On a quiet Hyderabad evening at Lamakaan, theatre once again becomes a mirror — unyielding, intimate, and deeply human. Dear Zindagi, presented by Soham Theatre, is not just a play; it is a confrontation with life itself. At its heart lies a fragile question: what keeps us going when everything else falls apart?
Directed by Suhas Barve, the play — adapted from Madan Bamb’s Marathi work Rang Zagnasa — unfolds like a quiet collision of lives. Four women. Four different worlds. One moment that changes everything.
“What drew me to this story is the idea of perception. We always believe someone else is happier, more settled. But the truth is — everyone is dealing with something,” begins Suhas.
Set against the evocative stillness of Mumbai’s Haji Ali, the narrative finds Madhuri, a school teacher, standing at the edge — emotionally and literally. Betrayed, silenced, and pushed out by both family and power, she arrives at a point where life feels unlivable. “People come to Mumbai with dreams. But sometimes they land somewhere completely different. Still, what matters is that we don’t forget we are human first,” he shares.
And then, almost unexpectedly, come Maya and Sapna.
They are women from the red-light district — loud where the world wants them quiet, alive where the world expects resignation. In them, Madhuri encounters not pity, but perspective.
“One woman, who has every reason to live, wants to end her life. And another, who is dying, still chooses to live. That contrast is the heart of Dear Zindagi,” he expresses.
Maya, especially, lingers. Living with illness, carrying her own share of pain, she refuses to surrender to it. There is no dramatic heroism in her — only a quiet, stubborn clarity.
“We do not have the right to end our lives. No matter what we face, the key to life is within us. It is never in someone else’s hands,” he notes
The play doesn’t rush this realisation. It lets conversations stretch, discomfort settles, silences speak. In those exchanges, Dear Zindagi moves beyond narrative into something more reflective — almost intimate.
At a time when attention spans flicker and empathy often feels outsourced to screens, Barve’s concern is pointed.
“Today, people are busy recording everything. They might see someone in distress and take out their phone instead of helping. But here, these women stop, they listen, they act. That human connection — that is what we are losing,” he highlights.
That insistence on connection is what gives the play its emotional weight. It also made it difficult to stage.
Suhas admits, “The subject made many actors hesitant. There is discomfort around themes like illness or the red-light district. Even saying certain lines became a challenge. But theatre must go into these spaces — it has to.”
There are moments of unexpected lightness too — a song, a fleeting laugh — reminders that even within fractured lives, joy finds a way in.
For Hyderabad’s audience, Dear Zindagi arrives not just as a performance, but as a pause. A chance to sit with stories we often look away from, and perhaps, recognise something of ourselves within them.