When I walked into the Drama Centre on Saturday evening, my aunt came up to me with a look of utmost sombreness upon her face and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Aunty Janki’s son is here.”
“Who is Aunty Janki’s son??” I asked.
“The… Kamal,” she said.
Turns out ‘Kamal’ was none other than Kishore Mahbubani, who had come to watch OTOT with his missus, because both their sons were in NS and Mrs M felt that the Ms had to watch OTOT to better understand NS and what their sons were going through.
That’s what I gathered from the Sindhi side of my family who were huddled around me, as they’d also come to watch OTOT as well. Just then, ‘Kamal’ walked by and we talked for a minute or so – I told him that there was going to be “some strong language” in the play; he joked that he was going to leave then.
During the intermission, I joined my family where they were seated, in the middle of the theatre. Coincidentally, Kishore was sitting one row behind us.
He jokingly said that he thought the language wasn’t strong enough. He also added that the French ambassador was around, and was asking what one word in particular meant. No one dared to tell him what it meant in English, but a clever soul told him that the word translated to ‘la chatte’ in French. Nice work, diplomats.