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Monday, July 17, 2006

Theatre for Change

www.hindu.com/mag/2006/07/16/stories/2006071600050200.htm

INDIA BEATS

Multi-dimensional plots of change

SMITA JAIN

`The first and only feminist-activist' theatre group in the country, Pandies is focussing on social change through the medium of theatre.



"These workshops are a window into a different world for these children. They are normally never asked their opinion on serious issues; giving them this platform has inspired positive attitudinal shifts



RELEVANT TO THE TIMES: At a workshop with children.

EVERY alternate Saturday morning, children living in the slums of Nithari, in Noida, wake up in a state of frenzied excitement. They rush to their school, an NGO called Saksham, and wait patiently for its doors to open. The children are waiting eagerly for "Sanjay Bhaiya" who, along with his theatre troupe, has been conducting three-hour informative, entertaining and thought-provoking workshops for the children within the school.

The Delhi-based theatre troupe, `Pandies', (after a derogatory term devised by the British to refer to the Indian insurgent Mangal Pandey) is, as its name suggests, not your ordinary theatre troupe. Pandies prides itself on being the first and only feminist-activist theatre group in the country that is, says its founder Sanjay Kumar, "committed to staging plays relevant to our ethos and time".

From the margins

Speaking about the troupe's origins and ideals, he adds, "Pandies' theatre is from the margins and is a theatre of children, women, slum-dwellers, the homeless, and of vulnerable sections and subsections within those margins. The issues that we choose revolve around women because the group believes if our society is to head anywhere, it has to become more women-oriented and woman-friendly."

On this Saturday, they are performing short skits specially prepared for the children. One skit, though complex, is particularly riveting. It describes the story of a pregnant young woman who is convinced by her lover to leave their village for Delhi in order to, ostensibly, escape parental wrath and marry. After reaching Delhi, however, the man takes the woman to a park behind Jawaharlal Nehru University, rapes and subsequently throttles her. The woman survives and is cared for by residents of a nearby slum, where she delivers her baby. Uneducated and without any vocational training, she and her son are forced into a life of destitution and poverty.

Sensitive but blunt

Despite the sensitive nature of the multi-dimensional plot, Sanjay and his troupe mince no words when discussing it with the children. "Do you think the man loves the woman?" he asks. "Do you think the woman should have left her village?" And, most astonishingly to all of us present: "Did you know that this was based on a true story?"

Each question is followed by a thoughtful silence, after which both girls and boys venture replies. "I don't think the man loved the woman. I think he just wanted to use her for fun, which is not right," says Azharuddin, whose father is a tailor in a garment factory.

Soni, 15, whose parents run a roadside tea stall, raises her hand shyly, but speaks confidently and with emotion. "The woman shouldn't have left without informing her parents or discussing it with anyone. This is the reason why education is so important, especially for girls. If she was educated, she would have been able to make a more informed decision, and at least would have been able to support herself."

"These workshops are a window into a different world for these children," says Nadira Razak, co-founder of Saksham. "These children are normally never asked their opinions on serious issues; giving them this platform has inspired positive attitudinal shifts," she says. Indeed, within the short span of two months, she says, the impact is already evident in the children's increased confidence; they eagerly look forward to their first on-stage performance later this year.

Begun as a small university movement in Delhi in 1987, Pandies has grown into a robust troupe with over 70 members, many of whom are college students interested in social change through theatre. Isha, a recent graduate of Hansraj College, has been an ardent member of the troupe for two years and doesn't plan on leaving anytime soon. "Pandies gives us a space of freedom where we don't have to worry about what we're saying," she says. "Not only do we get to voice our opinions, we actually do something about them as well. And because we all volunteer our time and skills, it is truly an activist forum."

Serious issues

The troupe has one or two major performances each year and in the interim, they perform at slums, schools, and colleges. Since its founding, Pandies has tackled issues such as rape, prostitution, HIV, the Mental Health Act and its relation to women, and love and marriage.

In addition to their work in Delhi, Pandies has conducted workshops and performed in theatre festivals both nationally and internationally. In 2005, when they had adopted the theme of "Anti-Communalism", the troupe conducted a seven-day workshop in Gulmarg, Kashmir involving 55 Kashmiri Pundit and Kashmiri Muslim girls and boys between 10 and 16 years. Says Sanjay, "It was a challenge to put together a production in seven days with children from these two volatile communities. In addition to their different religious backgrounds, many were poor, some were orphaned, and most were traumatised by the violence they had witnessed. However, our methodology of individual and collective exercises, short story writing, creating 20-minute skits, and the final 90-minute production turned out to be extremely successful."

