The Story of An Era
With
her new book, Stages of Life: Indian Theatre Autobiographies (Permanent
Black, 2011) an erudite scholar on Indian theatre history, Kathryn Hansen
attempts the recovery of little known personal narratives from a fascinating
historical period with different perspectives, and introduces them to the
reader of the present.
The book holds four autobiographies: Narayan
Prasad Betab’s The Deeds of Betab, Radheshyam Kathavachak’s My
Theatre Days, Jayshankar Sundari’s Some blossoms, Some Tears; and
Fida Husain’s Fifty Years in the Parsi Theatre. The autobiographies, translated
into English from Hindi for the first time and complemented by the pictures of writers
and the plays they wrote or acted in, mark the apex of the Parsi theatre covering
the second half of the 19th century to the first half of the 20th
century spanning the “age of infectious song and story.” (x)
Equally interesting portion in the book is Hansen’s
insightful critical analysis of the ‘performative self’ with reference to the four
autobiographies. Sumptuously laid before and after the autobiographies; the four
chapter analysis provides a frame of reference to read the chosen texts in two
ways. First, it presents the broad outline of the history of the Parsi theatre,
its emergence, development and intersection with other theatre forms of the
time. Second, as one of the articles, ‘Theatrical Memoirs and The Archives of
Autobiography’ suggests, Hansen investigates the autobiography as a source for
writing cultural history. While tracing the history of the ‘self-referential
texts’ in India, Hansen reflects upon newer dramatic practices in various
regional contexts and emergence of theatre as institution in India through the lens of contemporary social and political
movements. In addition, each autobiography is
prefaced with instructive introductions. The scrupulously written introductions
cover the writers’ personal histories, the stories behind writing their
own stories, the translator’s work on different versions of the available
source texts, and creation of the final texts to include in the book.
Of the four autobiographies, The Deeds of
Betab, written in 37 manzils (stages), is a story of Narayan Prasad Betab
who was born to a sweet-maker’s family four years after the commercial
activities of the Parsi theatre had begun in 1868.The moving prose of The Deeds
of Betab brings to light one of the
glorious eras in Indian theatre when playwrights and their writing
processes were respected; they were offered a space or, to use today’s buzz
word, ‘residencies’ by theatre companies to enable them to focus on writing.
Indeed, playwright like Betab responded to this ‘luxury’ with honesty and
ingenuity by revising the plays and getting “exhilarated by the work on the
scene”. (76) Betab received an invitation from a theatre company run by Jamadar
Saheb when he was working with a printing press as a compositor. On the
invitation, Jamadar “upped the salary to thirty rupees, agreement was reached,
and to show his affection he dropped me at the railway station in his cart. The
ox-cart, back then, was a sign of great wealth, even more prestigious than a
motorcar today. The ride in Lalaji’s cart, the good wishes of my fellow
employee, and the pomp of this farewell to poor Narayan-all lodged in my
heart.” (76) Betab in his fascinating story narrates some of the zesty
experiences in his life when the case against the company was filed, he was
summoned and his writing was examined for a sensational play, Qatl-e Nazir that
left “the whole city abuzz.”(78)Interestingly, elucidating the nexus of art and
society, Betab reveals that the company’s lawyer “worked pro bono, fighting the
case in exchange for a free pass”. (78)It must be added that Kathryn Hansen finalised
the translated texts after deleting some portion of it. For example “poetic
couples and whole dialogues”and “dramatic examples” that gave the original text
“performative flair” and “meta-textual comment” on Betab’s “reputation as a
poet” have not been included in the translation. (55-56) However, considering
Betab’s contribution to the play-writing and script-writing in the early days
of theatre and cinema respectively, the deleted part might have enhanced the flavor
of Betab’s creative writing.
