Lost in a crowd
I fought to define womanhood. Then broke the definition myself
Womanhood. How we fight to define it. How we struggle for its rights and freedom. Once, in the dead of the night, I went to the extent of shouting at god knows what decible to explain to one of the husband's friends how girls, more often than make a 'forced choice' rather than a 'voluntary choice' and can't even tell the difference between the two because, well, society has conditioned them to things that they think are natural, but are not, and... I think by this time, you have also been confused by the train of words and thoughts just like the friend was.
His look said, "Woman, what is this gibberish that you think is intellectual s**t?" I glared. These men think that women are all just 'Sex and the City' -- clothes, restaurants, make-up, fluff, idiocy and men.
Next day, still fuming and saluting the woman's true spirit and the insensitivity of the society and all that the world brings under one term -- 'feminism' -- I stood in front of the dresser. Sindoor in place, bindi, gold jewellery and one of the most gorgeous saris from my trousseau. Not one detail out of place. My bedecked self could draw no pointed looks, or sardonic comments from the aunties at the puja pandal. Yes, I was doing what I did best. Follow the dictates of society. Literally. Meaning, the society or complex I live in.
The heels hurt me and stuck into the muddy grounds, courtesy the night before's downpour. I thought of the very recent heated argument and my passionate outpouring. I looked at the more recent me-the-conformist, eager to please the genteel clan gathered before Ma Durga.
As Shibesh and his wife approached me and the husband, all four of us eyeing each other with a touch of animosity and apprehension at who had turned out better (as if that mattered), with our manufactured smiles. And then started the ramble. Ramble for me, but for them, their whole worlds, their purpose of life. A "How much is this sari for?" followed by "Only ten thousand." Or titters over someone's slightly loose kameez. Fifty-year-old Sujata auntie pouted and said in an icky girly tone, "What Mr Sen, that other day I waved at you at meeting, and you did not even look at me? What should I do to get attention from you?"
As I sat there and sighed, I understood, 'womanhood' can't have one definition. And I suddenly understood the look in my friend's eyes and felt it was all for the best that the debate had been washed away with the rains.
25 September 2009
Mrs Goody Two Shoes IX
On the run
Honesty is a difficult virtue to keep playing at
It was a heady feeling -- the kind you get when you have bunked college for the first time, or have had the illicit sip of vodka as a teenager. It was just the kind of thrill you experience when you go out there, be reckless and do the thing that you absolutely fear getting caught for. Believe me, I was relishing every moment of it.
Except that, at the few odd moments when truth dawned on me, I thought it was weird. I am of the ripe old age of twenty-seven, and this little escapade, wasn't it too girly? I mean, at twenty-seven, don't you any which way call your own shots? There should be no need for an adventure such as this for an adult woman like me! Am I not the master (mistress to be politically correct) of my own life or what? The questions buzzed around in my head in between Tequila shots. And for a fraction of a second, only a fraction but one that was damaging enough, I remembered my father-in-law's face.
Well, remembered isn't the right way of putting it. It wasn't an expression I had seen already that my mind conjured up, but rather one that I would see, once, as and when, I returned home.
I had called him with my heart rate escalating every second, "Papa, you see, I mean... I will be late." A grave tone asked me, "How late?" "You know, you see, I don't know." And before the next question, I said in one breath, "See, my boss, as in the super boss, he's called a meeting. AFTER the edition. At night. Late. And then, I will have to wait for the office cab. That will be late. [Too many 'lates' were making their way into my sentences.] I will come. [What was that? Reassurance about the return of the prodigal daughter-in-law?]. You please have dinner, food is in the fridge, just warm them in the microwave, just..." the voice trailed off, but I had done it. Fibbed to the visiting father-in-law while my heart raced in fear. Of being caught.
Then we were off, to a drinking party, the image of myself the sweet, obedient daughter-in-law crumbling with every gulp. I had lied. Successfully. But years of being 'good' was giving me a pretty bad guilt trip, which, of course, I had to drown in the drinks. But after a few pegs, I thought, as long as he has the 'boss' to blame, who cares?
