A Fish Ate My Cat presents dementia not as decline but as a lived, ordered world filled with routine, humour and creativity.
The play gently unpacks grief, inter-faith love and an estranged mother–son relationship shaped by loss and identity.
Inventive stagecraft and warm performances make the production a compassionate, feel-good meditation on ageing and acceptance.
Sarita Johnson, nee Shetty, lives alone, happy in her fantasy world, with Smokey, the building cat, and Jaishree her part-time help, as part-time companions.
When Sarita lost her husband, she did not mourn; but receded into a past when she was single and in love; with the dashing Isaac Johnson wooing her ardently. Quickly wiping out signs of death, Sarita got rid of the chair in which Isaac slumped to a sudden death, cut their double bed into half, and became a young girl again. Dementia? Or a happy soul choosing to remember only the good times and deleting the unhappy ones.
Yuki Ellias plays this lovable, idiosyncratic character in A Fish Ate My Cat, a play written and directed by her. The annual Prithvi Theatre Festival, Mumbai, that transports theatre lovers to an exciting elsewhere every year, opened with Ellias’ play in November 2025. Staged again in the new year to a packed house, the curiously-titled play looks through a different lens at a common age-related condition called dementia, described medically as a major/ mild neurocognitive disorder.
Medically, Sarita might be diagnosed as suffering from dementia and she may occasionally mix up Isaac and Smokey or put kitchen items in her bathroom cabinet, but her life is far from disorderly. In fact, order is the leitmotif of her day, with fixed times and methods for everything. Precision is the key to her activities. So, she insists on cutting the milk packet with her Tom and Jerry scissors in a particular manner. “A small triangle at the corner so the milk can be poured out without spilling,” she explains. Three pieces of surmai fish to be fried, not one less, not one more. Chicken cutlets on Thursdays made by the chirpyJaishree, played by a Marathi-spouting Mati Rajput. Tea, not coffee, is Sarita’s preferred beverage. “I like tea/ Tea makes me pee/ At 10.30” she trills happily.
At sharp 3 pm she goes to a make-believe concert. Unfailingly. That is the time a neighbour in an upper flat plays the piano. So Sarita dresses up, applies pink lipstick, carries an evening purse and, as the lights dim, she settles down in her couch, to listen to strains of jazz,( played live on stage by Kurian Joseph). At ‘the concert’ she socialises with her friend, Thelma, even making a note of her stylish dresses.
At other times, she goes for a spin in her Pajero to Hill Road, and notices the St. Stanislaus’ school bus, the Holy Family Hospital ambulance and other vehicles go by. That the Pajero, the yellow school bus and the ambulance happen to be her son’s childhood Dinky toys is immaterial in her happy, surreal world.
Sarita has other amusing ways of passing time. If she is not cruising on Hill Road or speeding on the highway in her Pajero, she is imagining the books on her shelves as couples…the fat one and the thin one, the tall one and the short one, thus relocating both, herself and the audience, to an entertaining, other world.
And then, one day, she has a visitor. Her son, Ajay, arrives from Singapore, unannounced, with bag and baggage, ‘to stay for a while’. As the play progresses, we learn that Ajay has a lot of baggage. He has not visited her all these years, after his father’s funeral; but, like most children living abroad, ensured she is well looked after. At first, Sarita doesn’t recognise him. When he introduces himself she is not exactly overjoyed, proclaiming, “Ajay is such a horribly dull name!” Introductions over, the lights go off and both of them pull sheets over themselves to slip into comforting slumber. She on her single bed, he on the drawing room armchairs, joined together.
Through snatches of their conversation over the next few days, we see their past unfold. Sarita had eloped with the Christian Isaac who had named their son Ajay to, perhaps, assure his father-in-law that he had not imposed Christianity on Sarita. But Ajay, played by Abhishek Saha, is disturbed by his mother’s odd behaviour--scolding the plants for not flowering, insisting he dress up for ‘the concert’ in formal trousers and his father’s stylish jacket, emulating her favourite Olympics gymnast, Nadia Comaneci--and he decides she needs therapy.
So a dance instructor is brought in to teach Sarita to jive, waltz and do the cha cha. Blithe spirit that she is, Sarita takes to dancing like fish to water and christens her big-built tutor Candy Floss, played by the agile Kunaal Sangtani. Her day is now packed with more fun-filled activities.
Ajay, on the other hand, seems troubled. Finally, one day, he unburdens himself to his Ma. The Ma, who would wait to take him off the school bus with a bottle of lemon juice, mothers him again. When Ajay reveals his marriage is over because he is in love with a man, Sarita is not shocked. “I ran away when I fell in love,” she tells him, proudly. “Ma you are a very brave woman. Running is hard,” replies the forlorn Ajay.
“Come, let us go to Chowpati beach then,” suggests Sarita. Just like when he was a little boy. Through a delightful device of stagecraft, she pulls over both of them, a bedsheet that has a sandy beach, a large beach ball and a pail and spade. If building imaginary sand castles can lessen life’s problems, why not? That is therapy, too.
On another occasion, when Ajay tells her, helplessly, that he is lost, she dismisses it as no big deal. “When I got lost, I would look out for the Xerox shop, the auto stand, Holy Family Hospital and find my way home. Eventually, we make our way home, don’t we?” she tells him, comfortingly.
Sarita’ home is like her: a warm, reassuring space, designed by Sanket Parkhe and Ellias. Bright sofas, colourful bookshelf, potted plants, ironing board, kitchenette, dinky cars, lamps and clothes’ line, lit up magically by Parkhe, reflect Sarita’s sunny temperament.
Revealing more would be a spoiler but when the play ends with two vocalists, Petra Misquitta and Latoya Fern Advani, joining the pianist neighbour to sing a gospel song, This Little Light OF Mine… Let It Shine you know the son will be as brave as his mother and follow his heart.
Speaking to Ellias, the writer-director of this feel-good, fuzzy play, one is curious to know who inspired her to create the quaint Sarita Johnson nee Shetty. “One of my grandmothers had dementia,” replies the multi-faceted Ellais. “When her husband died, she believed he became a bird and flew out of her palm. She became more cute and funny with age. Also more compassionate and open. Sarita is a combination of this grandmother and my parents who had a strong, inter-faith, love marriage.”
Strong, compassionate, non-judgemental, happy…Sarita is all this and more. Can we say the same about the rest of us who don’t hallucinate or suffer from neurocognitive disorder?