Radheshyam Kathavachak’s autobiography, My
Theatre Days, organised in six chapters, covers his life from childhood to
old age exhibiting his versatile personality of performing different roles. As a
part of family tradition, Radheshyam gave the Ramayana and devotional recitals;
while on contract with the Parsi theatre company, he wrote plays; and as a
script writer, he played an active role in the film industry. Radheshyam also
started a publishing house that printed devotional literature. Writing
about the lasting impact of his legacy, Hansen writes: “The Radheshyam Ramayan… became one of the core texts
utilized in the influential television serial directed by Ramanand Sagar in the
1980s. His legacy endures in regular productions of his plays at the National
School of Drama and other urban venues, and in the continuing circulation of
his devotional verses in the countryside. On a more sinister note, Radheshyam’s
dramas contributed to the consolidation of Hindu nationalism, and some view him
as a harbinger of the divisive Hindutva politics of recent decades.” (103-104)
The autobiographies of the two actors; Jayshankar Prasad, a well-known
female impersonator, and Fida Husain are feasts for theatre geeks. The self-portraits
of these actors give details of salaries they were paid, the clothing they were
provided by their theatre companies and the daily activities they had to follow
like washing the cooking pots, sweeping the room and doing the dishes although someone
like Jayshankar “hated this work” (194). Unlike today, when an actor memorises
his/her own dialogues, attends rehearsals, and leaves after his/her role is
rehearsed; in those days, an actor like Jayshankar “had to memorize every role,
so that if one of them was absent another could play his part.” (204)
Importantly, the first hand narratives throw light on the preparation of an actor
when the modern training system of ‘direction’ had not evolved yet. Jayshankar records,
“everything was left to the actor” and “the logic was never explained.” He
adds, “I had to figure out the system of knowledge by myself. Thrown into the
water you learn to swim; so were taught to move our limbs, but there was no
opportunity to learn the science behind it.” (193)
Jayashankar Prasad and Fida Husain represent the
high time in theatre history when emerging entertainment economy, new ways of
publicity, changed relations between audience and actors, and profit making
goals of the theatre companies configured representation of women through
female impersonators. Some of the most mesmerising and valuable accounts in the
actors’ autobiographies are of the male actor performing female roles. Jayshankar
shares his first experience of being female impersonator by wearing a choli
and lahanga. As if talking to his own mirror image, Jayshankar says, “…he
was transformed into a woman, or rather into the artistic form that expresses
the feminine sensibility. A beautiful young female revealed herself inside me.
Her shapely, intoxicating youth sparkled. Her feminine charm radiated
fragrance. She had an easy grace in her eyes, and in her gait was the glory of
Gujarat. She was not a man, she was a woman. An image such as this was the one
I saw in the mirror.” (210) This representation of a woman was always of a
certain sophisticated class as reflected in her accessories, her hair style and
clothing. As it also happened with the legendary actor Balgandharva of the Marathi
theatre, it is remembered in Some blossoms, Some Tears that “women in
society imitated Sundari.”(209) The public adored Jayshankar and he too graciously
entertained them as a female impersonator. However, one might find it
frustrating to see that Jayshankar, like several other female impersonators of
the time, found himself locked in playing a female role. Jayshankar reveals
that he was “unable to carry off a masculine gait, and people hooted [him]off
the stage” when he wanted to play the male part of Muzaffar in the play, Haman. (193)
The
final autobiographical account of another female impersonator, Fifty Years
in the Parsi Theatre covers the Parsi theatre much after slowing down of
theatre practices in India with the release of talking cinemas in the 1930s. A
theatre scholar Pratibha Agarwal’s interview with Fida Husain which was
published as “an oral history” came to be known as Husain’s autobiography. Fida
Husain’s “fragmented, circular, and digressive” story, filtered through the
“elicitor and editor” in order to “trigger a version of self and history” poses
a few challenges. (254) First, it
contests the authenticity of the written autobiography against the oral
narrative of the interview in telling a story of self. Second, admittedly,
while there is “the need to tell a story that works” (254), the inclusion of a text,
previously published under the authorship of Agarwal, but now as an autobiography of Fida Husain is a debatable issue.
Thirdly, the text lacks the flow and intensity that the three other
autobiographies have, primarily because of Agarwal’s intervention (as the
interviewer) into it; even though Hansen defends the interview format in her
introduction to the text.
