Thanks to the innovative organizers of this play, I don’t have to think of a title for this post. ;-)

Organized by Nitin Das and the Sheikh brothers, Chana Chai Nukkad Natak featured two plays enacted wholly by kids from the Akanksha NGO (with some prodding from Nitin who sat at the back of the stage directing the kids and correcting their cute faux pases).

The first play was about a man saddled with an ailing mother, and two brothers - one mad, and the other given to drinking a lot. He wishes to get his mother to a good hospital, to get his mad brother married, and to gift his drinking brother a career. To that end, he forges fake banknotes. The man gives a fake 500 rupees note to his mother, who buys groceries (or ration as it is called out of habit in India, thanks to the Raj’s and then the government’s policy of rationing food). The shopkeeper later recognizes the fake and adulterates food in order to compensate for the loss. The adulterated ration is bought by a lady whose jobless husband eats it, and goes to an interview with a sick stomach. Rejected in the interview, he becomes a nakli doctor. Finally the drinking brother of the man who had forged the note falls ill and is killed by the fake medicine administered by the fake doctor. The play was aptly titled Nakli Duniya.
(Click here to read the whole post)

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 Peter Griffin.

These are from the Mumbai Poetry Live evening.

John Agard

John Agard

Arundhathi Subramaniam

Ranjit Hoskote

Jerry Pinto in compere mode..

..and in poet mode, with jacket.

These are from Alyque Padamsee’s Unspoken Dialogues

Gary Richardson

Vivin Mathew Easo

Alyque Padamsee

Alyque Padamsee and some of the cast

The show-stealing puppies take centre stage

And some glimpses of the venue, at Azad Maidan

Rabbi, from a safe distance

Rabbi, closer up

Puppet Theatre

The “Joker” in the process of decapitating himself

The Pretty Girl.. who has an ugly man at the, ahem, other end.

A fellow-blogger switches to v-log mode.

Barefoot street kids eating leftover food from the stalls, and more affluent kids, with sports shoes and digicams, all enthralled by the puppets

The Street and the food

The chaat stall at one of those rare moments when it wasn’t beseiged by hungry mobs

After the ball is over

Most of Bombay’s gone home to get ready for Monday morning, but he has work to do now

Empty tables

McD’s. Trashed, apparently.

As chairs are stacked around them, stragglers grab a last bite

Much antacid was sold that night

The Dance stage comes down

This panel just missed braining me

Even as the last revellers eat and shop, a truck backs in to load up the equipment.

Retrieved via the Wayback Machine. Originally posted by Peter Griffin

Unlike the heretic in the previous post, I love Indian Ocean. There’s a depth and uniqueness to their that makes Rabbi sound downright pedestrian. And I planned my evening so I’d get there just in time for Rahul, Amit, Asheem and Susmit at 8.30 p.m., as per the schedule.

So, there I was at Horniman Circle, for Unspoken Dialogues, directed by Alyque Padamsee. The place was packed, people standing at the sides, sitting on the grass in front. By the time I got in, I could seem someone on stage who seemd to be dropping papers a lot, and dislodging his lapel mike. But I think I’ll leave the detailed review to Yazad, who was Not Pleased At All, and has promised to post later today or tomorrow morning.

Which leaves me with just one little snippet - while the post-performance Q&A was happening (and just before the discussion on stray dogs, which one of the Dialogues referred to) a friendly local bitch and her two half-grown pups made a quiet entry, stage right, and generally made themselves comfortable, hogging the limelight, to many grins from the audience. Enthu production crew type chap came by to shoo them away. And was followed into the aisles by an Angry Lady. I had just moved to that side of the audience to take a few pictures, so was in close range to hear:

Angry Lady (stage whisper): If I see you kick a dog again, I will report you to the SPCA!
Production Chap (stage whisper): But I didn’t kick the dog!
AL (stage whisper): I saw you! I will report you!
PC (stage whisper): But but but

AL (stage whisper): I will get you arrested!
PC (forgetting to stage whisper): But but
PC’s colleague, PC 2, who has seen the little drama unfold from afar, in calm, soothing voice: What’s the trouble madam?
AL: He kicked the dog! I will get him put in jail!

By this time, checking my phone, which had been off during the performances, for voicemails, found one that told me that the order of performances at Azad Maidan has changed, and Indian Ocean was well into their set. With a twinge of regret, I abandoned the finale of the most dramatic, gritty, realistic performance of the evening, hied me to a cab and got myself to the biggest dustbowl in South Bombay. Just in time to hear Indian OCean announce that for their last song, they would be joined by Rabbi.

Gah.

Ah well. One song better than none.

Then I decided to stay on to see what this Rabbi chap was all about. While the band was tuning up, I messaged a pal to whine about missing IO. She sent back a consoling message: “not to worry. IO good. there’ll be many more chances to see them. Rabbi flavour-of-the-month and you probably won’t get to see him again.”

