Indian prisoners are unaccustomed to chairs — their seating, like their sleeping, is communal, on the floor. Yet in several state prisons in Maharashtra, inmates are now engaging with a chair for an entirely different purpose: not to rest, but to speak — to someone who isn’t there.The Empty Chair is a drama therapy tool employed by Sarita Ganesh and Tanvi Oswal in the therapeutic expressive arts intervention they lead in prisons. An inmate addresses an empty chair, imagining it seated with a person — a parent, a victim, a child — and says to them the things they want to but can‘t: apologies, confessions, promises.“Prisoners often become numb and voiceless under the weight of their emotions. But when they’re given a safe space and guided through therapeutic processes that help them shape and express their feelings, they find their voice again, and through expression, relief,” says Ganesh, founder of Khula Asman Trust, a nonprofit that has run Project Inner Light, a mental health initiative, in prisons in Thane, Yerawada and Byculla.For some prisoners, it’s a rehearsal for difficult conversations they hope to have with family during mulaqat (scheduled meetings). For others, it’s a conversation they may never have in reality but need to, for closure.“Because people are isolated from families, friends and community, there’s a lot of pending dialogue, especially with those they have harmed or been harmed by. This exercise allows prisoners to have their say, and then reverse roles, stepping into the other person’s shoes to respond. It creates an emotional catharsis that deepens understanding and empathy and gives them new perspective,” says Oswal.Another exercise draws inmates into groups to deliberate on topics ranging from prison conditions to anxieties about their children to fear of the future, channelling these into short skits. “The skit opens up a dialogue,” she explains. “You may not be able to solve a problem, but you can express it.”The project returned to Thane Central Prison last week, where male and female prisoners will spend a year in sessions built around dance and movement, art, games, music and drama, designed to help them release some of the emotional weight they carry. The Empty Chair is part of the drama therapy module, where theatre processes — roleplay, improvisation, storytelling, dialogue — are harnessed for transformation.All the world may be a stage, but not everyone is performing for an audience. Outside prisons — in bastis and boardrooms — people are picking up theatre’s toolkit for very different ends: to reclaim a social identity, to tell a fuller story of their community, to communicate better under pressure.In Kandivali East, elements of theatre have been used to tell a neighbourhood’s story. A curated walk through the bylanes of Kranti Nagar acquaints outsiders with the civic, structural and social topography of the low-income settlement — split between two distinct typologies, one notified and stable on BMC land, the other unnotified and precarious on forest land.Part of ComplexCity — a series of neighbourhood walks organised by the nonprofit YUVA to draw people living outside bastis into them to understand them better — the Kranti Nagar walk (titled ‘Tadipaar se Development: Kranti Nagar ki Nayi Disha’) was co-created by Divya Bhatia, performing arts consultant and actor, with YUVA’s youth from the area.Unlike most neighbourhood walks, these are designed and led by young members of the settlement itself and framed around awareness and empathy-building — walk leaders explain and question ground realities, and introduce participants to social activists, entrepreneurs and environmentalists living inside the basti. But they also perform, to draw participants more fully into the skin of the site. On the tour, visitors will suddenly encounter intimate scenes of community life (eve-teasing or women resisting intimidation) staged in alleys, but enacted so seamlessly into the trail that they are taken in.“Through dramatised scenes, we wanted to give visitors a glimpse of the colony’s inner life that they may not otherwise see on the tour,” says Asma Ansari, project lead at YUVA.Bhatia highlights the difference between watching a scene on stage and on the street: “When you watch a show on stage, you suspend disbelief. Here, you don’t suspend disbelief, yet you believe the scene is real.”He notes that it isn’t easy for an actor without formal training to stand in the heart of their own neighbourhood and perform.Rohit Lakhankar, 18, agrees. “I was initially worried about what people would think of me, but I grew confident with every walk knowing the act serves a larger purpose,” says the novice who essays several roles, including that of a morning drunk. (This correspondent was so convinced by his act, she later confessed she was about to call the police.) “I could perform these scenes convincingly because I’ve grown up witnessing them,” he admits.The walks are the product of intensive, months-long workshops led by Bhatia, whose practice in applied theatre spans two decades — including a project with sex workers in Sangli that challenged social stigma, and a performing arts initiative with marginalised youth on Robben Island, centred on South African history and youth empowerment.The first step in plotting the walks, Bhatia says, is creating a safe space in which participants can trust themselves with others. “We do this through trust games that enable actors to open up emotionally, building confidence and self-worth.”He emphasises that applied theatre prioritises participation and process over production. “The purpose is not to create a show, but to go through a process that teaches you things that are ultimately transformative.”Notably, it isn’t only the dramatised scenes that are built on theatre’s plinth— the walk’s route and script are too, shaped by voice training, storytelling, and an appreciation of dramatic arc. A neighbourhood walk could follow any route and tell any number of stories; what makes some more interesting and relevant, and how to sequence and present them, is theatre’s particular teaching.The C-suite, too, has made it to theatre class. Executives are turning to theatre professionals to learn how to make a strong first impression, communicate powerfully, draw on diverse perspectives, and navigate high-stakes conversations. “The theatre element is what makes corporate coaching active and experiential, which participants love because they get to practice rather than simply sit and watch a coach who only has a PowerPoint presentation and describes theory,” says Yuki Ellias, actor, producer and director, whose company The Next Stage has trained corporate across sectors from pharma to private equity.Performance-based techniques, she says, lift the energy in a room quickly, making interactions between participants more spontaneous. “The workshops lift a person’s presence, help them speak better, and bring in storytelling, narrative and structure so they can message better.” Through simulations and role-play, executives practice difficult conversations, high-stakes presentations, or influencing a client — the acting itself offering a reality check on where they stand, and how they might improve.What connects a prison cell in Thane, a basti in Kandivali, and a boardroom is the method. In each setting, theatre is being used to build a safe space for people to be vulnerable, tell their own stories, and to treat the process itself as the real work. The stage may be make-believe — but the act is real.