All the four autobiographers witnessed one of the
critical and formative periods in India but, curiously, they do not seem to be
going beyond the ‘mera natak, mera ghar’ (My Home, My Theatre) attitude,
showing aloofness to the world outside their own and to the current happenings
of the time. Jayshankar does refer to the visit by the heir to the British
throne to India and the resulting riots between Maharashtrians, Gujaratis and
Parsis and the reader comes to know that he had promised a Parsi family to save
them in case of the crisis that in the end did not arise. Similarly, Fida
Husain expresses, as Hansen points in the final chapter, ‘“no hint of sympathy
with the political movement for Pakistan, nor does he mention whether he or his
family ever considered whether they would remain in India or migrate at
Partition.” (330)
Besides being indifferent, a prolific writer like
Narayan Prasad Betab displays,at times, insensitivity to gender roles,
especially in his discussion of and also in his tone towards widow marriages,
when he writes that he was “not in favor of women being given the freedom to
marry again and again”. Further in this connection, Betab writes, “However, I
think that when men are widowed, they too should remain widowers. Or at least
if they are going to remarry, they should marry a widow, not a virgin.” (80) In
connection to this, Hansen makes an important observationthat “None
of the other autobiographies, however, describes how it felt for a man to play
a women’s role.” Against this background, possibly, Sita Devi, associated with
the Moonlight Theatre, referred to in Fifty Years in the Parsi Theatre might
have been a befitting choice to include in Stages of Life to get another
view on female impersonation.
Much is documented, much of it by Kathryn Hansen
herself, about the Parsi theatre in the nineteenth century India. But there
have been few efforts to analyse the Parsi theatre in connections with theatrical
expressions in other languages. Hansen’s book enables establishing such
connections and encourages exchange of ideas between theatres practices across
different regions in India. Thus “these readings”, as Hansen expects, “provide
no closure; they are meant rather to spark questions and encourage a range of
responses.”(xiii) In this context, it would be interesting to see, for example, how Dongri Sangeet Natak Company, also known as
the Bombay Royal Opera, established in 1881 was popular for its spectacular
production of Indrasabha (1881) inspired by the Parsi theatre. The
Patankar Sangeet Mandali known for its production of Vikram Shashikala
(1891) was one of the earliest groups to have employed tunes from the
contemporary Parsi theatre in their performances. Thus, rightly, as Hansen
observes, “the catchy music” and “tunes from the Parsi companies soon
infiltrated the soundscapes...The allure of the new mode was so great that by
the turn of the century the Parsi theatre had become a ubiquitous part of
public culture across the subcontinent.”
Stages of Life: Indian Theatre
Autobiographies would remain a source
of inspiration for performing artists to contextualise their own practices and for
scholars to build a critical discourse on the cultural story of an era.
With
her new book, Stages of Life: Indian Theatre Autobiographies (Permanent
Black, 2011) an erudite scholar on Indian theatre history, Kathryn Hansen
attempts the recovery of little known personal narratives from a fascinating
historical period with different perspectives, and introduces them to the
reader of the present.
The book holds four autobiographies: Narayan
Prasad Betab’s The Deeds of Betab, Radheshyam Kathavachak’s My
Theatre Days, Jayshankar Sundari’s Some blossoms, Some Tears; and
Fida Husain’s Fifty Years in the Parsi Theatre. The autobiographies, translated
into English from Hindi for the first time and complemented by the pictures of writers
and the plays they wrote or acted in, mark the apex of the Parsi theatre covering
the second half of the 19th century to the first half of the 20th
century spanning the “age of infectious song and story.” (x)
Equally interesting portion in the book is Hansen’s
insightful critical analysis of the ‘performative self’ with reference to the four
autobiographies. Sumptuously laid before and after the autobiographies; the four
chapter analysis provides a frame of reference to read the chosen texts in two
ways. First, it presents the broad outline of the history of the Parsi theatre,
its emergence, development and intersection with other theatre forms of the
time. Second, as one of the articles, ‘Theatrical Memoirs and The Archives of
Autobiography’ suggests, Hansen investigates the autobiography as a source for
writing cultural history. While tracing the history of the ‘self-referential
texts’ in India, Hansen reflects upon newer dramatic practices in various
regional contexts and emergence of theatre as institution in India through the lens of contemporary social and political
movements. In addition, each autobiography is
prefaced with instructive introductions. The scrupulously written introductions
cover the writers’ personal histories, the stories behind writing their
own stories, the translator’s work on different versions of the available
source texts, and creation of the final texts to include in the book.
