A Long Cheet Chat

There I was, excited, a bit scared even, when the lights were dimmed. On stage, save for two plastic chairs (like the type you get in modern kopitiams) and a small table, on which sat a mini compo, were all there was to a set. A blueish-silver saree hung from the ceiling. Oil lamps lit the floor, adding much Indian flavour.
I had come to watch Cheet Chat at The Actors Studio Greenhall, a play about two colleagues and the tragedies and comedies of their lives.

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