restrooms.We spent the rest of the beautiful evening at the famous Navy Pier that had a major role to play in WWI and was now a popular tourist attraction. There was a stiff breeze and a lot of people were strolling about, but the Pier never gave the impression of being crowded; it absorbed all the people as if Teller had a telling role to play in it. We took a ride on the giant Ferris wheel, a key attraction, and though it gave us a superb aerial view of the surroundings, it was so sturdily built to safety standards that it was boring. The thrill one experiences on a Ferris wheel ride in India just wasn’t there.In India the experience is out of the world and rarely leaves you unscathed. It’s always best to write your will before venturing on a ride. A rather rickety, squeaking contraption groans and takes you up slowly. The descent that is a signal for high-strung fellow riders to begin screaming in fear coincides with a hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach. Encouraged, the wheel cranks up its speed in unholy glee and gives you three hair-raising rounds before you alight, piecing body and soul together. Sometimes, when it is in a particularly sadistic mood, it stops just when your carriage has reached the top and is tilting for the descent, leaving you precariously perched there, not trusting the metal safety rod to protect you if you spill out. Just when your hair begins to turn grey and your whole life passes before you, the wheel starts moving and you return to safety.We stepped into a Children’s Museum—no, children were not being exhibited there—and also took a quick walk around the Crystal Gardens. We watched kids play at a lovely fountain and stepped into a couple of souvenir shops where I managed to pay with my stash of cash when the attention of the others was elsewhere. We walked along the length of the Pier, peering at the occasional statue there, and reached the other end where the anchor of the famous USS Chicago, a WWII navy vessel, was displayed. The breeze was stiff but not as cold and sharp as the blast that had hit us when we landed at Chicago airport. In fact, it was cool and bracing; so just walking about was a treat in itself.‘We’re going to Devon Street next,’ said Amar, chuckling as he drove us there. ‘It’s called “Little India” in Chicago.’ The moment we entered it, we knew why. There was a Gandhi Electronic Store, showrooms with mannequins wearing ostentatious, glittering salwar suits, dosa outlets, an overflowing drain, bits of paper scattered about and some garbage on the road side. Nostalgia trip. And a sort of prelude to our return. An authentic Indian dinner at Woodlands rounded off the Indian experience and we turned back, savouring the long drive along lonely stretches under clear skies.