Of the four autobiographies, The Deeds of
Betab, written in 37 manzils (stages), is a story of Narayan Prasad Betab
who was born to a sweet-maker’s family four years after the commercial
activities of the Parsi theatre had begun in 1868.The moving prose of The Deeds
of Betab brings to light one of the
glorious eras in Indian theatre when playwrights and their writing
processes were respected; they were offered a space or, to use today’s buzz
word, ‘residencies’ by theatre companies to enable them to focus on writing.
Indeed, playwright like Betab responded to this ‘luxury’ with honesty and
ingenuity by revising the plays and getting “exhilarated by the work on the
scene”. (76) Betab received an invitation from a theatre company run by Jamadar
Saheb when he was working with a printing press as a compositor. On the
invitation, Jamadar “upped the salary to thirty rupees, agreement was reached,
and to show his affection he dropped me at the railway station in his cart. The
ox-cart, back then, was a sign of great wealth, even more prestigious than a
motorcar today. The ride in Lalaji’s cart, the good wishes of my fellow
employee, and the pomp of this farewell to poor Narayan-all lodged in my
heart.” (76) Betab in his fascinating story narrates some of the zesty
experiences in his life when the case against the company was filed, he was
summoned and his writing was examined for a sensational play, Qatl-e Nazir that
left “the whole city abuzz.”(78)Interestingly, elucidating the nexus of art and
society, Betab reveals that the company’s lawyer “worked pro bono, fighting the
case in exchange for a free pass”. (78)It must be added that Kathryn Hansen finalised
the translated texts after deleting some portion of it. For example “poetic
couples and whole dialogues”and “dramatic examples” that gave the original text
“performative flair” and “meta-textual comment” on Betab’s “reputation as a
poet” have not been included in the translation. (55-56) However, considering
Betab’s contribution to the play-writing and script-writing in the early days
of theatre and cinema respectively, the deleted part might have enhanced the flavor
of Betab’s creative writing.
Radheshyam Kathavachak’s autobiography, My
Theatre Days, organised in six chapters, covers his life from childhood to
old age exhibiting his versatile personality of performing different roles. As a
part of family tradition, Radheshyam gave the Ramayana and devotional recitals;
while on contract with the Parsi theatre company, he wrote plays; and as a
script writer, he played an active role in the film industry. Radheshyam also
started a publishing house that printed devotional literature. Writing
about the lasting impact of his legacy, Hansen writes: “The Radheshyam Ramayan… became one of the core texts
utilized in the influential television serial directed by Ramanand Sagar in the
1980s. His legacy endures in regular productions of his plays at the National
School of Drama and other urban venues, and in the continuing circulation of
his devotional verses in the countryside. On a more sinister note, Radheshyam’s
dramas contributed to the consolidation of Hindu nationalism, and some view him
as a harbinger of the divisive Hindutva politics of recent decades.” (103-104)
The autobiographies of the two actors; Jayshankar Prasad, a well-known
female impersonator, and Fida Husain are feasts for theatre geeks. The self-portraits
of these actors give details of salaries they were paid, the clothing they were
provided by their theatre companies and the daily activities they had to follow
like washing the cooking pots, sweeping the room and doing the dishes although someone
like Jayshankar “hated this work” (194). Unlike today, when an actor memorises
his/her own dialogues, attends rehearsals, and leaves after his/her role is
rehearsed; in those days, an actor like Jayshankar “had to memorize every role,
so that if one of them was absent another could play his part.” (204)
Importantly, the first hand narratives throw light on the preparation of an actor
when the modern training system of ‘direction’ had not evolved yet. Jayshankar records,
“everything was left to the actor” and “the logic was never explained.” He
adds, “I had to figure out the system of knowledge by myself. Thrown into the
water you learn to swim; so were taught to move our limbs, but there was no
opportunity to learn the science behind it.” (193)
Jayashankar Prasad and Fida Husain represent the
high time in theatre history when emerging entertainment economy, new ways of
publicity, changed relations between audience and actors, and profit making
goals of the theatre companies configured representation of women through
female impersonators. Some of the most mesmerising and valuable accounts in the
actors’ autobiographies are of the male actor performing female roles. Jayshankar
shares his first experience of being female impersonator by wearing a choli
and lahanga. As if talking to his own mirror image, Jayshankar says, “…he
was transformed into a woman, or rather into the artistic form that expresses
the feminine sensibility. A beautiful young female revealed herself inside me.
