Powerful theatrical reflection on what it means to lead a life well-lived.
What lies after death? Much like a majority of religions, Zoroastrians believe in the concept of souls laid to rest in Paradise or Hell, depending on how good or evil one was in life. But to even get to that point requires a rather unique methodology of releasing the spirit from a corpse – sky burials, where bodies are laid out for vultures to strip clean of their flesh, hastening decomposition and preventing contamination of the earth, often seen as holy.
For the Parsis practicing Zoroastrianism living in India however, an unexpectedly sharp decline in vultures in the 1990s led to the practice coming under thread, as the millions of vultures that once roamed the skies had their numbers suddenly cut by almost 90%, one of the worst examples of mass extinction of a species in history. And it is that mystery that forms the central story at the heart of Indian Ink Theatre Company’s play Paradise or the Impermanence of Ice Cream (Paradise).
Co-presented with Singapore Theatre Company and marking the finale to their line-up of one-man shows in 2024, Paradise centres on the recently deceased Kutisar (Jacob Rajan), who wakes up in a darkened, nondescript form of limbo, awaiting his spirit’s fate. His only companion is a vulture (a life-sized puppet manipulated expertly and realistically by Jon Coddington), who picks at and pecks at his body, eyeing him beadily and with judgment. With no exit, it is all Kutisar can do to look back on his life, as he is taken on a journey back to revisit and literally watch his past flash before his eyes.
Co-written by both Rajan and Justin Lewis, Paradise‘s plot is fast-paced and madcap, recalling when Kutisar was a self-proclaimed country bumpkin and chaiwala, just trying to earn a living after moving to Mumbai. There’s never a dull moment, as a chance encounter with Meera at a club one night leads him to discover the Indian vulture crisis, and he gets pulled into an adventure far larger than he could ever imagine, uncovering family secrets, black market birds, mad ornithologists and more, all in a bid to help Meera solve the mystery of the mass extinction.
As a show trying to combine the ideas of Parsi sky burials with concepts of the afterlife and morality, Paradise at times finds it difficult to bring them all together as a whole, where the scenes featuring Kutisar in limbo are often more disruptive than introspective. Kutisar’s story in the years that follow his adventure are never fleshed out, and there does seem to be a disconnect and distinct unanswered gap between the two timelines, and the audience wondering whether any other segments of Kutisar’s life are worth examining to determine if he goes to paradise or hell. But besides that, the story itself is coherent, its central mystery of why the vultures are dying out keeping one hanging on, as we await to see how they bring it all to a satisfying close.
Amidst a mostly bare set, Paradise does wonders to activate the imagination. Not only is the script rich with description, each character making it clear the location they’re in, with details that feel like a natural part of their speech, but also, Bala Murali Shingade’s abstract projections provide artistic backdrops that allow for interpretation, containing enough elements to produce an image of bustling Mumbai, a rotting cattle carcass field, or a cool kulfi dessert shop. Considering the mysticism surrounding the Zoroastrian religion, mention of glorious religious temples or the somber towers of silence used for sky burials evoke a sense of wonder as we are taken to each of these locations.
Above all, Rajan is a seasoned performer, and by far, the most arresting aspect of Paradise is how fluidly and effectively he does his character work. Rajan’s storytelling ability is phenomenal, with how he takes each line and makes us believe in how the character has truly experienced it as it happens before them, never overwrought or melodramatic, and always real. Embodying no less than seven characters, each of these characters are fully fleshed out, completely understandable and visible in our mind’s eye, as he breathes life into them, their alliances, their beliefs and their idiosyncrasies. Rajan has also clearly mastered the art of split second transformations. With no need for costume changes or props, all it takes is a subtle shift in his physicality, moving his body weight, his demeanour and voice, to showcase a complete change in character. Each of these characters are given their own unique speech patterns and composure, from a quirky, off-kilter elderly aunt, to a sly moneylender whose voice drips with oily evil.
Even beyond the character work, Paradise effectively acts as a masterclass that shows off Rajan’s awareness of physical space and timing. When changing characters, Rajan repositions himself to the actual space onstage where they could reasonably standing, essentially doing the blocking of multiple actors in a single performer. Rajan is also often supported by the work of sound engineer David Ward, and showcases precision in how he matches physicality to sound effects, where falling on his back lines up perfectly with a thud, or the squelching, crunching of bones is aligned with Rajan hacking apart a corpse.
Rajan’s performance of Kutisar himself is emboldened by wearing a set of false teeth throughout the play, acting almost like a mask that allows him to remove himself from his actual, natural self. In performing the dead Kutisar, he adopts a more mature, older voice, and reverts to a more whiney, nervous one when playing Kutisar in flashbacks, easily spooked but with far more energy and effervescence. Kutisar is a character that may initially invite annoyance, one who seems to be a hindrance more than help as he tags along, sometimes inane with his questions, or fear of overstepping his boundaries.
But there is a clear sense of forward momentum for Kutisar that allows us to see immense character growth in the span of the play, where his cowardice gives way to moral courage, always finding it in him to do the right thing, as scared as he may be for whatever fate befalls him. It is this firm compass that endears us to this strange man, that makes us want him to find success and survive amidst all the pain and suffering he goes through, and come through in one piece, and of course, to rise to paradise for his small but significant good deeds.
When it began, Paradise drops Kutisar into a dark place. When it ends, it is no brighter than when it started. Yet, we glimpse a view of skies above, a lone vulture circling Kutisar’s corpse. Is he actually dead? Is he alive? Was it all just a terrible dream where he might be oversleeping for work? Perhaps it doesn’t matter. What Paradise then becomes is a modern parable, one that could withstand the test of time as it holds the air of something magical, something tragic, and something sacred in its performance, simultaneously dealing with universal themes of environmentalism, passion and beliefs. Death is something that comes to all of us, but in life, we are given the opportunity to make something of our immortal soul, in the hopes of making meaning of it in the in-between that’s most important. This is a show that lures you in with its mystery, but ends with a timely reminder on how ice cream may be impermanent, but the deeds we do may not be, if only we choose to live life the right way, to put others first, and to be as good as we can be.
Photo Credits: Indian Ink Theatre Company
Paradise, or the Impermanence of Ice Cream runs from 16th to 26th May 2024 at the KC Arts Centre. Tickets available here
Production Credits:
| Writers Jacob Rajan, Justin Lewis Dramaturge Murray Edmond Set Designer John Verryt Costume Designer Elizabeth Whiting Puppeteer, Puppet Designer / Builder Jon Coddington Composer & Sound Designer David Ward Lighting Designer and Production Stage Manager D. Andrew Potvin Sound Operator Adam Ogle Projected Imagery Photographer / Editor Bala Murali Shingade |
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