Anyway. Rabbi. Dark glasses. Smooth suit. Nice voice. Knows how to get the crowd involved. I liked his Bulla Ki Jana Main Kaun. Found the rest of it just straight, uninspired rock that happens to have Punjabi lyrics. Nothing special about the at all. Dilip, apologies to your lovely family, but, old chap, nyaaah, not a patch on IO.

As I worked my way out, planning to head home, I bumped into former colleague and old pal who is now Very Important and Cool Dude at a certain channel. Success, said the VI&CD, has gone to Rabbi’s head. He used to just come on, dressed in [I forget the word, something to do with traditional Punj attire], and stand there and play and sing. Now, he’s got the suit, the shades, rock star posturing. at which point Rabbi obligingly illustrated my friend’s point by leaning backwards, guitar stem raised, in classic axeman fashion, as he played some apparently difficult chord.

Oh well. A Cannon pau bhaji and lassi later, I had company for the train ride home: Vivin Mathew Easo, buddy since college years, fellow theatre lover and a wonderful chap to argue with. Viv has done far, far more with his theatre bug than I have (more about that in another post), and was one of the actors performing at Horniman Circle, so, like old times, I got the behind-the-scenes stories and we dissected the perfomances. And we finalised things for tomorrow (argh, make that today, I better sleep), where he and his team are collaborating with Caferati on our evening at Kala Ghoda.

[Will add some pictures later. Tomorrow.]

Retrieved via the Wayback Machine. Originally posted by Yazad Jal

Theatre for me is more than the acting, lights, sounds, sets and props. It needs to have a little bit of magic. Large West End musicals sometimes have that magic. Cats had it. And sometimes folk theatre performed in the back garden of an old library has it.

Four short stories on cricket, ghosts, antique shops and jalebis. Poignant and playful the stories were told in a simple manner. All the actors were on stage all the time. Those not playing a part sat quietly in the background, merging with the set. The props used were basic, but managed to transform the actor into the character. An obviously false beard, but it made the masterji look authentic. Just a dupatta covering the head for a conservative housewife. And a ribbon in the plait for a little sweet schoolgirl. The acting was so real that I was there in the school, out in the street eating jalebis, and driving down Chandni Chowk to an antique shop.

I later spoke to two of the players, the husband wife team of Digvijay Savant and Shivani Vakil. There stories were first adapted by Ramu Ramanathan from Yuva Katha and first performed on 9/11! They’ve been adapted especially so that they could be performed anywhere - in school libraries, laboratories, even corridors! The sets and props are there to give a flavour of the lok-natya or folk theatre and appeal to a wide spectrum from South Bombay snobs to suburban security guards! Shivani adapted the jalebi script for her students at Walsingham School, and Digvijay has worked with street children from Aasra in Thane.

Short Stories from Around the Country. Performances by Shivani Vakil, Digvijay Savant, Anupama Jayaram, Jasvinder Singh & Dilshad Eidbam at the David Sassoon Garden on February 8 at 7.30pm

Retrieved via the Wayback Machine. Originally posted by Dilip D’souza

German puppet show at the KGAF, what do I tell you. The Theater am Faden of Stuttgart consists of a wife-husband team: Helga Brehme and Karl Rettenbacher. Cheery Santa Claus types, they put a lot of hard work into a show that I don’t know how many of us could have appreciated.

Helga kicked off by telling us (in English) briefly about the story, and that they make the puppets themselves, and that since they are made of wood, they can’t learn any languages apart from German, and so the show would be entirely in German. Now I don’t believe she truly wanted to blame the puppets, poor things. She did say, “maybe some of you will understand German.”

At which point, Karl let out an agonized yell in German: “Helgaaaa!”

And the show began. I did my best to understand the story, and I’m going to tell it to you here in case you missed it which you probably did.

There’s a jester, and a shepherd who plays the flute. The king makes his entrance oddly; he sits in his throne with his back to the audience while the action, whatever the action is, is raging all about him. But when he turns around, the first thing he says, very very loudly, is (and the King’s lines are done by Helga) (and this is in German of course): “Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Sheeeeee!”

At which point, a huge cawing erupts above our heads: crows in the picturesque branches take off. Whether in response to the King, and whether they caw in German, and whether this is part of the show, I’m not sure still.

There’s suddenly a backdrop showing several sheep. The shepherd struts about, and a small duck makes an appearance, flapping its wings.

The King says, regally: “Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Sheeeeee!”

The crows go nuts again.

Without warning, the duck attacks the shepherd, flying at him manically again and again. He stands there stoically. The King says his line again, and the crows caw once more. A bear appears, and spends the first several minutes of his time on stage stretching his limbs, as cats do. The shepherd is still standing there stoically.