Honesty is a difficult virtue to keep playing at
It was a heady feeling -- the kind you get when you have bunked college for the first time, or have had the illicit sip of vodka as a teenager. It was just the kind of thrill you experience when you go out there, be reckless and do the thing that you absolutely fear getting caught for. Believe me, I was relishing every moment of it.
Except that, at the few odd moments when truth dawned on me, I thought it was weird. I am of the ripe old age of twenty-seven, and this little escapade, wasn't it too girly? I mean, at twenty-seven, don't you any which way call your own shots? There should be no need for an adventure such as this for an adult woman like me! Am I not the master (mistress to be politically correct) of my own life or what? The questions buzzed around in my head in between Tequila shots. And for a fraction of a second, only a fraction but one that was damaging enough, I remembered my father-in-law's face.
Well, remembered isn't the right way of putting it. It wasn't an expression I had seen already that my mind conjured up, but rather one that I would see, once, as and when, I returned home.
I had called him with my heart rate escalating every second, "Papa, you see, I mean... I will be late." A grave tone asked me, "How late?" "You know, you see, I don't know." And before the next question, I said in one breath, "See, my boss, as in the super boss, he's called a meeting. AFTER the edition. At night. Late. And then, I will have to wait for the office cab. That will be late. [Too many 'lates' were making their way into my sentences.] I will come. [What was that? Reassurance about the return of the prodigal daughter-in-law?]. You please have dinner, food is in the fridge, just warm them in the microwave, just..." the voice trailed off, but I had done it. Fibbed to the visiting father-in-law while my heart raced in fear. Of being caught.
Then we were off, to a drinking party, the image of myself the sweet, obedient daughter-in-law crumbling with every gulp. I had lied. Successfully. But years of being 'good' was giving me a pretty bad guilt trip, which, of course, I had to drown in the drinks. But after a few pegs, I thought, as long as he has the 'boss' to blame, who cares?
12 September 2009
Mrs Goody Two Shoes VIII
On the prowl
Being a chaperone can be quite a challenge
The groom was there to see HER. SHE was the one batting her eyelids and trying to hook a rich, bulky, greasy software guy, or more like trying to hook his car and flat and money. So what was I doing there, in a multi-thousand-rupee georgette sari, stilettos and even a specially done au naturel look?
This was Latika auntie's daughter, all of twenty-six and eager to fall into the arms of her prince charming, which included whoever would wed her and bed her. Nothing wrong with that, of course. It was her life and if she could get a man who was interested in her dark magenta lipstick, almost gooey with being overdone, or her endless blabber about the kind of cuts that suit her "lissome", as she chooses to see it, or her bulging-at-the-sides, as I choose to see it, figure, then it was fine by me.
The hitch was while she was on her full-time mission of getting hitched, I was tagging along, like an old chaperone. Latika auntie had been teary-eyed, "No boy is understanding the worth of my sweet little beautiphool baby. Listen, if you go with her, like this sister, they will know how well-cultured my baby is." The baby, in the meantime, was trying hard to get into a dress that was bursting at the seams.
“Poor dress,” I was lost in my thoughts, while Latika auntie looked upon me as this paragon of Victorian morals, staring expectantly for a reply. “Oh ... yes... you were saying... oh yes...umm,” I spluttered. “So what was my role again?” my mind was adrift again trying to figure out what was being asked of me. But those many yes’es had already been read as a positive by Latika auntie. “Thank you, thaaaank you, beta. So tomorrow, wear an expensive sari, and go with her to the cafe, tell the boy about...,” a barrage of instructions assailed me. Well, I needed them for sure, never having attended one of these pre-nuptial rituals of getting the ‘boy’ and the ‘girl’ to meet. And since it would be insensitive on my part to get out of the pickle I was in, I found myself at the cafe on a sultry afternoon, wearing a heavy sari and stilletos, listening to:
“You know, I like chocolate ice cream sooo much!” [How WOULD he know, this was the first ever meeting!!!]