Her shapely, intoxicating youth sparkled. Her feminine charm radiated
fragrance. She had an easy grace in her eyes, and in her gait was the glory of
Gujarat. She was not a man, she was a woman. An image such as this was the one
I saw in the mirror.” (210) This representation of a woman was always of a
certain sophisticated class as reflected in her accessories, her hair style and
clothing. As it also happened with the legendary actor Balgandharva of the Marathi
theatre, it is remembered in Some blossoms, Some Tears that “women in
society imitated Sundari.”(209) The public adored Jayshankar and he too graciously
entertained them as a female impersonator. However, one might find it
frustrating to see that Jayshankar, like several other female impersonators of
the time, found himself locked in playing a female role. Jayshankar reveals
that he was “unable to carry off a masculine gait, and people hooted [him]off
the stage” when he wanted to play the male part of Muzaffar in the play, Haman. (193)
The
final autobiographical account of another female impersonator, Fifty Years
in the Parsi Theatre covers the Parsi theatre much after slowing down of
theatre practices in India with the release of talking cinemas in the 1930s. A
theatre scholar Pratibha Agarwal’s interview with Fida Husain which was
published as “an oral history” came to be known as Husain’s autobiography. Fida
Husain’s “fragmented, circular, and digressive” story, filtered through the
“elicitor and editor” in order to “trigger a version of self and history” poses
a few challenges. (254) First, it
contests the authenticity of the written autobiography against the oral
narrative of the interview in telling a story of self. Second, admittedly,
while there is “the need to tell a story that works” (254), the inclusion of a text,
previously published under the authorship of Agarwal, but now as an autobiography of Fida Husain is a debatable issue.
Thirdly, the text lacks the flow and intensity that the three other
autobiographies have, primarily because of Agarwal’s intervention (as the
interviewer) into it; even though Hansen defends the interview format in her
introduction to the text.
All the four autobiographers witnessed one of the
critical and formative periods in India but, curiously, they do not seem to be
going beyond the ‘mera natak, mera ghar’ (My Home, My Theatre) attitude,
showing aloofness to the world outside their own and to the current happenings
of the time. Jayshankar does refer to the visit by the heir to the British
throne to India and the resulting riots between Maharashtrians, Gujaratis and
Parsis and the reader comes to know that he had promised a Parsi family to save
them in case of the crisis that in the end did not arise. Similarly, Fida
Husain expresses, as Hansen points in the final chapter, ‘“no hint of sympathy
with the political movement for Pakistan, nor does he mention whether he or his
family ever considered whether they would remain in India or migrate at
Partition.” (330)
Besides being indifferent, a prolific writer like
Narayan Prasad Betab displays,at times, insensitivity to gender roles,
especially in his discussion of and also in his tone towards widow marriages,
when he writes that he was “not in favor of women being given the freedom to
marry again and again”. Further in this connection, Betab writes, “However, I
think that when men are widowed, they too should remain widowers. Or at least
if they are going to remarry, they should marry a widow, not a virgin.” (80) In
connection to this, Hansen makes an important observationthat “None
of the other autobiographies, however, describes how it felt for a man to play
a women’s role.” Against this background, possibly, Sita Devi, associated with
the Moonlight Theatre, referred to in Fifty Years in the Parsi Theatre might
have been a befitting choice to include in Stages of Life to get another
view on female impersonation.
