Life as an actor was not even faintly in her scheme of things. The charming and perceptive Nadira Zaheer Babbar, daughter of the communist leader Syed Sajjad Zaheer and Urdu writer Razia Sajjad Zaheer, lived each day as it came by. “I had no plans. We were four daughters and my sisters were always toppers at academics, the kind whose pictures appear in the newspapers. But I was a horrible student; with great difficulty I scraped through my exams,” says Nadira, who was in Bangalore with her theatre group Ekjute for a four-play festival.
Nadira's parents were the founders of the Progressive Writers' Association and had strong ties with IPTA as well. Though her father did not write many books, he was a highly respected critic. Writers, activists, theatre persons were walking in and out of their house all through the day, with the atmosphere abuzz with art and literature. From anti-nuclear protests to peace marches, to poets' meets and seminars, their house was the rehearsal room for a range of things. Without being thrust into it, Nadira and her sisters had been thrown into the perfect brew of culture and politics. “We were fortunate to have parents like them. They gave us such a rich legacy of values and ideals, and without ever making us conscious of it. It was a natural part of our upbringing; much later in our lives, when we were on our own, slowly these things moved up to the surface,” Nadira says, slowing down, suddenly preoccupied with her past. All kinds of people were part of their childhood: her parents had place and time for everyone. “Not even once, did my parents talk to us about religion. The first time that someone told us we were Muslims was at school,” she remembers.
What would Nadira do, her parents worried, when they discovered her marks in the school leaving exam were disastrous. She had secured a miserable third division. “Alkazi, who was then heading the National School Of Drama, was my father's dear friend. He suggested that I join the School,” she recalls. But Nadira had no connection with theatre whatsoever, not even a play at school! Alkazi insisted that Nadira should still try out the course. “So I ended up in NSD. I had decided to abandon it if I didn't feel comfortable with the course. But within a couple of months I realised I wanted to stay.” But the turning point came only midway through the course, when there was an in-house production of the play “Elephant's Calf” in which Nadira was playing an important role. The newspaper review the following day said ‘Nadira steals the show'. “My attitude changed completely. Something within me transformed forever and I began to work extremely hard,” explains Nadira. “If I have a place in the world of arts today, I owe it completely to my parents and Alkazi. Their faith in right action lives within me as a strong force.”
Theatre, in the years that Nadira opened her eyes to it, had a purpose; it was a pertinent anti-establishment voice. But over the years, the sharp edges have become blunt, and the line between theatre and vested interests have more or less blurred. “It's true. My years in theatre trace this trajectory. People have crossed over. But yet, it is a very powerful medium,” emphasises Nadira, recalling her experiences after the Bombay riots in 92-93. Ekjute, her theatre group of thirty years, travelled to various parts of Maharashtra, both to Hindu and Muslim pockets, in an endeavour to soothe wounds and build bridges. “There was so much resentment in the people. They looked at us with suspicion, were angry and wanted to throw us out. But we were adamant and began our performance to almost no audience. As the play progressed, people came, their body language changed, the expression in their eyes was different, and by the end of the play, they would be crying.” People walked back with them to their vehicle and meekly asked if they could come back for another show. “We have done this without any expectations in cash or kind, and the fulfilment it gave us… I can't explain it,” says a moved Nadira, and feels extremely grateful for her group members, who share her commitment.
There was a time when theatre had strong pillars spread across the country — unshakeable in their conviction and with a clear objective of initiating a revolution — K.V. Subbanna, Prithviraj Kapoor, Shivaram Karanth, Habib Tanvir, Badal Sircar, Safdar Hashmi and several others. “Now, there are pockets of people who work with undiminished hope. That, for me, continues to hold a lot of promise.” Nadira recalls people who stood their ground firmly, even in the face of power. “We were performing ‘Andha Yug' directed by Alkazi at the Red Fort. Mrs. Gandhi was supposed to come for the show. Five minutes was left for the performance and there was no sign of her. We were sure the play would be delayed. But Alkazi rang the third bell and the play started on time. Mrs. Gandhi who turned up 45 minutes late was asked to wait for 15 minutes, and was allowed only in the intermission. I have practiced that all my life — the show must go on.”
Nadira, like other women who had interests beyond the family, had to straddle multiple worlds. “Wives have no wives you see… I had told myself that was nothing would prevent me from doing my theatre. Of course, I've always asked my children if it was causing them a problem. Other than them nothing has ever stopped me,” she says firmly.
Running a regional language theatre group for 30 years is no joke. “We have faced many ups and downs, but I have never given up. Only for one year, when I was in a personal crisis, I felt incompetent. Otherwise, the struggle has been on,” Nadira replies with poise.