“That‘s sweet.”
Giggle giggle...
“Do you like Hindi films?” [She is right out of one, are you blind or what?
I sipped on the coffee, stared at the love birds, and heard the screaming in me head grow louder with every sweet nothing they whispered.
Being a chaperone can be quite a challenge
The groom was there to see HER. SHE was the one batting her eyelids and trying to hook a rich, bulky, greasy software guy, or more like trying to hook his car and flat and money. So what was I doing there, in a multi-thousand-rupee georgette sari, stilettos and even a specially done au naturel look?
This was Latika auntie's daughter, all of twenty-six and eager to fall into the arms of her prince charming, which included whoever would wed her and bed her. Nothing wrong with that, of course. It was her life and if she could get a man who was interested in her dark magenta lipstick, almost gooey with being overdone, or her endless blabber about the kind of cuts that suit her "lissome", as she chooses to see it, or her bulging-at-the-sides, as I choose to see it, figure, then it was fine by me.
The hitch was while she was on her full-time mission of getting hitched, I was tagging along, like an old chaperone. Latika auntie had been teary-eyed, "No boy is understanding the worth of my sweet little beautiphool baby. Listen, if you go with her, like this sister, they will know how well-cultured my baby is." The baby, in the meantime, was trying hard to get into a dress that was bursting at the seams.
“Poor dress,” I was lost in my thoughts, while Latika auntie looked upon me as this paragon of Victorian morals, staring expectantly for a reply. “Oh ... yes... you were saying... oh yes...umm,” I spluttered. “So what was my role again?” my mind was adrift again trying to figure out what was being asked of me. But those many yes’es had already been read as a positive by Latika auntie. “Thank you, thaaaank you, beta. So tomorrow, wear an expensive sari, and go with her to the cafe, tell the boy about...,” a barrage of instructions assailed me. Well, I needed them for sure, never having attended one of these pre-nuptial rituals of getting the ‘boy’ and the ‘girl’ to meet. And since it would be insensitive on my part to get out of the pickle I was in, I found myself at the cafe on a sultry afternoon, wearing a heavy sari and stilletos, listening to:
“You know, I like chocolate ice cream sooo much!” [How WOULD he know, this was the first ever meeting!!!]
“That‘s sweet.”
Giggle giggle...
“Do you like Hindi films?” [She is right out of one, are you blind or what?
I sipped on the coffee, stared at the love birds, and heard the screaming in me head grow louder with every sweet nothing they whispered.
5 September 2009
Mrs Goody Two Shoes VII
Be fashionable, please
Sometimes, it is irritating to sip the best of wines when you would rather be having hot chocolate
It was Sunday morning, and I strolled into a glamorous modern hotel, dressed semi-formally in a white crochet blouse and beige trousers, my heels going clickety clack on the marble floor. I hadn't missed a detail, including the pair of sunglasses that complimented my oval face and a sedate but classy clutch bag.
My husband had been invited for a special brunch being hosted for their 'esteemed' customers. This automatically included me since the wife probably is supposed to tag along anyway and I had to dress, and act, my part. The part of a connoisseur of food and drinks, which was fine for I quite like being that. The part of the elegantly fashionable (not just in dress, but in conversation as well) spouse of the husband who hobnobs with those in the higher echelons of society -- that was an irritant, yes. But it was the part where I had to become the practised socialiser that was irking me the most.
I finished the customary greetings with the men in Armani and the women in Chanel who are always kind enough to welcome us with pretty smiles. Their cordial demeanours do please me, and I know perfectly well that the whole system is one of bartering politeness, a no-harm-meant-no-harm-done kind of a structure. My only problem -- I feel lost within the many etiquettes of that structure. Sometimes, I even start choking on the usual pleasantries that come as garnishing to the food that is being served. I mean, here I am, who goes to office wearing jeans and chappals, and there I was, dragged into a manicured, social drama being played between over-animated men and their noodle-strapped wives.
