they say you cannot master an art form such dance without becoming a slave to it first. the gotipua tradition is something akin to devotion to their art.

devotion? yes, gotipuas dance like radha to her krishna, shakti to her shiva…and there’s as much love on the stage as there is expressed in the music that accompanies the gotipuas.

now a bit of the background. the gotipuas have dedicated their life to learn the nuances and the many moves of the odissi form of classical dance. they start as young as four and five, and stay at the guru’s home to learn, when they hit puberty, dancers leave to pursue Odissi with other masters or stay on at the guru’s house or further instruction.

the group came on to the stage, and electrified everyone present.

they jumped and they twirled, they even formed human pyramids…they brought so much energy to the stage even i was compelled to stay and watch.

dressed in identical sarees these little dancers from orissa performed wonderfully the tales of krishna and the gopis. so skilful and acrobatci their performance was, i wondered very idly, if they were more gymnasts than dancers. how could anyone bend and twist that way?

of course i dropped the kulfi i was happily enjoying whn i heard that the gotipuas are all boys! the gestures, the dance movements were all so graceful, no one could’ve guessed.

oh i do have a bone to pick about the songs that were being sung with the dances. shudder! so raucous! but i confess i do ot understand folk art as much as i should.

the boys looked so happy dancing, dressed in sarees that i forgot all about the unkind word ‘drag’ that did pop into my pani-puri addled brain.

also must beg for forgiveness for not havig posted this earlier. as my new avatar of publisher of the Caferati ‘Stories at the Coffee Table’, i got busy, dodging cops who wagged their truncheons at me for trying to sell the book from the boot of the car. also, please watch out for several nubile nymphets ‘psssting’ you and then directing you to the aforementioned car.

:)

the ladies from zubaan gathered their amazing words away from the stage under the trees friday night (the presentation they made was so awesome, it deserves someone better able to record it here, so accept my pardons) to make way for something i knew was going to have me glued to the now familiar plastic chairs in the david sassoon library gardens.

i had been listening to them standing at the back (gah, there was standing room only, as the zuban session was full), so when i saw one seat emptying up front, i did what fans do, hastily left the bunch of friends who were with me, and grabbed the chair in the front row, next to farida (no, not her real name, but she looked like one).

friends who found chairs after a few people left, called out rude things to me, but i smiled. i knew i was in for a treat.

“please don’t clap,” was the request. “warna hamari izzat utar jaayegi.”

i heard an involuntary,”hain?” from farida, and i turned to beam at her. this was going to be double treat. sitting next to a dastangoi virgin. i have had the privilege of being mesmerised by the tales of fantasy before. i sigh in anticipation.

i knew the gulzar song about ‘thandi safed chaadaron mein jaage der tak’ was going to make an appearance in my head when i set me eyes upon the stage. yes, the gadda was there, covered in pristine white. i squashed the thought. what was about to happen was far grander than a movie song. but the brain started the ancient jingle for ‘tinopal’ as soon as the new dastango, fauzia, came to the stage, also in whites, and i missed her short introduction.

damn! a girl dastango and i missed it! please dahlings, don’t ask me what datsango is, you are citizens of the cyberworld, and much able to discover details on dastangoi.blogspot.com

back to kala ghoda.

danish and mahmood, the two teller of tales, were seated. before i climb the thrill spiral of dastangoi, i must praise the crisp white kurta pajama the two sport. and rave about the topis (the first time i spotted the little topi i had wondered how the topi stays perched upon their brilliant heads).

dastangoi is no longer an art hidden away in forty six volumes in someone’s dusty cupboard in ‘nukhlow’.

“please don’t clap. the tradition is to say ‘wah, waah’,” advised danish, knowing full well that some of us would not be able to resist the easy appreciation that we have become used to.

i felt farida stiffen next to me. i could hear gabbar singh talk thru farida.”kya samajh kar aaye the, audience bahut khush hogee? shabashee degee, kyon?”…

but the rest of us nodded. i practised saying, “wah!” under my breath, and thought it alien. so much easier to clap!

they started spinning the tale of the three storey bridge over the river of blood, where fish swam, swallowing pearls fed by nubile maidens…of how amar aiyyar was caught!

people tried out, “waah!” and the two dastangos nodded in approval. they were guiding our ears and mouths to an new experience. our bodies had long been hypnotised into staying still.

and then came ‘kalwarin’! so exquisite are her wine flask-bearing hips, her hands decorated with mahawar, her eyes, those eyes lined with kohl, her flirty ways that i found my jaw dropping several inches lower than anatomically possible.

farida was in the zone now. she was giggling, and simpering and her ‘wah, waahs’ were becoming audible. she even guffawed, then straightened up, not understanding how she was losing her carefully cultivated city-bred composure.

bahaar jadu cast her magic then. and we were even more hypnotised.

and soon we were mesmerised by the description of battles between magicians. i was convinced for a minute that ms.rowling must’ve ‘internalised’ a daastan somewhere…

aah then the tale spoke of blood and the gore of the battle…i found my heart needed coaxing, it kept pausing at the good parts. a little breathy swoosh from farida said she too was dealing with an unruly heart…

‘kya baat hai!’, ‘bhai waah!’ and stunned silences were how we experienced dastaangoi. thankfully danish announced, “you may clap now!”