Much is documented, much of it by Kathryn Hansen
herself, about the Parsi theatre in the nineteenth century India. But there
have been few efforts to analyse the Parsi theatre in connections with theatrical
expressions in other languages. Hansen’s book enables establishing such
connections and encourages exchange of ideas between theatres practices across
different regions in India. Thus “these readings”, as Hansen expects, “provide
no closure; they are meant rather to spark questions and encourage a range of
responses.”(xiii) In this context, it would be interesting to see, for example, how Dongri Sangeet Natak Company, also known as
the Bombay Royal Opera, established in 1881 was popular for its spectacular
production of Indrasabha (1881) inspired by the Parsi theatre. The
Patankar Sangeet Mandali known for its production of Vikram Shashikala
(1891) was one of the earliest groups to have employed tunes from the
contemporary Parsi theatre in their performances. Thus, rightly, as Hansen
observes, “the catchy music” and “tunes from the Parsi companies soon
infiltrated the soundscapes...The allure of the new mode was so great that by
the turn of the century the Parsi theatre had become a ubiquitous part of
public culture across the subcontinent.”
Stages of Life: Indian Theatre
Autobiographies would remain a source
of inspiration for performing artists to contextualise their own practices and for
scholars to build a critical discourse on the cultural story of an era.
With
her new book, Stages of Life: Indian Theatre Autobiographies (Permanent
Black, 2011) an erudite scholar on Indian theatre history, Kathryn Hansen
attempts the recovery of little known personal narratives from a fascinating
historical period with different perspectives, and introduces them to the
reader of the present.
The book holds four autobiographies: Narayan
Prasad Betab’s The Deeds of Betab, Radheshyam Kathavachak’s My
Theatre Days, Jayshankar Sundari’s Some blossoms, Some Tears; and
Fida Husain’s Fifty Years in the Parsi Theatre. The autobiographies, translated
into English from Hindi for the first time and complemented by the pictures of writers
and the plays they wrote or acted in, mark the apex of the Parsi theatre covering
the second half of the 19th century to the first half of the 20th
century spanning the “age of infectious song and story.” (x)
Equally interesting portion in the book is Hansen’s
insightful critical analysis of the ‘performative self’ with reference to the four
autobiographies. Sumptuously laid before and after the autobiographies; the four
chapter analysis provides a frame of reference to read the chosen texts in two
ways. First, it presents the broad outline of the history of the Parsi theatre,
its emergence, development and intersection with other theatre forms of the
time. Second, as one of the articles, ‘Theatrical Memoirs and The Archives of
Autobiography’ suggests, Hansen investigates the autobiography as a source for
writing cultural history. While tracing the history of the ‘self-referential
texts’ in India, Hansen reflects upon newer dramatic practices in various
regional contexts and emergence of theatre as institution in India through the lens of contemporary social and political
movements. In addition, each autobiography is
prefaced with instructive introductions. The scrupulously written introductions
cover the writers’ personal histories, the stories behind writing their
own stories, the translator’s work on different versions of the available
source texts, and creation of the final texts to include in the book.
Of the four autobiographies, The Deeds of
Betab, written in 37 manzils (stages), is a story of Narayan Prasad Betab
who was born to a sweet-maker’s family four years after the commercial
activities of the Parsi theatre had begun in 1868.The moving prose of The Deeds
of Betab brings to light one of the
glorious eras in Indian theatre when playwrights and their writing
processes were respected; they were offered a space or, to use today’s buzz
word, ‘residencies’ by theatre companies to enable them to focus on writing.