At the back of my mind, aVoice was buzzing, interrupted by the overtly nice Me talking with the elite crowd:
Voice: "Give them a light hug and air kisses, first... Hey, who the hell wants to do even that to almost strangers?"
Me: "Oh, Mrs Mehta, you don't look a day older than 30!"
Voice: "Clink the wine glass, only CLINK, don't break... I wish I was in pajamas curled up with a glass of hot chocolate."
Me: "The dumplings are delectable. Please pay my compliments to Chef X."
Voice: "Now, now, don't overdo the refinement act... Who cares anyway.. Oh, maybe the husband does.."
When the buzzing got louder than the empty conversation that was floating around the table, I knew that soon my chaotic mesh feelings with dollops of awkwardness and disgust will become palpable.
So finally I decided to act the part of the damsel in distress and purred in my husband's ears, "Darling, I am feeling a little giddy. I don't mean to be rude, but I think it's because it is getting a touch stuffy in here. Can you take me out for some fresh air, please?" If you ask what happened, it worked.
Sometimes, it is irritating to sip the best of wines when you would rather be having hot chocolate
It was Sunday morning, and I strolled into a glamorous modern hotel, dressed semi-formally in a white crochet blouse and beige trousers, my heels going clickety clack on the marble floor. I hadn't missed a detail, including the pair of sunglasses that complimented my oval face and a sedate but classy clutch bag.
My husband had been invited for a special brunch being hosted for their 'esteemed' customers. This automatically included me since the wife probably is supposed to tag along anyway and I had to dress, and act, my part. The part of a connoisseur of food and drinks, which was fine for I quite like being that. The part of the elegantly fashionable (not just in dress, but in conversation as well) spouse of the husband who hobnobs with those in the higher echelons of society -- that was an irritant, yes. But it was the part where I had to become the practised socialiser that was irking me the most.
I finished the customary greetings with the men in Armani and the women in Chanel who are always kind enough to welcome us with pretty smiles. Their cordial demeanours do please me, and I know perfectly well that the whole system is one of bartering politeness, a no-harm-meant-no-harm-done kind of a structure. My only problem -- I feel lost within the many etiquettes of that structure. Sometimes, I even start choking on the usual pleasantries that come as garnishing to the food that is being served. I mean, here I am, who goes to office wearing jeans and chappals, and there I was, dragged into a manicured, social drama being played between over-animated men and their noodle-strapped wives.
At the back of my mind, aVoice was buzzing, interrupted by the overtly nice Me talking with the elite crowd:
Voice: "Give them a light hug and air kisses, first... Hey, who the hell wants to do even that to almost strangers?"
Me: "Oh, Mrs Mehta, you don't look a day older than 30!"
Voice: "Clink the wine glass, only CLINK, don't break... I wish I was in pajamas curled up with a glass of hot chocolate."
Me: "The dumplings are delectable. Please pay my compliments to Chef X."
Voice: "Now, now, don't overdo the refinement act... Who cares anyway.. Oh, maybe the husband does.."
When the buzzing got louder than the empty conversation that was floating around the table, I knew that soon my chaotic mesh feelings with dollops of awkwardness and disgust will become palpable.
So finally I decided to act the part of the damsel in distress and purred in my husband's ears, "Darling, I am feeling a little giddy. I don't mean to be rude, but I think it's because it is getting a touch stuffy in here. Can you take me out for some fresh air, please?" If you ask what happened, it worked.
4 September 2009
The Drama Queen
An interview with Lilette Dubey
"Theatre is a cultural habit that takes time to develop. It isn't highly developed in India, but spaces like NCPA, Prithvi, Ranga Shankara are big propellants in helping the habit grow."
