The son, to keep his father’s word, agreed to meet his former employer to ask him for re-employment in a job. Willy, the father, to keep his wife’s word, agreed to meet his boss and ask for a settled in-town job whereby he would not have to travel. The play paused for a break after the scene where both Willy and Biff depart after an agreement. It made me ponder on how the director of the play metaphorized the layered structure of the parents’ discussions of complaints and worries and the hopeful plans of the kids with the duplex characteristic of the Loman House. A yellow beam highlighted a higher elevation on the stage, giving an illusion to the audience that Biff and Happy stayed on the floor higher than the dining room, where their parents discussed their lives. When the scene shifted to Happy and Biff’s reminiscing about their childhood together and plans forward in their respective careers, the lower part of the stage became dim with a blue light. The story spun its threads along, weaving my attention into it. Linda implored to her husband, after his tragic car accident and troubled state of mind, that he request his boss to let him settle in the hometown so that he would not have to travel up and down every day, risking his life. The booklet that the red-haired woman handed over to us at the entrance of the theatre, before entering the hall, read that the subject of the play was ‘The waning of a failing salesman’.Īs we settled on the seats, the stage rumbled on with Willy Loman, the protagonist’s complains to his wife, Linda about how dreadfully their son Biff had shattered his high expectations of success, in spite of Biff’s promising athletic spirits from high school. The Death of a Salesman, a setting of the late 1940s and a Tragedy written by the American playwright Arthur Miller. The stage was dimly lit and the actors were doing their job. So, we reached about 10 minutes late and sneaked into the seats that were allotted in the tickets. Let’s be late!”, I distinctly remember that I actually said that. “Let’s just go in the normal pace and allow all that comes to come. It suddenly dawned on me, why would somebody rush over the blessing of a natural procrastination to allow absorbing the most of a pristine road and ruin the essence of it? That would be so dumb! “You know what, let’s not think about it”, I said. An extra 5 minutes by the looped path glared at us and we looked at one another and Aniruddha gushed all his frustration at the accelerator. The GPS finally re-routed and showed a new looped path to the same old destination and shouted into our ears the right directions for it. The play would start at 2:30PM and it was already 2:26 by the phone clock. We were a minute away from our destination when the GPS went into its re-routing mode and Aniruddha lost the right exit that led us to it. The piling confusions and inertia in my head made us late and Aniruddha was racing the car so that we could catch the theatre on time.
The gift shop had tormented me with all the attractive options of buying a little souvenir as a mark of reminiscing the exhilarating experience. The museum had tantalized my creative cells with all the outpouring sensation of art and yet the little time that we had to explore all of it. As much excited that we were, we were late too. The phone GPS went crazy that day with all the mind-boggling bends and turns on the roads that lead us from the Chrysler’s Museum of Art to the Little Theatre of Norfolk.
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