At the moment, the troupe is rehearsing for their next performance at the Sri Ram Centre in Delhi, a montage of three individual pieces, each critiquing modern-day constructions of masculinity and the state from the perspective of a female protagonist. With elements from real-life stories and absorbing themes, the mid-August performance is not to be missed.

For more information about Pandies, contact Sanjay at pandies@netscape.net

E-mail the writer at smitajain2@gmail.com

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Auto Epiphany - 2

Haggling with auto drivers is not something I look forward to most mornings, and today was no exception. After multiple no-gos – one guy’s auto didn’t start after we’d finally agreed on a price, another didn’t know the way and so couldn’t agree on a price – I finally found one who was willing to take me at a sum that I thought reasonable. He had an extraordinary smile that he unabashedly flashed every so often, and a cheerful demeanor. After getting in the auto, I asked him if he could turn on the meter (for personal research purposes); like his brothers around the city, he insisted that it wasn’t working. It somehow struck me a tad improbable that, by some supernatural coincidence, every single auto meter in the city refused to work.

“How is it that in other cities auto-meters work, yet in Delhi none of them ever do?” I asked him, almost rhetorically. He launched into a passionate argument – half of which was lost to the wind - about the injustice of the Delhi government’s meter rates. “Each of us has to pay around 150 rupees simply as rent every day to the people who own the autos. How can we recover that, and deal with inflated CNG prices, on the meter rates?” For auto-drivers whose daily earnings are, if they’re lucky, around 500 rupees a day, 150 rupees is, literally, highway robbery. “Doesn’t it make most sense for auto-drivers to buy their own autos?” I asked, a bit naively. “Of course it is, madame, but who has the money for it? This auto is itself around 1.5 lakhs,” he informed me. “I guess very few auto-drivers own their own autos,” I replied slightly ruefully, thinking of the avaricious money-lenders sitting on their a**s earning millions taking advantage of the dearth of financing options for auto drivers. “Well, out of 100, you’d find maybe 10 who’ve bought their own. So 90% have to pay this rent everyday,” he said.

We drove on a bit, and curious to learn more about this cheerful savant, I began asking him about himself. His accent indicated that he wasn’t from the area; guessing that was from Bengal, I asked him about it.

“I am actually from Hyderabad, madame.”

“And what are you doing here?”

“I’ve been in these parts since I was 7 years old, so now this feels like home.”

“What brought you to these parts?”

He turned around briefly, looked me in the eye, flashed his beautiful smile, and said sincerely, “There’s nobody in this city that I can call my own. I have nobody here.” After a pause, he said, “You know, if you heard my story, madame, you would not believe it.”

He continued his story.

“I was 7 years old, and I was playing in a park near my parents home in Hyderabad. A Sardarji who was at the park picked me up and took me on a train to his home in Punjab, where he raised me as his son.”

Aghast, I asked if his parents ever found out what happened to him. “My parents still probably don’t know what happened to me. You see, I was too young to remember our address or phone number or anything. ”

Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to harbor any ill-will against the Sardar. Instead, he explained the Sardar’s position. “You see, he didn’t have a son, so he raised me as his own. However, when I was in my teens, one of his friends got into a fight with him and dropped me in Chandni Chowk all by myself, with no money. Then I was truly alone.

Did he ever try to get back in touch with the Sardar? “I did, a few years ago. I found out that he was dead. He used to do a lot of drugs, like opium and weed.

“Since then, I’ve worked in chai-stalls, in dhabas, trying to scrape together a living here. Finally, I was able to get this auto and earned enough money to stay someplace and take care of myself. I can finally stand on my own two feet.”

At this juncture, we had reached my destination. I stepped out, still absorbed in the story. He stepped out as well, smiled proudly, and said, “You know, madame, I didn’t tell you this before, but this is my own auto!”

As if in addendum to our conversation about meter-prices, he added with a grin, “I still have to give 150 rupees every day, but that’s to the bank that helped me finance this.”

I looked at him, moved by the vast reservoir of fortitude, good humor and determination that he maintained, despite devastating odds. I blustered a few words of congratulatory nature for his success, but for the most part, I was speechless.

Handing him a 100 rupee note, I said, “Good luck, bhaiya.”

I caught his eye for a brief second, and turned to walk toward my office. As my throat tightened involuntarily, I thought of the unspoken exchange that had just taken place. The tears that glistened in my eyes, I realized, had mirrored his own.