I had seen Prithviraj Kapoor's films when I was at Uday Shankar's Academy in Almora and admired him long before I met him. It was a slim, handsome Kapoor. I did not like his earlier films but when I saw Sikandar he impressed me greatly.

My husband Kameshwar Segal and I had set up the Zohresh Dance Institute in Lahore in 1943. But within two years the storm of impending partition was rising. Kameshwar and I were a Hindu-Muslim couple and we felt insecure in Lahore. My younger sister Uzra was then the leading actress in Prithvi Theatres in Mumbai. So she suggested, "Why don't you come to Bombay and try your luck in films?" Both Kameshwar and I had some experience with the film industry in the areas of art direction and dance. So we moved to Bombay in 1945.

Initially we stayed with Uzra and her husband who at that time were sharing a house (41 Pali Hill) with Chetan Anand, his wife Uma and several brothers and sisters, including Dev Anand and Goldie. The tales of this madly creative house could fill a book. I used to occasionally accompany Uzra to the rehearsals and that's where I was introduced to Prithviraj.

Prithviraj was the pioneer who brought the concept of modern urban theatre in Hindustani. Before him there were folk and Parsi theatre companies but his was the first modern professional repertory of that scale and influence. I decided I had to join Prithvi Theatre. When I first approached Prithviraj he said that he did not have the role for a senior artist like me. But my pestering got the better of him. One day Kameshwar told him,"Papaji please for the sake of peace at home take this woman. She is making my life hell!" So I joined Prithvi Theatre officially in October 1945 and till October 1959 it became the focus of my life.

Papaji as we called him was a devpurush. And let me tell you being an agnostic myself I am not easily impressed. He was a man who taught me not only theatre and professional values but all about life and morality by sheer force of his example. Generous to a fault, all that he earned went towards supporting causes.

With Uday Shankar I had toured the world. We always travelled first class and stayed at the best hotels. But Papaji chose to travel third class with all of us -- some 60 actors, technicians, and others -- and we usually stayed in dormitories and slept on the floor. Papaji would have a room to himself but he also slept on the floor. We were expected to wash our own clothes. There was one community kitchen which fed everybody including Papaji exactly the same menu.

Some of us senior members were allowed to bring a maid along if our children joined the troupe during holidays. Once we told Papaji that our maids need not be given two eggs for breakfast as they would start demanding that when we returned to Mumbai. Furious he said, "If I stop serving eggs to the maids I will stop serving them to you all too."

When there were losses at the box office or if production costs went haywire, he channelled his earnings from films to bridge the fiscal gap. His sons -- Raj, Shammi and Shashi -- were made to go through the grill. And later when Papaji could not take on more films to keep his theatre commitments, Raj and Shammi started shouldering the responsibility of funding Prithvi.

Papaji's professionalism was amazing. In over 16 years of its existence under him, Prithvi Theatre did some 2,662 shows. He played the lead in every single show, even when he was running high fever -- that's one play every alternate day for 16 years, which I think must be a world record.

Papaji was so committed to Prithvi that when Jawaharlal Nehru wanted him to lead a cultural delegation abroad he said he couldn't due to Prithvi's engagements. "But why don't you have an understudy to play your roles if the need arises?" asked Nehru. "I know another person who does not have any understudy and his role is more important than mine," replied Papaji. "Who?" asked Nehru. "You," said Papaji.

Zohra Segal is an actress.

Ebrahim Alkazi
It was a chance encounter in a dark auditorium where Othello was being staged. The velvet curtain, the hushed silence, the elusive chimerical quality of the actor tantalised me in mysterious ways. A talk by Ebrahim Alkazi after the show mesmerised me by revealing a tiny door, which I wished to enter. I had no idea of theatre but was determined to be part of this rarified space that he unfolded.

Alkazi is larger than life. He conjures images of mythic proportion though his physical appearance contradicts this. Incessant gossip about his likes and dislikes were debated like national issues. It was wonderful to see him in his starched kurta pyjama with a brocade jacket receiving Mrs Gandhi for the opening of Razia Sultan. How I sighed like a forlorn abhisarika!

He brought to Indian theatre a professionalism that became global, not only in work ethics, but also in its aesthetics. His teaching methodology and his sensibility revolved around movement and change. Productions of epic proportions -- Mrich Katika, Danton's Death, Andha Yug -- with arches, ramps and gangways, elaborate costumes, sumptuous visuals, with nuanced characterisation, created a pulsating stage world. Choreographed moments, precise gestures, processed emotions became the hallmark of his oeuvre.

Alkazi, who was the director of the National School of Drama from 1964 to 1977, was an actor par excellence and a charismatic teacher. His capacity to lay bare the bones of the character made the creative ground ready, for the muse to appear. He knew he had all the students in the palm of his hand. We all felt like marionettes under this master puppeteer. The school was divided between the "haves" and the "have-nots". This division had nothing to do with money or class. It was all a question of talent. I could never figure out why Alkazi was called chacha, or uncle, by his students. It was a charming endearment, which in one sweep melted the fears and anger one gathers in a pressure-cooker profession like theatre.

Neelam Mansingh Chowdhry is a theatre director and runs Theatre Company, Chandigarh.