Sick Room is not just a translation – it’s a transformation. This Nepali adaptation of Rajiv Joseph’s Gruesome Playground Injuries reimagines a story of chronic emotional pain through a cultural lens that feels intimate, timely, and deeply resonant. I watched the performance on June 21, and it left me shaken, raw, and reflective.
The play follows two characters – Kalina and Diwas – across various stages of their lives as they repeatedly meet in the moments of physical or emotional injuries. Much like the original, the structure is non-linear, but this version cleverly roots the settings in familiar Nepali spaces: a school, a nurse room, a hospital, a dingy sick bay and many more. The adaptation grounds the story in our own reality making the characters’ suffering even closer.
The performances were outstanding, Abhishek Khadka and Sudam Ck, in their portrayal of Diwas, captured the erratic charm and self – destructive tenderness of a boy trying to feel something real. His physical commitment to each injury – limping, twitching, bandaging – never felt theatrical, only tragically human.
Akanchha Karki (director herself) and Noor Khanal, as Kalina, delivered a quieter, equally powerful performance. Her stillness and subtle sarcasm revealed layers of numbness, repression, and yearning. Together, their chemistry was unromantic yet intimate – perfectly unforgettable, like a wound that never scabs over.
What struck me the most was the set design and lighting arrangement; both were minimal, yet metaphorical. The Sick Room was a literal space and also a symbolic one: a place where emotional sickness echoed in physical form. The repeated motif of bloodstains, the sickbed, cuts, wounds and flickering light added to the scene of decay – not just of bodies, but of connection.
The direction Akanchha Karki emphasised silence and stillness just as much as dialogue. Long pauses careful lighting shifts, and background sounds created an atmosphere the eerie grounded. These choices deepened the emotional weight scene.
Watching Sick Room in this very theatre was personally meaningful, it was here that I watched my first ever play, Pachali Bhairav, years ago. Since then, this space has continued to evolve and surprise, and I have seen it grow.
So many parts of Sick Room resonated deeply with me, I saw glimpses of myself in the characters’ actions, silences, and emotional wounds. That’s the kind of theatre this place dares to make: honest, intimate, and disarmingly human.
As I watched the play unfold, I found myself emotionally attached in ways I hadn’t expected. I tried hard hold back tears throughout but by the end, I simply couldn’t. I had to let them fall. It wasn’t just sadness, it was deep connection to the characters, the actions, the pain, and the truth the play held. When the lights faded, I stood up and applauded, yes again, I tried hard hold back tears not just as an audience member, but as someone offering heartfelt gratitude and love to everyone involved in the production of the play.
At some moments, a poem by Hari Bansha Acharya came to my mind from his book China Haraayeko Manchhe, written for his beloved wife. The same ache, the same longing, the same quiet beauty. Sick Room reminded me that theatre isn’t always meant to entertain, it’s also meant to touch, to uncover, and to heal in ways we don’t see coming.
If there was a drawback, it might be that the play’s non-linear structure confused a few audience members unfamiliar with the original. However, for those willing to stay alert, it made the story feel like memory itself: fragmented, recurring, painful and emotional.
But perhaps that says more about us, the audience, than the play itself. This brings me to a larger question; why is it that stories this bold, this intimate, are so often ignored in our own backyard?
We don’t blink an eye while spending thousands on Bollywood blockbuster or a Hollywood sequel we’ve already seen five times or more, popcorn in one hand, Instagram stories in the other. But when it comes to Nepali theatre, suddenly the wallet zips up, the schedule gets busy, and the interest fades very far away.
Why? Because there’s no popcorn? No surround sound? No superhero cameo? No flash and shutter are allowed?
Well, theatre won’t give you jump scares or intermissions with an ice cream. What it will give you is something unsettlingly real, moments that make you feel exposed, vulnerable, seen. Sick Room reminded me that to shake someone to their core, just two characters, a sickbed and silence is heavy enough to echo.
Let’s stop treating Nepali theatre like an optional extra. These artists bleed on stage, not just metaphorically. Suppose them. Watch them. Talk about them. They are crafting stories that aren’t made in studios far away – they are ours.
Now celebrating it’s seventh anniversary, the theatre has been home to powerful productions. With it’s each play, it offers exciting giveaways to its audiences, a warm gesture of the seventh year celebration adds to the joy of returning.
The play will be on stage till July 12 at Kausi Theatre at Teku. The theatre is closed on Tuesdays, but Saturdays have two shows.
