aqqaash , at the ongoing Writer’s Bloc Festival, is proof that Mumbai’s theatre scene is evolving. Writers, who are taking it upon themselves to be chroniclers of the times they live in, are being heard. A good story, though, is not about issues. It is about people who live, rather than serve, agendas.
The play has opened to glowing reviews. Asad Hussain, the playwright is grateful but not content. Objective about his work, he believes that when it comes to theatre writing, it is never a finished product.
Hussain’s involvement with theatre began as a translator for theatre groups in Delhi. He also directed Sartre’s existential play, No Exit , and was drawn to the immediacy of the stage. Aside from plays — he also wrote Song of the Swan — Hussain’s credits include being one of the screenplay writers for the National Award-winning Bajrangi Bhaijaan and Children of War . But he makes a strong distinction between film-writing and writing for theatre. “The joy of writing for cinema is that you can think visually and go beyond the limitations of time and space. Writing for theatre allows for more play of language- soliloquies and actors expressing internal conflicts at length. I feel fortunate about being able to write for both the mediums.”
Talking about how Naqqaash came to be, he credits the mentors from the Royal Court Theatre (part of the Writer’s Bloc process involves mentoring from the RTC) who empowered him with tools to be fearless with his pen, “‘Think of the taboos,’ they told us. And we did. We went through various exercises that helped us write dialogue, understand the essence of a scene, as well as introspect. The workshop was like meditation. The exercises unravelled a volley of repressed emotions. They guided me into the actual task of writing. For the development of characters, we were asked to liken them to animals. I imagined one of the cops as a jackal and attributed the qualities.”
Five days into the workshop, the participants were required to think of a scene. The genesis of Naqqaash was in Hussain’s imagining dead people walking out of their graves. “A video of a cop jumping on a young man’s body in a village in Bihar haunted me, and became the heart of the play. The incident was largely ignored by the national media. I was motivated by the universality of this emotion: of how vulnerable and abandoned one must feel if one were poor, a minority, a migrant or a misfit.” Naqqaash is a howl of protest against the unimaginable brutality, marginalised groups are subjected to.
Naqqaash’s poster is an exquisitely engraved knife on a crimson background. The writer drew heavily on his experiences of growing up in Bihar while creating the character of the protagonist, Aklu, a knife maker. “I knew a man called Aklu; we called him Aklu chacha . He was not a knife-maker but always had a small knife with which, he would cut guavas and feed us. I was fascinated by his knife but he never let me touch it. Aklu’s knives in the play are works of art. He makes intricate carvings on the handles. The notion of a man, utterly consumed by beauty, in a village where most people are farmers and where life is hard, captivated me.”
“ Naqqaash ,” he continues, “means carver. I wanted the wall in my play to remind people of the wall in Palestine. The checkpost in the village is suggestive of a checkpost in Ramallah. I tuned into many stories while writing. I read about families whose sons have gone missing, women’s movements across the world, and the power of mothers coming together to ask, ‘Where are our children?’ I also read about the Hashimpura verdict.”
The huge cast, says, was a challenge. “Each of the voices of the women singing in the streets was imperative. The story grew from being about a father and son to also being about the agency of women in a village where all the men have vanished. I wanted to explore how the construction of a factory changes things fundamentally in this village, by tilting the power equation. Rajit Kapur [who is directing the play] came up with the idea of a choir.” Hussain is excited about collaborating with Kapur. “Not only because of his reputation as a leading director in Mumbai, but also because he was as moved by the story as I was. He cast the accomplished actor and singer, Shubhrajyoti Barat.”
The song in Naqqaash has a lingering effect, and has a personal story behind it. Hussain tells us that around 2006, he travelled to Kabul with his wife and worked with filmmakers. “ Ahista Bero is sung traditionally at weddings there. We interpreted it as a song that a groom’s father sings. The lyrics translate to, ‘My moon, walk slowly’. I was stirred by the sense of loss it would evoke in Aklu, who dreams of his son Chand’s wedding, that was not to be.” He says writing the scene where Aklu talks to his dead son with the help of the son’s fiancé was an emotionally draining experience.
While Hussain has some apprehensions — concern that the lyrical language of the play conveys empty rhetoric; caution about his characters appearing like powerless victims — he hopes that Naqqaash is experienced as an echo of the personal experiences that inspired the play.
Naqqaash will be staged on April 17, 7.30 pm, at the NCPA.
The author is a freelance writer
