Thursday, December 27, 2007

War tales and the staging of a blog

A little bit of history just might have been created on the capital a few days ago. I have been to see Baghdad Burning (in Hindi) at the National School of Drama last weekend and it was (to my knowledge) the first time in this country that someone put together a dramatic production on stage, based on the text of a blog.

I went to see the play because I knew that, whether or not the production was any good, this would mark a historic moment in the cultural landscape. Blogs are producing poetry, stories, essays, perhaps serialized novels. Blogs are producing journalism. For all I know, blogs are also depositories of scripts and screenplays, and if that is the case, they may well have been produced and staged already. But so far, (and correct me if I'm wrong) blogs were not yet being interpreted and adapted specially for the screen.

Baghdad Burning is a fine blog that treads a wonderful line between experiential journalism, write-it-as-I-see-it posts and storytelling. There is inherent drama in an unfolding war and the inevitable tragedy for the citizens who neither propagated it nor supported it and had nowhere to run when it came to their homes. That it calls for a wider audience goes without saying and taking it to the stage, where non-bloggers also have a chance to experience the narrative is a great initiative.

As for Baghdad Burning, the play... I have two reasons for reviewing it here. One, maybe Riverbend might want to know how it turned out (if she has access to the net). Two, I'm hoping that somebody passes on this feedback to the team that put it together. Not because it is a terrible play, but because it has fine moments of intensity and a sorrow so delicate, it was beautiful to watch. I wish the team well, congratulate them and want them to fine-tune it so that the plays gets better reviews and is invited everywhere.

The play opens to the forward left corner of the stage. A laptop, a dim light, a girl sitting with her back to the audience. She begins to read – in English. And right there was stumbling block number one.

I am not a great fan of mixed-language plays. If the characters themselves use a mix of tongues, that's okay. But to have the narrator speak in English and the rest of the dialogue in Hindi does not make a lot of sense. I rather like the fact that it was in Hindi. That brought an immediacy and urgency to the natural poignancy of the text. You could so easily substitute 'Baghdad' for 'Delhi' and the story would be this – the words in the mouths of the players would be this. In just such an idiom, just such a turn of phrase.

Unfortunately, some bits of the text were read out as they were. In a strongly accented English. [Aside: I confess that I'm squirming a bit in my chair while saying this, for I don't want to be accused of diction snobbery] Badly spoken (annunciated) English, on stage, is… is… well, unless it is deliberate and serves to embellish a character, it is just an annoyance. In this case, the diction was making the viewers work hard too hard at deciphering the text. The narrator's voice, then, ceased to work as an effective tool.

I won't bother with a synopsis of what you see on stage – it is complex and should be allowed to stay that way. Also, the structure of the narrative is loose, sequential, just like a series of blog posts, and that too should be treated as legit.

One of the early sequences is that of a family sleeping, or trying to, with war all around. The girl and boy begin identifying the make of the craft, the weapons, the targeted areas, through the sounds of bombing and shelling. It is a game and a sad one. The bad news begins to filter in at the same time. Missing friends, dead phones, the raids at night.

Some posts have been chosen for their telling commentary and some of their stories. The one where a young girl comes seeking legal help, looking for her arrested/missing family. The one where the narrator's aunt comes visiting from London, laden with gifts, only to be witness to a terrifying surprise visit by soldiers (or militias?). The one where an old woman shows around a visitor in a bombed-out place that has become famous for its 'designs' – people hurled with great force against the walls and their death shapes left imprinted there – almost a tourist attraction (my favourite portion). The one where the narrator's home becomes host to a long line of buckets since it is the only one with a thin trickle of water. All these are well-done.

There are parts of the play that are more like short skits which hold together various sequences, and their execution is uneven. There is one sequence where all the various puppet presidents are introduced, which is quite well done. There are sequences more figuratively interpreted than actual (though I cannot recall each post on the blog). One where the central character's laptop is taken away by armed mullah-type men, representing the militias I assume, for the clampdown on women is severe and is represented through the taking away of toolkits, certificates, schoolbags, cracking of whips, and their mummification in white bedsheets.

There is another sequence which is meant to represent the vulgarity of the 'liberation' of Iraq – a man dressed in a silver shirt and a shiny silver pant rides up on stage on a motorbike, with a woman dressed in a skimpy top and a shiny silver skirt riding pillion. They proceed to dance – terribly – and mouth George W Bush's meaningless words about 'liberation'. The sequence goes on way too long to hold audience interest, especially since the dancing is bad and the music loud and garish. In fact, I was mildly uncomfortable with this representation because it seemed to take potshots at American culture: suggesting, perhaps, that dissonance and a bling-bling aesthetic was all there was to it, and that this alien culture would now invade Iraq, along with the soldiers and tanks. Even if Riverbend had expressed concerns about cultural invasion, there are other ways of staging the idea; this was a simplistic, reductive technique that borders on insensitive. If only this was cut out, or cut back at least, the play would be vastly improved, especially considering that it appears early on.