-- Lilette Dubey
She has been romancing the stage for over three decades, "Thirty-five years, I think, yes, definitely," she says, and has charmed audiences with her screen presence. Lilette Dubey is the lady who has wowed us with both her striking performance and her looks, ageing gracefully as she has.
"I started doing theatre when I was in college. I was in Delhi and I was part of the theatre that was happening in places like Lady Shriram College. I did some, what I would call semi-professional theatre back then. But the bug had bitten me and it has been my most enduring passion," Lilette says.She is bringing her directorial venture, Mahesh Dattani's 'Brief Candle', to town in support of the India Foundation for the Arts on September 6 at Chowdiah Memorial Hall.
Lilette, an actress at heart, became part of the television and film fraternities around ten years back with serials like 'Raahein' and 'Aur Phir Ek Din'. With the films 'Bawandar' and 'Zubeidaa', she had etched an indelible mark in filmdom as well, with around 30 films to her credit.
But Lilette feels that for an actor, there is no other place than theatre. "Film is a very visual medium in which the vision of the director dominates. Also, since it is a commercial medium, a lot of external factors determine how it will turn out." The immediacy with the audience, the freedom of choice and the suspension of disbelief, using which actors can virtually convince the audience of anything, draw Lilette to drama.
The actress says she was drawn to direction because she wanted "full creative licence to do the kind of work I wanted to do". Whether it is experimental theatre or the traditional form, Lilette looks for original content. "The production should be context-driven and I feel the theme should explore relationships at some level," she says. Even Sammy, that was based on Mahatma Gandhi, was more an exploration of his mind, rather than his life, Lilette adds.
She founded a theatre company, the Theatre Action Group, in Delhi. "We wanted to find a distinct voice for Indian theatre in English," she says. The group will turn twenty in early 2011, and Lilette has big plans for the birthday celebration, which includes staging their best and most-loved productions at the end of next year.
Right now, she is deeply absorbed in shooting 'Pankh', being directed by Sudipto Chattopadhyay. "It is a deep, dark and disturbing film and I love being a part of it." She is also busy with "a bunch of other commercial films", including 'I Am 24' whose shoot has recently concluded. She is also planning a new stage production in another seven months and is looking for something fresh for that.
Acting and directing have been done. One would wonder if she will take up the pen next. "I enjoy writing very much, and my writing will have to be fiction. Honestly, I've never thought of writing a play because it is a very complex craft. The simplest play, I would think, is more complex than the most interesting film. But yes, I have contemplated direction in films," Lilette replies. The fans will surely be waiting for that.
"Theatre is a cultural habit that takes time to develop. It isn't highly developed in India, but spaces like NCPA, Prithvi, Ranga Shankara are big propellants in helping the habit grow."
-- Lilette Dubey
She has been romancing the stage for over three decades, "Thirty-five years, I think, yes, definitely," she says, and has charmed audiences with her screen presence. Lilette Dubey is the lady who has wowed us with both her striking performance and her looks, ageing gracefully as she has.
"I started doing theatre when I was in college. I was in Delhi and I was part of the theatre that was happening in places like Lady Shriram College. I did some, what I would call semi-professional theatre back then. But the bug had bitten me and it has been my most enduring passion," Lilette says.She is bringing her directorial venture, Mahesh Dattani's 'Brief Candle', to town in support of the India Foundation for the Arts on September 6 at Chowdiah Memorial Hall.
Lilette, an actress at heart, became part of the television and film fraternities around ten years back with serials like 'Raahein' and 'Aur Phir Ek Din'. With the films 'Bawandar' and 'Zubeidaa', she had etched an indelible mark in filmdom as well, with around 30 films to her credit.
But Lilette feels that for an actor, there is no other place than theatre. "Film is a very visual medium in which the vision of the director dominates. Also, since it is a commercial medium, a lot of external factors determine how it will turn out." The immediacy with the audience, the freedom of choice and the suspension of disbelief, using which actors can virtually convince the audience of anything, draw Lilette to drama.