Indeed, playwright like Betab responded to this ‘luxury’ with honesty and
ingenuity by revising the plays and getting “exhilarated by the work on the
scene”. (76) Betab received an invitation from a theatre company run by Jamadar
Saheb when he was working with a printing press as a compositor. On the
invitation, Jamadar “upped the salary to thirty rupees, agreement was reached,
and to show his affection he dropped me at the railway station in his cart. The
ox-cart, back then, was a sign of great wealth, even more prestigious than a
motorcar today. The ride in Lalaji’s cart, the good wishes of my fellow
employee, and the pomp of this farewell to poor Narayan-all lodged in my
heart.” (76) Betab in his fascinating story narrates some of the zesty
experiences in his life when the case against the company was filed, he was
summoned and his writing was examined for a sensational play, Qatl-e Nazir that
left “the whole city abuzz.”(78)Interestingly, elucidating the nexus of art and
society, Betab reveals that the company’s lawyer “worked pro bono, fighting the
case in exchange for a free pass”. (78)It must be added that Kathryn Hansen finalised
the translated texts after deleting some portion of it. For example “poetic
couples and whole dialogues”and “dramatic examples” that gave the original text
“performative flair” and “meta-textual comment” on Betab’s “reputation as a
poet” have not been included in the translation. (55-56) However, considering
Betab’s contribution to the play-writing and script-writing in the early days
of theatre and cinema respectively, the deleted part might have enhanced the flavor
of Betab’s creative writing.
Radheshyam Kathavachak’s autobiography, My
Theatre Days, organised in six chapters, covers his life from childhood to
old age exhibiting his versatile personality of performing different roles. As a
part of family tradition, Radheshyam gave the Ramayana and devotional recitals;
while on contract with the Parsi theatre company, he wrote plays; and as a
script writer, he played an active role in the film industry. Radheshyam also
started a publishing house that printed devotional literature. Writing
about the lasting impact of his legacy, Hansen writes: “The Radheshyam Ramayan… became one of the core texts
utilized in the influential television serial directed by Ramanand Sagar in the
1980s. His legacy endures in regular productions of his plays at the National
School of Drama and other urban venues, and in the continuing circulation of
his devotional verses in the countryside. On a more sinister note, Radheshyam’s
dramas contributed to the consolidation of Hindu nationalism, and some view him
as a harbinger of the divisive Hindutva politics of recent decades.” (103-104)
The autobiographies of the two actors; Jayshankar Prasad, a well-known
female impersonator, and Fida Husain are feasts for theatre geeks. The self-portraits
of these actors give details of salaries they were paid, the clothing they were
provided by their theatre companies and the daily activities they had to follow
like washing the cooking pots, sweeping the room and doing the dishes although someone
like Jayshankar “hated this work” (194). Unlike today, when an actor memorises
his/her own dialogues, attends rehearsals, and leaves after his/her role is
rehearsed; in those days, an actor like Jayshankar “had to memorize every role,
so that if one of them was absent another could play his part.” (204)
Importantly, the first hand narratives throw light on the preparation of an actor
when the modern training system of ‘direction’ had not evolved yet. Jayshankar records,
“everything was left to the actor” and “the logic was never explained.” He
adds, “I had to figure out the system of knowledge by myself. Thrown into the
water you learn to swim; so were taught to move our limbs, but there was no
opportunity to learn the science behind it.” (193)
Jayashankar Prasad and Fida Husain represent the
high time in theatre history when emerging entertainment economy, new ways of
publicity, changed relations between audience and actors, and profit making
goals of the theatre companies configured representation of women through
female impersonators. Some of the most mesmerising and valuable accounts in the
actors’ autobiographies are of the male actor performing female roles. Jayshankar
shares his first experience of being female impersonator by wearing a choli
and lahanga. As if talking to his own mirror image, Jayshankar says, “…he
was transformed into a woman, or rather into the artistic form that expresses
the feminine sensibility. A beautiful young female revealed herself inside me.