One of the things I like best about the play is the minimalism of the sets. Very few props. The black box method was in evidence, except that this play used benches and used them to good effect, using the simple lines to create flexibility and speed that was essential to a play like this, which moves time and location so often.

I also liked that, despite a smallish cast, many stories could be told. Many of the actors were playing several different characters, which threw me a bit at first. I'd begin to wonder whether it was the same character, reappearing in a new costume. But once this happened a few time, I saw the pattern and even began to enjoy it. Riverbend herself seemed to be constant, though not in a direct way. Her costume didn't change, thankfully, which left constancy and flow to the sequences.

The costumes weren't bad, though the scope for improvement is vast considering that the right clothes can always be borrowed. The men playing mullahs were dressed in long black robes that appeared to have been made for Christian priests in some other play. However, this was a student production and it was obvious that budgets were small.

I liked the music too – the local music, that is. One song was especially catchy; the one with 'umrika umrika' in the chorus. (The silver-shirt-and-skirt sequence was an unfortunate auditory assault.)


I'm afraid I don't have the brochure now so, don't know the names of the cast or crew. But it was a good show, all said and done: a brave effort with some rough edges; nothing that can't be fixed. What is important is that the play retained the quality of humour tinged with bitterness, that it sought a voice of despair combined with spirit, along with fear, pathos and anger. I do hope that it will be staged again in a better, improved form. And I hope that, wherever she is, Riverbend and her family are safe.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Blink

Like always, you turn to poetry, when it seems as if you cannot find the words....

"Sabse Khatarnaak woh chaand hota hai
jo har hatyakaand ke baad
veeraan huye aangano.n mein chadhta hai
par aapki aankho.n mein mircho.n ki tarah nahin gadhta"

[That moon is the moon dangerous
that, after each murder,
rises above these desolate homes
but does not descend into your eyes like chillies.]

From Paash's 'Sabse khatatnaak cheez' or The Most Dangerous Thing.

A lady called Chandni sent an email today, citing these lines; she also forwarded a message from Anhad along a breakdown of the voting patterns in Gujarat. It asked us to remember that the margins were slim. That for every 37,722 people who voted for the BJP in Rajpipla, there were many more who voted against (37,091 for the Congress - a difference of 631 votes - and 2807 for the BSP).

I hardly batted an eyelash when I'd heard of the result; I hadn't allowed myself to. But for some reason, this email is making me blink. Furiously.

I'm going to try and put up that list in this post, but in any case, you can go and look at the details on the Election Commission website.

CONSTITUENCY

BJP VOTE

CONGRESS VOTE

DIFFERENCE

BSP

IND

1

RAJPIPLA

37722

37091

631

2807

2

MANDAL

34843

34166

677

3818

3

KHAMBHALIA

40358

39560

798

4275

4

KANKREJ

37930

37090

840

28934

5

JAMNAGAR

33021

31941

1080

1098

6

KADI

65835

64508

1327

3848

7

GADHADA

50579

49152

1427

1478

8

SURAT CITY

39607

37908

1699

RJD-2584

9

ANAND

63745

61975

1770

12134

10

KALOL

27565

25255

1884

1427+1016

11

CHIKHLI

59471

57204

2267

2708

12

SIDHPUR

52610

50181

2429

2694

13

MANGROL

48256

45625

2631

3389

2782

14

BOTAD

69662

66474

3188

2134

3188

15

VIRAMGAM

47643

44327

3316

3286

3364

16

MANSA

44381

41011

3370

10478

17

GANDHINAGAR

81864

78116

3748

1766

5128

18

RAKHIAL

53993

50048

3945

1395

1428

19

DASADA

38174

34108

4066

3898

2408

20

SIHAR

50756

46638

4118

3501

2973

21

AMRELI

48767

44578

4189

3143+1397

22

VISAVADAR

38179

33950

4229

3399

2074

23

UPLETA

36602

31917

4685

1946

SP-4141

24

SOMNATH

61233

56004

5229

7099

25

BAYAD

40395

34711

5684

3107

3569

26

CHHOTA UDAIPUR

44422

38304

6118

8056

27

KALAWAD

39497

33225

6272

3449

3693

28

WADHAWAN

47466

40564

6902

23261

29

DANGS

56860

48977

7883

5010+4446

30

KUTIYANA

37130

27980

9150

3064

8060

31

VADGAM

50481

40776

9705

16372

32

ABDASA

39004

28985

10019

12397

33

CAMBAY

50163

40086

10077

3081

8684

Friday, December 21, 2007

An Eid post, an Eid too late

A few months ago, with ramzaan in full swing, a regular reader of this blog asked me to do a ramzaan post. I had replied saying that I wasn't sure I could, since I don't fast.