Without warning, the bear attacks the shepherd, rushing at him manically, the shepherd ducks (no pun) out of the way, the bear charges again. Suddenly the bear is sitting on the shepherd. Suddenly the shepherd is sitting on the bear. Then they both fall to the floor in exhaustion. After a few seconds, the bear rises onto his hind legs and the shepherd starts playing his flute. This captivates the bear, and you wonder why the shepherd did not think of it before, during the assaults. The bear dances and jumps, then stretches, then stands on his forelegs for a long time, bopping his butt to the flute.

The shepherd goes over and nuzzles the bear.

The King says: “Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Sheeeeee!”

The crows are silent. Perhaps they have emigrated to Siberia.

The jester comes in, and says “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”.

A court minister falls back in alarm, the shepherd comes in again followed by an insipid princess, and then the duck again. The duck flies repeatedly at the minister, who falls down again. He gets up and makes some karate moves, but the duck drives him off the stage and then settles on the King’s head. Then in the princess’s arms. This endears the princess to the shepherd, who looks at the princess tenderly. The duck sits on her ankles, and they exit stage right.

With much guttural snorting, two porcupines turn up, butt first, and start shedding quills in excitement. The shepherd clings in fright to a tree. They leap at him manically, while making more guttural sounds and whistles.

The duck shows up. By then the porcupines are asleep. The duck stands on one, then gets tangled in their quills, then kisses the shepherd. This inspires the shepherd to play the flute. The porcupines give up their hostility and, like the bear, begin dancing.

The jester starts a manic dance, complete with splits in the air, in front of an impassive King. Ends it on his head, which brings forth from the King a particularly emphatic “Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Sheeeeee!”

The crows are back from Siberia, because they erupt again overhead.

The minister plays the flute and gives it to the princess, who says “beautiful flute!” (Someone next to me translated this one line).

And suddenly the shepherd is back, with 4 nasty snakes after him manically. The jester arrives, cackles in front of the snakes, screams when they turn on him, runs away, comes back, cackles again, runs away again . Yet again, the shepherd finally picks up his flute and begins to play, which turns the snakes all coochie-coo and they sway about ecstatically.

At this point, a strong Kala Ghoda gust of wind knocks over the entire backdrop.

The King says, “Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Sheeeeee!” He falls over on his back. Miraculously, he levitates in that position and swings energetically through the air.

Crows caw in alarm.

The shepherd and princess go off together, then return and do a dance with much kissing. The duck returns, leaps about, does a dance all his own. And the bear, with the jester on his back! And the snakes! And the two porcupines! In their joy, they knock the snakes off the stage. And the minister arrives, but the duck chases him off.

The End

Comments

Comment by Shivam Vij on February 8, 2006 @ 5:58 pm

The great Indian middle ‘class’.

Retrieved via the Wayback Machine. Originally posted by FatCat

How men can’t take their hands of their “golees”. How Bombay has changed so much, even Mulund is now a happening place. Why a credit card is like a note from your mother.

Some of the funniest gags from Kunal Roy Kapoor’s stand-up act at the David Sasoon gardens last night. Tragic then that I had heard all of them before.

Six months or so ago I sat through a Kunal Roy Kapoor gig at “Starters and More” and laughed my guts out. Last night I was happy to see him to take the stage again. Only to hear all of those jokes verbatim. Except for a couple of laughs, which I admit I could have forgotten, everything else was a rerun. And of the clearly new stuff some were direct lifts off Jerry Seinfeld’s eponymous TV show.

Kunal Roy Kapoor has a lot of talent and, pertinently for a comic, an engaging delivery style. But last night’s gig made me feel a little ripped off. Sure people were laughing. After all Seinfeld normally broadcasts at some 3 in the morning or so when all the three people in India watching TV are introspecting to FTV. That too the show is on Zee Cafe with a viewer base of several people, by which I mean 5.

Stand up comedy is a wonderful art form that is under-served in Bombay. But last night’s show, Boman Irani in the audience notwithstanding, was a severe let down and does not augur well for the art. I guess I will have to go back to my Comedy Channel Tivo rips for some good original laughs.

Sob.

Comments

Comment by Anurag on February 8, 2006 @ 10:37 am

Seinfeld is on Mon-Fri at 7:30 PM on Star World these days. I am surprised he could directly lift off stuff!

Comment by akshay on February 8, 2006 @ 10:56 am

You have - Comedy Channel Tivo rips ? I want,

I saw Art , a poorbox production which is an English Comedy - actually it was adapted from a West End play. May be I’ll review it today.

Comment by Bewra Kekra on February 8, 2006 @ 11:32 am

Actually, if you want to catch Seinfeld, it’s on at 7:30 pm on Star World.

Sarcasm’s nice, but when you get your facts messed up, people aren’t laughing the way you intended them to.

