The audience was perched on the edge of their seats, fully engrossed in the emotional crescendo of my riveting play. The protagonist, that is me, was delivering a heart-wrenching monologue, tears streaming down my face. The silence in the theatre was palpable – until suddenly a muffled “YES!” broke through.
I was distracted. That was not a “Yes, you nailed it babe” kind of yes. Had my wig come askew? Had my petticoat fallen to my ankles? No. It was a gentleman in the third row, grinning ear to ear at his phone.
You see, while the audience was collectively mourning my character’s plight, this gentleman was following the cricket match on his phone. The glow of the screen illuminated his joy more than the spot light did for my grief.
India’s hero of the day, Virat Kohli, had just hit a century against Australia in that unforgettable match on Nov 24. It didn’t bother the man one bit that he and his compadres (and there were a few) were interrupting my performance with muted cheers and a vigorous exchange of WhatsApp messages.
The funny thing is that the rest of the audience just rolled their eyes and carried on trying to enjoy the performance. After all, everyone just shrugs and accepts the inevitable – an Indian cricket aficionado and his phone cannot be parted! Even the ushers at the Esplanade had quietly given up trying to discipline the Indian audiences.
This, my dear readers, is the paradox of the Indian multitasker: emotionally invested in theatre, yet deeply committed to the cricket scoreboard.
The mobile magnet
What is it about our phones that makes them such an irresistible extension of ourselves?
Is it FOMO (fear of missing out)? Or is it that we Indians have mastered the art of juggling life’s grand performances – whether on stage or on a pitch?
Let’s face it: Our phones have become the one-stop shop for everything. They’re our news anchors, cricket commentators, cameras and sometimes even the dinner date (because why make small talk when you can scroll and watch TikTok before it goes out of fashion).
But the addiction goes deeper. Where else can you find someone simultaneously live-streaming a wedding while commenting on a political debate and ordering online biryani? The multitasking prowess of Indians is unparalleled.
And then there’s the notorious “forwarded many times” conspiracy theories, dissected with the same vigour one might reserve for a Nobel Prize-winning paper. “Did you know Nehru didn’t actually like cricket?” says one uncle, before launching into a tirade replete with emojis and exclamation marks.
Rules? What rules?
At the beginning of our performance, a woman with a sexy voice reminded the audience about not taking photos or videos while the performance was on. Was anyone even listening?
I have often wondered about the audacity of sneaking photos and videos in places where signs scream “NO PHOTOGRAPHY”. Theatre? Click. Museum? Snap. Wedding? Forget about the couple; we’re live-streaming the buffet.
It’s not that we deliberately ignore the rules, it’s just that the rules seem... optional... unenforceable... unIndian.
The phone-camera combo is irresistible, like a mischievous sibling egging you on: “Come on, just one shot. Who’ll notice?” And before you know it, you’ve got a shaky, poorly lit video clip that you’ll never watch again.
I remember watching most of the Zakir Hussain concert off the phone of the bald headed man in front of me who practically recorded the whole concert. Maybe his idea was to watch the concert twice for the cost of one ticket.
The great Indian group chat
Of course, the photos and videos have a purpose – to fuel our beloved WhatsApp groups. There’s one for family, one for friends, one for schoolmates and one just for forwarding those “Good Morning” GIFs with sunflowers.
The theatre play may end at 9:45pm, but the debate over whether Kohli should have gone for a cover drive will last until sunrise, punctuated by memes and emojis.
But let’s get back to the theatre. Here’s the irony: while we’re busy documenting, we’re missing the magic of the moment. The actor’s powerful delivery becomes a blurred snapshot. The live performance becomes a highlight reel, viewed through a screen smaller than a slice of bread.
And yet, I get it. We are a nation of storytellers. We don’t just consume experiences; we curate, share and archive them for eternity – or at least until we run out of cloud storage.
Breaking Free (almost)
So, how do we cure this addiction? Honestly, it’s like asking an Indian wedding to end on time – it’s just not happening. But maybe we can make baby steps.
The next time you’re at a play, wedding or even a funeral (yes, we’ve seen busy phones there too), consider this: could you possibly enjoy the moment without recording it for your Instagram story?
And if you must cheer for Kohli’s century during a play, here’s a tip: synchronise your applause with the audience clapping for the performance. Who knows, you might just pull it off.
After all, if there’s one thing we Indians excel at, it’s multitasking – with flair.
