Almost 50 days into the government’s demonetisation drive, it continues to be a contentious talking point, and a plank upon which to rest one’s political beliefs. Some see a method to the madness, others mere chaos. Theatrewallahs are notoriously apolitical in the best of times, but over the past few weeks, several works have attempted to contribute to the debate. Much of this is in the vein of the running gag, the eternal trope of milking humour from the topical issue du jour. Cinema takes time to react, but live entertainment, so resolutely in the ‘here and now’, can serve up nuggets of protest, or simply a token mention, as quick as a flash. Given how ephemeral that moment is, there is scarcely the fear of public remonstrations which makes one wonder why the proverbial envelope isn’t pushed far enough often enough. Recording all these instances is perhaps still worthwhile.
At last month’s Centrestage Festival at the NCPA, dastango (storyteller) Danish Hussain unveiled his latest storytelling soirée , Qissebaazi , a compendium of four tales. The first recounted the genesis of the earliest Indian play in the voice of the ancient Indian sage Bharata Muni, whose Sanskrit dramaturgical treatise, the Natyashastra , dates back to the first millenium BCE. Bharata was performed by Saattvic, an actor who moonlights as an economist (or vice versa). In an invocation of ‘ satyug ’, where ‘ acche din ’ purportedly really did prevail, he talked of the miracles effected by ancient Brahmins by sheer dint of desire, whereas latter-day Brahmins were loath to conjure up even mere Rs. 2,000 notes, still scarce in Mumbai even three weeks past November 8. Later, Hussain likened those standing in long ATM queues, depositing wads of cash for their masters, to the Shudras of our times. The piece was presented as a satire which, for the most part, could easily pass off as a parochial sermon. Instead, it was the tone that attempted to deliver an irony laced with light contempt for an antiquated belief system that carried resonances of prejudices that persist till today.
Earlier that week, Hussain was part of the ensemble Muslim social, Phir Se Shaadi , directed by Imran Rasheed. An erstwhile couple, divorced in haste, are looking to remarry, but before that can happen, the lady in question must be married and divorced from another man, in an Islamic sharia ritual called halala . The neighborhood hijras get wind of this second marriage of mutual convenience, and turn up as flamboyantly as ever, to collect their dues. One of them (played by Nitin Bhardwaj) even brandishes a card swipe machine lest the revellers palm off obsolete notes on them. In his other play, Ishq Aaha, Bhardwaj is the lovelorn Ranjhaa in conversation with his beloved on a public phone. Running out of change, he rushes into the stands asking for money from the audience, while begging forgiveness for such an absurd entreaty in these demonetised times.
In Tushar Pandey’s Hindi adaptation of Harold Pinter’s The Dumb Waiter , even as the playwright’s wry humour takes hold of the narrative, certain improvisations of text bring us closer home. As one hitman talks of a man run over by the lorry he was crawling under to cross the street, the other responds with news of yet another death in an ATM queue. It is a moment that elicits some nervous laughter because of the oppression inherent in this exchange of jokes. In a later scene, a framed demonetised note from 1978 sought to establish the vintage of the basement in which the hitmen lay in wait for further orders.
Yet, history’s follies can sometimes prove to be prescient, even if in hindsight. In Delhi’s Mehrauli, the Darwesh theatre group organises walks like the Tughlaqabad trail, which ends with a performance about Muhammad bin Tughlaq. Interspersed in this material is a commentary that compares the current scenario with Tughlaq’s misadventures with currency. In Panjim, Khel Tiatr’s Portuguese Passport was performed as part of the Serendipity Arts Festival. It was peppered with sporadic jokes related to demonetisation and governmental policy. This included a ditty that began, innocuously enough, as a nursery rhyme, but ended up as an indictment of Prime Minister Narendra Modi, even as carnivalesque scooter rallies conducted by the state BJP unit vroomed in the background.
Much more outrage was demonstrated in a cultural forum organised in Raipur’s Bairon Bazar, by the People’s Union for Civil Liberties. In the final day of the three-day jamboree, audiences comprising lawyers, doctors, students, activists, and a large swathe of the local populace watched street-plays and musical offerings from the Yalgaar Sanskritik Kala Manch. Demonetisation was an overriding theme, and the anti -governmental tenor of the evening was often greeted with loud cheers and hooting. This brand of protest theatre sits in some contrast to the bourgeois posturing we find in urban plays. Yet, it certainly does represent a spectrum of discontent which will perhaps never achieve critical mass, but murmurings of this kind can still be an antidote to deathly silence.
The writer is a playwright and stage critic