Comment by FatCat on February 9, 2006 @ 1:54 am

@akshay: Will give. Its all on a hard drive. Some 4 GB worth. Sometime after 15th Feb perhaps we can meet up.

@Bewra / Anurag: I stand corrected! But you get the drift of what I said I hope..

Retrieved via the Wayback Machine. Originally posted by addytorialsKatha Collage II starts half an hour late at Horniman Circle Garden on Day 3 of the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival. The theatre company apologises profusely for the delay before beginning. But even after the introductory skit is through, people still amble in at a leisurely pace. They greet their friends in the audience so loudly it makes you wonder whether they too are wearing concealed microphones. And then come the phone calls.

“Hello? Oh, yes. I’m watching a play. No, no, I really can’t talk now.”

Really? But you still are. I always thought that a better way of sending across the message would be not to take the call at all. Has nobody here ever heard of non-verbal communication?

But that’s not all. The woman with the large hair-do right in front of you must lean over to her friend at regular intervals to say, “Oh, he is wonderful. What an actor.”

Well, Bhansali’s Black moved me too, but I’m still against bringing deaf and blind friends to the theatre. That’s just me. If you need people to tell you that the performers are good (especially during the play), you shouldn’t be there.

However, Motley deserves due credit for an engrossing series of short stories enacted with comfortable finesse. To be surrounded by a gaggle of excited teenage girls in the audience who don’t understand a word of Hindi and still be able to lose oneself in the play is a feat made possible only by the substance of the play itself.

From the hilarious deliberations on the downfalls of being termed a good man to an intelligent debate on the benefits on not bathing, the play holds your attention from the get-go. The short humorous satires on everyday life has you nodding in agreement to the silliest of things.

Of course, one may wonder why a play scripted in orthodox Hindi about largely middle-class sentiments has attracted an audience of mostly elitist non-Hindi speaking socialites who look at you with bemusement when you chuckle. And one may also wonder why the populace who seem to be really enjoying the play are standing on unsure feet outside the arena to get a glimpse of the people who seem to be carrying their voices on stage.

But I shall leave that for another day, probably as fodder for another play.

Retrieved via the Wayback Machine. Originally posted by FatCat

I must admit I was pleasantly taken aback when I saw the pleasant stage setup inside the Horniman Circle. I had no idea that there was a such a sumptuous setting hidden away inside that traffic island. So it was with a reasonable spring in my step that I walked in to watch the Pravah Theatre Laboratory perform their unique version of Hamlet.

Now Shakespeare, as we all know, was an englishman who wore wired up collars and had a luxurious moustache. He was the author of many plays, some of which have gained worldwide fame as a ridiculously difficult school textbooks with weird punctuation. Alas thine musteth have cometh acroth some of them in thcool.

Of his plays Hamlet is undoubtedly one of the most famous. It is about a danish prince Hamlet, son of King Hamlet (or is it the othe way around) who avenges the death of his father. Hamlet, the father, was killed in treachery while Hamlet, his son went off to fight Fortinbras , son of norwegian King Fortinbras (unrelated).

Now what Pravah has done is convert this play into a fusion trilingual format with English, Kannada and Hindi melding in bits of Bharatanatyam and Yakshagana. I must admit if one does not have a background to Hamlet the play can be a little confusing. Also not being a native (or any other) speaker of Hindi a lot of the Hindi spoken portions completely left me stranded. But thankfully I was sitting next to my friend R from Egmore in Chennai and we mutually comforted each other during those moment of duress.

The concept itself was executed very well. The set was simple and utilitarian. The actors were well rehearsed and some of the exchanges had a slick choregraphed quality to them. And this was no mean feat with all the characters played in multiple languages and with periodic Yakshagana segments.

The use of a female character to play Prince Hamlet in parts was a little unsettling in the beginning but grew on me as the play progressed. Knowing the story beforehand really helped and otherwise the play may have been a bit too complex for the layman.

For me the highlights were the excellent use of the set with a window in the background screen for effect, the energetic intense Yakshagana segments and the excellent and vocal support.

The murder of Claudius was depicted through Yakshagana with an intensity that only complemented the bard’s genius.

On the flipside some of the scenes seemed unecessarily abstracted but that is a question of personal taste and I am sure theatre connoisseurs will have relished it. Also the dialogue delivery by the english Claudius was completely lacking punctuation, not unlike a Saravana Bhavan waiter rattling off the menu.

So overall it was a good show. Well executed with no apparent glitches anywhere. Some of the actors were extremely talented and I wish them success with their plans to carry this project around the country.

Now if I only knew what some of those Hindi words meant. R from Chennai next to me still can’t figure out what the word “Khatputhli” means. Frankly neither can I.

P.S. It may be good to indicate what language requirements some of these plays might have.