However, in private, I tried sorting out my own views on the subject, but wasn't sure I was ready to share them until now. With Bakr-eid, I decided to say what I have been thinking all this time.

The main rationale behind a month of fasting, my grandfather used to say, was to instill a sense of discipline and self-control amongst people, and perhaps, to encourage a reduction in conspicuous consumption, to encourage us to think about desire and lack and about those for whom the lack is perennial. That is why, if you don't fast, you are asked to give the equivalent grain or price of food to the poor.

(Aside: Islam is big on giving at all times. While I have never officially followed the 'one-fifth of profits' rule, I've rarely had much excess or profit. On the other hand, I did have a lot of clothes and my mother translated and extended the one-fifth principle to our wardrobes a few years ago. She asked me to make two piles - for every four clothes I kept, I had to put the fifth aside to give away. The first time, it wasn't easy because I wanted to keep everything. But now I've gotten used to the idea and often end up thinking of consumption in terms of fourths and one-fifths. Surely, if I've got four of anything, I can do without a fifth?)

It even made sense to think of dietary discipline in terms of agricultural cycles. All countries and communities have major festivals that coincide with harvests. The period before a harvest is a really lean one. Afterwards, there is plenty and therefore, joy, which is celebrated. With the lunar calendar, the concept of harvests may not apply, but the rationale for celebration, even of the hunger, exists. (Perhaps, somebody who knows a little more about ancient Arabic clans and pre-Islamic festivals can shed some light on this connection between the lunar calendar and harvest festivals).

Personally, I'm not convinced that we need a religious imposition to inculcate discipline. I am not sure that I am a big fan of 'Discipline' as an overriding necessity. If a government ruled that people must starve twelve hours a day, for a month, we'd have rebellion and revolution at the fall of the first dusk. But because religion says so, we not only observe the fasts but impose them on others (they do that in some places, I hear) who may or may not be religious.

As for discipline... am I disciplined?

On long trips on the road, I go hours without food or water. Sometimes up to 8 hours. I rarely lose my temper, and when I do, it rarely expresses itself in violent, public ways. That's discipline enough for me. When I feel I'm slipping up or giving in to excess, I'll fast by all means. But I should be able to do this on my own. I don't need the world to do it with me. To be able to do something only collectively is not discipline. That's just rule-following. Laws aren't spirituality. Spirituality is about making a choice. About choosing to seek something that is beyond the worldly, beyond your ordinary engagement with the material and the instinctive.

And the excess factor? There seems to be no respite from the excess either. The rich have iftar parties that put to shame a poor man's wedding. It is like a wedding feast where the daily excess is trebled, instead of being controlled. And the poor...? Well, the poor eat a little less, or starve a little differently. They get up earlier than they used to and sleep worse than they did. Maybe it does discipline them. Maybe it does teach them that they should be prepared for starvation, if hunger be their fate. Maybe it teaches them to swallow their spittle in more ways than one, to ignore the most primary of instincts. Maybe it grooms them for life, as it were.

If at all ramzaan was intended as a compulsion, I personally feel that it was intended for the rich. For a well-to-do elite clan of traders and herd-owners, to begin with. Maybe that was why that loophole was permitted - if you can't fast, give the equivalent of the meals you would eat to those who need it. Either way, a general form of control and community discipline was intended to benefit the poor. Now it is just a tool of control for some, a social bonding trip for others, and a mandate of identity for the rest.

And yet, I support Eid.

Eid is celebration, even for the poor. Eid is newness. Eid is joy and mingling and hugging people. (I especially endorse hugging.) The poor celebrate with all they have. The rich do too. That, I can deal with. But ramzaan seems no longer an equitable undertaking, if it ever had been. The rich celebrate it. The poor go through it. The middle class sighs that it isn't the one, shudders that it isn't the other, and does a bit of both.

Ramzaan is life, in that way - representative of how things are. And how things are is just as insupportable - to my mind - as they always were.

However, if we must have a compulsory Ramzaan, then I would have liked to change the rules. Let it be a month in which nobody wears any artificial fabrics. Nobody eats anything processed. Nobody works more than eight hours. Nobody works less than eight hours. A month in which everybody works with their own hands at least four hours a day, where they do something that requires the use of physical labour. A month in which everybody gives up routine foods, work patterns, costumes, habits, whatever, even houses. A month of change and real experimentation with the self and with your relationship to the world you live in. Not that I see it happening any time soon... but it would be nice, wouldn't it?
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