As a God, your first responsibility is watching people enact you, and your stories.
Yesterday I had time. Ha! And was tired. I asked a man standing near a projector and some flood lights with vast space around him;
'what's gonna happen here?'
"Oh. The Ramleela. [The enactment of The Ramayana, a hindu mythological saga]."
'Ohk, when will it begin? how long will it last?'
"Supposed to start soon. About one hour it goes."
'Hmm. Thank you.'
That was in evening a day ago. In college. I checked my watch. There was time.
The play indeed started soon enough. There was some hardwork, some, put in by actors. But I was cursing all along — because the quality of mics provided to them were awful, there were glitches in the performances, and I COULD SEE So much potential getting wasted! They could have colloborated to create — SUCH AN HAVOC; so that we audiences would have tensed, and feared to return to grip our mother’s womb cord.
But no, except rare of rare scenes, there wasn’t much.
As for the viewers, we were quite obscene in our part. We giggled and shouted our asses off; when an actor’s costume slipped to reveal his butt lining. For this act, as a God, I curse this world to bear IMMENSE TORTURE!!
Also, as a corallary, I realized so many revelations while the play went on.
One of the last ones was, that, it will take our elders (parents, and others): “We were assholes in our time. We couldn’t achieve anything in our lives. But you, for god’s sake, don’t follow our rules, don’t follow us.. for bloody sake of living, do something worthwhile in your life.” — to say to us.
Maybe that ‘ll be a trigger point for some of us, to be a little more careful of our unconscious thoughts.
But, there was this little choir this play had, in the corner a group of girls sat and after every scene, they would recite and sing, so blanket powerfully — they were like the omnipresent forces present around the story going on; they stated the true nature of every character who had appeared in the previous scene. Like the flowers who noted the scent of the butterfly that flew on it’s pollens.
They were a pleasure to hear.