there was a thunderous applause.

the audience was so amazed and impressed, they asked:

‘aapki zubaan itnee saaf hai, kya aap log auron ko sikhayenge?’, ‘could i learn to be a dastango?’

i think, if performers inspire such a response in the audience, the performance has been successful.

i found farida tasting the word, ‘haramzada’ quietly to herself. my grin widened. the kalwarin had cast her spell on her as well! murtaza danish hussain and mahmood farooqui had created one more fan.

their storytelling is flawless. they finish each other’s sentences, and hand over the action to one another, even say the last triumphant sentences in unison without faltering or tripping over the khaalis urdu. they make dastangoi a seamless spinning of wonderful impossible tales.

dastangoi is a living experience. i know i may have shortchanged you somehow with this blog entry, so am going to offer you a peek into someone else’s viewpoint. this was written after Dastangoi was performed in mumbai, a while ago, at prithvi.

here is the link to arjun bali’s blog called ‘balihai’.

Retrieved via the Wayback Machine. Originally posted by Manisha Lakhe

‘parikrama is the hottest indian band! it’s a must-see! and zero does original stuff!’

i received so many smses on my phone that i agreed to be fodder to the gazillion mosquitoes that would be present in an open air situation. armed with odomos, and determined to stand in front of the speakers (with the slight hope that some of the lower frequencies might repel the parasites) i landed at kala ghoda in time to have chaat before the concert began.

the chaat was spicy. so one turned to Annu Parmar Kulfi. the kulfi was so good, it cried out for detailed tasting. and when i realised that a smorgasbord of kulfi was not enough, i was compelled to, in the name of honest blogging (this excuse for gluttony has been copyrighted now), eat a full plate each of all the kulfis.

;)

there was Malai, Kesar Pista, Malai Pista, Dry Fruits Kulfi, Mango, Matka, Chikoo, Strawberry (or was it raspberry), half liberally laced with the most delicious rabdi, and half eaten without the topping. i have never liked falooda so i denied myself that pleasure. after all, one has to think of ones weight and all that.

‘where are you?’

oh! an sms. from azad maidan. am in the middle of licking a plate, happily ignoring people who are gawking at me as if i were a live art installation. hmm.i wish i had a hat, could have made money to cover kulfi costs.but do i care? there’s one more flavor to try.

‘where the heck are you?’

i use my left pinky to sms back a request to friends to stand near the speakers so i can find them when i am done here.

the gawkers are giggling now. i glare at a few, but stack my plates just so it does not seem like i might need an ambulance to take me away.

the kulfi guy seemed to be enjoying the circus, because the portions got larger with every buy.

when i finally stopped getting the smses, i realised that i had overdone the tasting thing.

besides the kulfi guy now suggested i try them all again with falooda.

i bumped into the Time-out magazine horses, and asked for directions to azad maidan.

i totter over on a sugar high towards the general direction of the and find that the last scene from Monty Python’s Meaning of Life is looping in my head. i head home in a cab.

Retrieved via the Wayback Machine. Originally posted by Manisha Lakhe

this was a recce trip. in pure military style, i was going to figure out how i was going to make the most of every event of every day of this festival.

rampart row: check.
aaaaaarrrrrgggggghhhhh! who mixed colors and children together?

(note to self: bring earplugs when there are kids, and try not to swear loudly when wading through them or the perpetually exhausted parents imitate deer in headlights.shudder!)

max mueller bhawan: check.

need to figure out how ‘charulata’ and ‘naach’ could ever be shown in one place.

M C Ghia Hall: am directionally challenged, but the booth babes and boys (correction! the very nice young ladies and lads) point in the general direction of chaos. check.

workshops from tai chi, paper making, to all kinds of dance

(line dancing in a crowd? hmm. great camouflage for those with two left feet, must try it)

NGMA: check
David Sassoon Library: check

place to infest. if you are as hungry as i am to experience words.

(must smuggle in food here! wonder if food smells will distract perfomance poetry.)

Horniman Circle Gardens: check

Caferati, the online writer’s group, has just met here last week (they have an interesting concept when once a month online masks come off and people meet to read and discuss works in progress). and theater under the stars is a great idea.

(bring odomos!)

the main street: check

there’s a riot of color here already. and it’s just the first day.

(remember to bring camera!)

(bring lots of ten rupee notes. it’s great to buy little souvenirs from hawkers. and practice bargaining. but i don’t know where i am going to keep the six foot puppet that i bought today.)

heritage walks: no. i refuse to wear sensible shoes. i like heels. they save you when crowds get over enthusiastic.

besides, these walks have challenging clues to keep creatures with single-celled brains like yours truly far far away. they wish to meet people who can identify ‘Chrysophyllum’ trees, and who can play follow the leader. i am quite happy to get sidetracked into Samovar (it’s having a paratha festival! they’ve added some interesting combinations to their menu)

all right. i got stuffed. maybe i shall work out the extra calories when i queue up for Shantaram’s autograph tomorrow (no, no, not for me, but for Reema aunty’s sister’s brother-in-law who is a very eligible and good looking bloke in the foreign country where H1 visas are required.)

oh, and bring friends.they help you maintain a diet, and stop you from buying six foot puppets, no matter how cute the mooch looks (on the puppet, not the puppetwallah).