The actress says she was drawn to direction because she wanted "full creative licence to do the kind of work I wanted to do". Whether it is experimental theatre or the traditional form, Lilette looks for original content. "The production should be context-driven and I feel the theme should explore relationships at some level," she says. Even Sammy, that was based on Mahatma Gandhi, was more an exploration of his mind, rather than his life, Lilette adds.
She founded a theatre company, the Theatre Action Group, in Delhi. "We wanted to find a distinct voice for Indian theatre in English," she says. The group will turn twenty in early 2011, and Lilette has big plans for the birthday celebration, which includes staging their best and most-loved productions at the end of next year.
Right now, she is deeply absorbed in shooting 'Pankh', being directed by Sudipto Chattopadhyay. "It is a deep, dark and disturbing film and I love being a part of it." She is also busy with "a bunch of other commercial films", including 'I Am 24' whose shoot has recently concluded. She is also planning a new stage production in another seven months and is looking for something fresh for that.
Acting and directing have been done. One would wonder if she will take up the pen next. "I enjoy writing very much, and my writing will have to be fiction. Honestly, I've never thought of writing a play because it is a very complex craft. The simplest play, I would think, is more complex than the most interesting film. But yes, I have contemplated direction in films," Lilette replies. The fans will surely be waiting for that.
2 September 2009
Mrs Goody Two Shoes VI
When they come calling
Entertaining relatives is a game that you have to play by the rules
All this sweet talk about how they are lucky to have you in their family, how you are the daughter that they had always waited for -- it is all hogwash, patronising guff oozing with a sugary syrup that makes you go green with sickness. It is just a customary ritual that the relatives from the other side observe, perhaps out of habit, and the emptiness of the words as they tumble out one after another, tripping on each other in an effort to sound genuine, can leave you staring in amazement.
What astounds me more is when I smile back, with all the well-practised artifices of a veteran actress. A touch of coyness dripping with gratitude for having been allowed a place in the family tree, I say, "I am the fortunate one here to have found a family like you." The hollow sounding phrase hurts my ears, but it seems to please them a lot, well, at least, on the surface it does. They pat my cheeks lightly with the air that only aunts-in-law could have cultivated over centuries, a slight condescension and the kind of pitiful affection one would generally show a stray that comes wagging its tails behind you. You just take it under your shelter because you can afford to, and it seems, they have obliged me by taking me under the wings of their family.
In return, you have to make the right moves. Especially when they come calling. One afternoon, an aunt dropped in for lunch. It was a hot, summer afternoon, the kind where you just get plain lazy. But my day turned into a series of errands. Warm the food, lay the table (with perfection) -- which I wouldn't have done if I was left to myself, preferring to eat sandwiches while lying on the couch -- followed by serve the food, clean the table, give her a change of comfortable clothes, draw the curtains so that the room became dark enough for her to sleep, switch on the AC the moment she uttered, "Oh, what a hot..." No, it wasn't quite like she was pushing me to do it. No. She just took all of it for granted. If you are the daughter-in-law of the house, you do all that, and more. Yes, more. You massage her feet as she falls asleep because, "I had such a tiring walk. My feel are killing me."
Not that she did all that to torture me. It is an integral part of the whole act and since I have an almost lead role in the drama, I had to play along.
Sometimes, I just wonder at the futility of it all. It is all such a big sham. You can't pick and choose your family, and most of the times, you don't have the freedom to sift people who surround you. But sometimes, I wish they would not kill me, and my reputation, for being honest. I just wish I could scream for once, "Just let me be! I don't want to entertain aunt A, although I don't quite mind aunt B, and, given a choice, I would rather just be with myself."
Entertaining relatives is a game that you have to play by the rules
All this sweet talk about how they are lucky to have you in their family, how you are the daughter that they had always waited for -- it is all hogwash, patronising guff oozing with a sugary syrup that makes you go green with sickness. It is just a customary ritual that the relatives from the other side observe, perhaps out of habit, and the emptiness of the words as they tumble out one after another, tripping on each other in an effort to sound genuine, can leave you staring in amazement.
