A new wave of sophisticated productions in English based largely on unusual themes breathes new life into the stage.

She was once the wife of a man called God by the people who make a song and dance about toothpaste and tampons. And shed that role to become one of Mumbai's best dramatists. Then came a long sickness. Now Pearl Padamsee is back on stage, directing Harold Pinter's Betrayal.

It's a tense drama about marital relationships, very different from the lighthearted stuff she used to do in the early '80s. But then, these days English theatre in India is -- well -- very different. Recently, audiences in Mumbai and Delhi sat through four stark monologues by the most unlikely characters -- a mafia moll, a schizophrenic, a holocaust victim and a tramp -- all seamlessly stitched together with a thread of black humour. Hardly anyone's idea of lighthearted entertainment perhaps, but (W)Hole In The Head, a play by Naseeruddin Shah and Mahabanoo Mody Kotwal, drew packed houses. "Throughout the show, we could hear people in the audience laughing and crying," grins Kotwal. "I guess, somewhere out there in the darkness, we were connecting."

"Connecting" is a bold new word in the lexicon of English theatre in India. Until it crept in recently, English plays were either bedroom farces or tired re-runs of Broadway classics. The rest were "experimental plays", a somewhat grand title for offbeat, low-budget, "serious" theatre that no one -- except hardcore artsy types -- wanted to see. For years drama seemed struck by a great creative drought. "Now, suddenly, it's raining plays," says auteur and self-professed theatre buff Ashok Banker. Close on the heels of the Kotwal-Shah collaboration came Man of La Mancha, an adaptation of Miguel Cervantes' Don Quixote. In this well-known saga, Dalip Tahil played the eccentric Spanish knight and Howard Rosemeyer his affable sidekick Sancho Panza, with chanteuse Suneeta Rao in the role of the feisty barmaid Aldonza. It was a lavish production that cost Rs 18 lakh, replete with song, dance and a delightful touch of madness.

Then there was Chitra, the story of a woman in search of perfect beauty, poignantly portrayed by Sanjana Kapoor. And The Magic Pill, a refreshingly witty comedy directed by the godfather of Mumbai theatre, Satyadev Dubey. "Going for a play has become a lifestyle thing," shrugs Kapoor who has managed to put her family's Prithvi Theatre on the international drama circuit. "It's like dining at a restaurant or going to a pub." At Prithvi's charming Al Fresco CAF in suburban Mumbai, you can round up a late evening show with an intimate supper and goblets of spiked Irish coffee over lamplit stone tables.

Audiences all over the country are lapping it up. Last year, Going Solo, a series of 15 taut monologues by women, ran to full houses in Mumbai for 17 straight shows before travelling to Chennai, Bangalore and Delhi. More recently, Art, a clever, sly comedy about aesthetic meaning, completed 50 shows across the metros, plus a couple in Dubai. In Mumbai, tickets for the debut of (W)Hole In The Head sold out in one day.

What's behind this dramatic revival? A combination of variety, new talent and savvy marketing. "Unlike the old days, now there's something for everyone," says Banker. And the themes are getting less hackneyed. For instance, Mahesh Dattani's On A Muggy Night in Mumbai, directed by Lillette Dubey, explores homosexuality. Going Solo is a babble of female voices, prattling about common domestic trials: about having babies, bringing up children and making sure they survive in a cutthroat world; about managing jobs, humouring husbands and fixing breakfast for the kids. "It's about you and me," explains Anahita Uberoi, who directed the play along with Rahul Da Cunha and Vikram Kapadia. "Not about Mrs Brown from London or Mrs Smith from New Jersey." Adapting the American scripts to fit into the Indian milieu was a stroke of pure genius which struck an immediate chord. "People identified with what was happening on stage," she chuckles. "And that's what good theatre is all about."

Uberoi is a fresh new face in what has always been an incestuous profession. So is Sohrab Ardeshir who played an edgy pacifist in Art. Both have actually trained in New York and worked on Broadway, adding finesse and technique to instinct and talent. "Formal training helps," says Ardeshir. "It channelises your creativity."

Along with Da Cunha and actor Zafer Karachiwala, their approach is youthful, slick and wholly unpretentious. Also, the younger directors don't have a colonial hangover, so it's okay if you don't speak the Queen's English. "Angrezi is no longer a frightening foreign language," laughs Uberoi. Sadly though, apart from Dattani who comes up with quality stuff, Indo-Anglian drama is virtually non-existent. "There is a dearth of good Indian playwrights who do original plays in English," says Kapadia who has spent the last few years looking for a creative indigenous script.

The other thing Kapadia is looking for is a good publicity agent. "Today, it's not enough to be a director, you also have to be a salesman," he says. But since professional pr is still an extravagance, most directors and producers double as their own agents, chasing sponsors, releasing advertisements and orchestrating media publicity.

Now of course, things are changing, thanks to a dirty little word called money. Sets can cost the earth so sponsorships are necessary. In a production of Chazz Palminteri's Unfaithful by Kunal Vijayakar, every prop was sponsored, right down to the sofas, cushion covers and table lamps. Sometimes, entire plays are sponsored by liquor companies or banks. "Theatre sponsorships are a cost-effective way of reaching your target audience," says Rajesh Pant, executive vice-president of Sony Entertainment Television which co-sponsored Man of La Mancha.

More money is also luring back good acting talent from the idiot box. But, at the average rate of Rs 500 per show, most professionals are obliged to treat theatre as a mere hobby, and rehearsals are normally squeezed into leisure hours at the end of a tiring workday. "English theatre is still a cottage industry built by a handful of enthusiasts," admits Uberoi candidly. But judging by the applause, it's already a full house.

--By Farah Baria