Her shapely, intoxicating youth sparkled. Her feminine charm radiated
fragrance. She had an easy grace in her eyes, and in her gait was the glory of
Gujarat. She was not a man, she was a woman. An image such as this was the one
I saw in the mirror.” (210) This representation of a woman was always of a
certain sophisticated class as reflected in her accessories, her hair style and
clothing. As it also happened with the legendary actor Balgandharva of the Marathi
theatre, it is remembered in Some blossoms, Some Tears that “women in
society imitated Sundari.”(209) The public adored Jayshankar and he too graciously
entertained them as a female impersonator. However, one might find it
frustrating to see that Jayshankar, like several other female impersonators of
the time, found himself locked in playing a female role. Jayshankar reveals
that he was “unable to carry off a masculine gait, and people hooted [him]off
the stage” when he wanted to play the male part of Muzaffar in the play, Haman. (193)
The
final autobiographical account of another female impersonator, Fifty Years
in the Parsi Theatre covers the Parsi theatre much after slowing down of
theatre practices in India with the release of talking cinemas in the 1930s. A
theatre scholar Pratibha Agarwal’s interview with Fida Husain which was
published as “an oral history” came to be known as Husain’s autobiography. Fida
Husain’s “fragmented, circular, and digressive” story, filtered through the
“elicitor and editor” in order to “trigger a version of self and history” poses
a few challenges. (254) First, it
contests the authenticity of the written autobiography against the oral
narrative of the interview in telling a story of self. Second, admittedly,
while there is “the need to tell a story that works” (254), the inclusion of a text,
previously published under the authorship of Agarwal, but now as an autobiography of Fida Husain is a debatable issue.
Thirdly, the text lacks the flow and intensity that the three other
autobiographies have, primarily because of Agarwal’s intervention (as the
interviewer) into it; even though Hansen defends the interview format in her
introduction to the text.
All the four autobiographers witnessed one of the
critical and formative periods in India but, curiously, they do not seem to be
going beyond the ‘mera natak, mera ghar’ (My Home, My Theatre) attitude,
showing aloofness to the world outside their own and to the current happenings
of the time. Jayshankar does refer to the visit by the heir to the British
throne to India and the resulting riots between Maharashtrians, Gujaratis and
Parsis and the reader comes to know that he had promised a Parsi family to save
them in case of the crisis that in the end did not arise. Similarly, Fida
Husain expresses, as Hansen points in the final chapter, ‘“no hint of sympathy
with the political movement for Pakistan, nor does he mention whether he or his
family ever considered whether they would remain in India or migrate at
Partition.” (330)
Besides being indifferent, a prolific writer like
Narayan Prasad Betab displays,at times, insensitivity to gender roles,
especially in his discussion of and also in his tone towards widow marriages,
when he writes that he was “not in favor of women being given the freedom to
marry again and again”. Further in this connection, Betab writes, “However, I
think that when men are widowed, they too should remain widowers. Or at least
if they are going to remarry, they should marry a widow, not a virgin.” (80) In
connection to this, Hansen makes an important observationthat “None
of the other autobiographies, however, describes how it felt for a man to play
a women’s role.” Against this background, possibly, Sita Devi, associated with
the Moonlight Theatre, referred to in Fifty Years in the Parsi Theatre might
have been a befitting choice to include in Stages of Life to get another
view on female impersonation.
Much is documented, much of it by Kathryn Hansen
herself, about the Parsi theatre in the nineteenth century India. But there
have been few efforts to analyse the Parsi theatre in connections with theatrical
expressions in other languages. Hansen’s book enables establishing such
connections and encourages exchange of ideas between theatres practices across
different regions in India. Thus “these readings”, as Hansen expects, “provide
no closure; they are meant rather to spark questions and encourage a range of
responses.”(xiii) In this context, it would be interesting to see, for example, how Dongri Sangeet Natak Company, also known as
the Bombay Royal Opera, established in 1881 was popular for its spectacular
production of Indrasabha (1881) inspired by the Parsi theatre. The
Patankar Sangeet Mandali known for its production of Vikram Shashikala
(1891) was one of the earliest groups to have employed tunes from the
contemporary Parsi theatre in their performances. Thus, rightly, as Hansen
observes, “the catchy music” and “tunes from the Parsi companies soon
infiltrated the soundscapes...The allure of the new mode was so great that by
the turn of the century the Parsi theatre had become a ubiquitous part of
public culture across the subcontinent.”
Stages of Life: Indian Theatre
Autobiographies would remain a source
of inspiration for performing artists to contextualise their own practices and for
scholars to build a critical discourse on the cultural story of an era.
(Published on H-Asia, November 2012. Commissioned by Prof Sumit Guha)
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