What astounds me more is when I smile back, with all the well-practised artifices of a veteran actress. A touch of coyness dripping with gratitude for having been allowed a place in the family tree, I say, "I am the fortunate one here to have found a family like you." The hollow sounding phrase hurts my ears, but it seems to please them a lot, well, at least, on the surface it does. They pat my cheeks lightly with the air that only aunts-in-law could have cultivated over centuries, a slight condescension and the kind of pitiful affection one would generally show a stray that comes wagging its tails behind you. You just take it under your shelter because you can afford to, and it seems, they have obliged me by taking me under the wings of their family.
In return, you have to make the right moves. Especially when they come calling. One afternoon, an aunt dropped in for lunch. It was a hot, summer afternoon, the kind where you just get plain lazy. But my day turned into a series of errands. Warm the food, lay the table (with perfection) -- which I wouldn't have done if I was left to myself, preferring to eat sandwiches while lying on the couch -- followed by serve the food, clean the table, give her a change of comfortable clothes, draw the curtains so that the room became dark enough for her to sleep, switch on the AC the moment she uttered, "Oh, what a hot..." No, it wasn't quite like she was pushing me to do it. No. She just took all of it for granted. If you are the daughter-in-law of the house, you do all that, and more. Yes, more. You massage her feet as she falls asleep because, "I had such a tiring walk. My feel are killing me."
Not that she did all that to torture me. It is an integral part of the whole act and since I have an almost lead role in the drama, I had to play along.
Sometimes, I just wonder at the futility of it all. It is all such a big sham. You can't pick and choose your family, and most of the times, you don't have the freedom to sift people who surround you. But sometimes, I wish they would not kill me, and my reputation, for being honest. I just wish I could scream for once, "Just let me be! I don't want to entertain aunt A, although I don't quite mind aunt B, and, given a choice, I would rather just be with myself."
Where nonsense makes sense
I sat and listened to a dialogue between a mature adult and her very young audience. A dialogue in gibberish. Riddled with meaninglessness for the mature, 'sensible' adult. And then I realised that 30-odd toddlers, hovering around the age bracket of one-and-a-half and three, were sitting mesmerised and responding instinctively to those absurd noises. It made me wonder whether those young, impressionable minds may not have a much better understanding of intuitive communication, something the process of growing up has robbed us of.
The tiny tots were watching a play.
They were at Ranga Shankara, not creating a ruckus, only pottering about once in a while for a better view of actors, Jule Kracht and Jörg Fischer. Did you just say, a theatre performance for 20-month-olds, that too something that holds their attention, is inconceivable? Not quite.
Ask the members of Schnawwl Theatre, a German group who brought 'The Great Lalula' to town as part of Ranga Shankara and Britannia's AHA! children's theatre festival, and they will tell you.
Anne from Schnawwl says that even the "very small ones" have the right to take part in what is aesthetic and cultural in society and so, they thought of making the theatre experience more inclusive, reaching out to toddlers. 'The Great Lalula', directed by Marcela Herrera and Nicole Libnau, involved intense research for two years before such theatre could take shape. The members visited kindergartens to study child behaviour. They had to understand infant psychology and "find themes and games toddlers are interested in and then, create a theatre pedagogic and an artwork theatre production".
Using Christian Morgenstern's 100-year-old nonsense poem, Schnawwl came up with a unique theatrical experience for little ones. "This poem has a good sound that great for theatre. The research also involved work with Dadaist artists to know about languages," says Anne.
The kids get to sit on the stage, and can almost touch the funnily, very colourfully dressed actors. And when the artistes start speaking a lingo that only they can fathom -- mumbles, laughter, jabber, weird noises and wordplay -- their day is made.
When the actors went "Bifzi, bafzi, hulalemi... laloooooooolaa...", one could hear tiny voices in the auditorium, making conversation on similar terms with them. As they repeated phrases, sang and frolicked about, the toddlers became part of the action. "La, Lu," they responded.
"The play evokes curiosity about words, how they sound, what colour they are and how to play with them. 'Theatre From the Very Beginning' project is not only about addressing a very young audience but also about rediscovering theatre in its original form," say the directors.
The only props are utensils, sand and a bucket, and the music the artistes make out of them -- 'choo choo' of a train, tunes to which they sing 'lalula', background score et all -- can get anyone hooked. For the kids, it is the universe they love to be in, represented in a more glorified way.
Anne says, "There are two different sides of our project. One, creating a professional play for toddlers and second, developing games and theatre pedagogic for and with toddlers - little presentations in a warm and known atmosphere can take place too."
I asked two-year-old Aliya, who was busy playing with the props, about her experience. "Naaaice!" When she looked up with imploring eyes to ask, "No popcorn?" I realised how important it was for them to have come to an experience removed from the usual television and movie-going ones. It was 'naaaice', when, forgetting the popcorn, she turned back and said, "Lalu!!"
Shatarupa Chaudhuri
shatarupa@epmltd.com
The tiny tots were watching a play.
They were at Ranga Shankara, not creating a ruckus, only pottering about once in a while for a better view of actors, Jule Kracht and Jörg Fischer. Did you just say, a theatre performance for 20-month-olds, that too something that holds their attention, is inconceivable? Not quite.
Ask the members of Schnawwl Theatre, a German group who brought 'The Great Lalula' to town as part of Ranga Shankara and Britannia's AHA! children's theatre festival, and they will tell you.
Anne from Schnawwl says that even the "very small ones" have the right to take part in what is aesthetic and cultural in society and so, they thought of making the theatre experience more inclusive, reaching out to toddlers. 'The Great Lalula', directed by Marcela Herrera and Nicole Libnau, involved intense research for two years before such theatre could take shape. The members visited kindergartens to study child behaviour. They had to understand infant psychology and "find themes and games toddlers are interested in and then, create a theatre pedagogic and an artwork theatre production".
Using Christian Morgenstern's 100-year-old nonsense poem, Schnawwl came up with a unique theatrical experience for little ones. "This poem has a good sound that great for theatre. The research also involved work with Dadaist artists to know about languages," says Anne.
The kids get to sit on the stage, and can almost touch the funnily, very colourfully dressed actors. And when the artistes start speaking a lingo that only they can fathom -- mumbles, laughter, jabber, weird noises and wordplay -- their day is made.
When the actors went "Bifzi, bafzi, hulalemi... laloooooooolaa...", one could hear tiny voices in the auditorium, making conversation on similar terms with them. As they repeated phrases, sang and frolicked about, the toddlers became part of the action. "La, Lu," they responded.
"The play evokes curiosity about words, how they sound, what colour they are and how to play with them. 'Theatre From the Very Beginning' project is not only about addressing a very young audience but also about rediscovering theatre in its original form," say the directors.
The only props are utensils, sand and a bucket, and the music the artistes make out of them -- 'choo choo' of a train, tunes to which they sing 'lalula', background score et all -- can get anyone hooked. For the kids, it is the universe they love to be in, represented in a more glorified way.
Anne says, "There are two different sides of our project. One, creating a professional play for toddlers and second, developing games and theatre pedagogic for and with toddlers - little presentations in a warm and known atmosphere can take place too."
I asked two-year-old Aliya, who was busy playing with the props, about her experience. "Naaaice!" When she looked up with imploring eyes to ask, "No popcorn?" I realised how important it was for them to have come to an experience removed from the usual television and movie-going ones. It was 'naaaice', when, forgetting the popcorn, she turned back and said, "Lalu!!"
Shatarupa Chaudhuri
shatarupa@epmltd.com
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