Time after time

Listened to a couple of choirs yesterday. One sang Hava Nagila...we had sung that fifteen years ago.

Am now officially feeling older:)

Energy

Hell and Illuminations, which showcased Rimbaud's poetry in dramatic form, opened with masked dancers. His poetry is very Romantic, his images sweeping and he also gave voice to Ophelia. We travelled all over seas with him, as he swept us along. He "has inherited from his ancestors, the Gauls, lust, magnificent lust. Sloth too."

The Indian dance movements which seemed to be interludes came across as forced, however.

डर के आगे जीत है

I was told once that when you point a finger at someone, three point back at you.

They’re called Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva.

You can create, maintain or destroy your status quo.

Ebrahim Alkazi: Life & Times

Ebrahim Alkazi, the Father of Theatre in India, received a Lifetime Achievement award from the Delhi Government. He took us through his life's work- using photographs on a projector.

A perfectionist, the scale on which he envisions and executes performances is consistently immense.

Among some of the anecdotes he shared, were Nehru's bodyguards rushing to protect him when actors were doing a "मारों पकडके मारो " scene from Dharamveer Bharti's Andha Yug at Ferozeshah Kotla. Nehru warned him that there were snakes at old monuments, something he discovered to be true at Purana Kila.

The photographs of the performance of Karnad's Tughlaq at Lal Kila were imposing. The fort came alive with the men who were attired in the outfits of the age. The steps were carpeted. They belonged to the fort, owned it, seemed to have lived there forever.

On another occasion the guilottine on stage collapsed. The hysterical actors had to be hospitalised.

Choreography of the women in Troy was also stunning. They circled the protagonist, echoing her grief.

The stage for King Lear in Sahitya Akademi was a bare room. The corrugated iron sheets used were deliberately rusted. Alkazi's attention to detail came through in all his productions.

A particular tree in the Akademi area attracted him with it's "character" and he staged several open air productions there. One of them was Premchand's Godaan. He built from a photograph of a villager sipping from a लोटा - he wanted to show the spirit of survival as embodied by his sinewy arm.

In Mumbai, he asked the landlord of a building that he liked for permission to do theatre on the terrace. Several water tanks were removed, Mumbaikars trudged six floors up to see his productions. As the stepped seats where the audience sat were directly above the dressing room, all comments on the productions could be heard.

For a production of Tennessee William's Suddenly, Last Summer- a "vicious, terrible play" Alkazi got skulls of animals butchered by his cook and perched them on the terrace stage for the desired atmosphere.

A man with a cult following, it is a pity he has not done any productions for the last twenty years, preferring to paint.

A recluse now, it was a treat to hear his adda on theatre and how he had shaped it.

Kudos to Ms. Shiela Dixit for this idea of hers, or else we may never have had this opportunity to learn about this horse from his mouth.

Male got me

Every man
Should read Anne
Of Green Gables
Guys watch cable.

Pi

I liked Life of Pi. A fantastical tale, I felt the narrator's terror. I admired his courage, as he fought his fear. It took me to another world. Vernon God Little is not as absorbing.

Howler

"दीदी, क्या rebel का मतलब उसने फिर से bell बजाया?"

!

Obfuscations

Claudio Magris's reading on love's grammar- love has no tenses, but many moods.

Moods and clauses are not my strong point, I generally skip them when teaching.

Jibber Jabber

Utilised my holiday to write for 4 hours (felt quite proud of myself, don't know how much of it is any good). Also did my summer-winter wardrobe shift, which I had been dreading. When I reached late for gym, my coach said that he thought I would be keeping the Shivratri fast. yeah right:). Attended the Almost Island Udayan Vajeyi & Bei Dao reading at IIC. Udayan's poetry revolved around family and had a strong astronomical flavour- the Hindi original had a punch the English translation lacked.
Bei Dao's poetry was reflective, perhaps reflecting Chinese culture. I liked his images-like, the two brother hands of the clock made an acute angle.
Rushed home to watch Desperate Housewives, only to realise it's not a Sunday.

Useful Poem by Borges

You Learn
After a while you learn the subtle difference

Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning

And company doesn't mean security.
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts

And presents aren't promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats

With your head up and your eyes open

With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today

Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans

And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn...

That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,

Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure...
That you really are strong
And you really do have worth...
And you learn and learn...
With every good-bye you learn.

Roundup

Confrontational talking helped

"Lunch's on me," she yelped.

Ackack

Jodha Akbarally's wrestled their way
Leads pumped full of lead Mandalay.

A pic

Bought Cilappatikaram yesterday- it has some lyrical descriptions- brows like Cupid's bow.

Tipping Point

I thought it dealt with epistemological breaks, a la Foucault, but I was pleased to discover it was more hands on. it cited an idea I had had, am waiting for more to emerge, as did post Why we buy.
Think Amrita Pritam is more palatable in the original.
Tumhari mein haari
Puttar?

Biblio

Bought Borges, Semler and Amrita Pritam at the World Book Fair. visited three halls. I liked the setup. Will return next week.

I write nothings about the same
Only because I know you came.

Mahon, Masc.

Derek Mahon’s rightfully one of the top 10 writers of today. The minute I saw him, I knew that he was someone special. Photographs are distant.
His poetry, specially the fresh ones he read from Goa, made me feel good inside- after a very long time.
As a translator too, he captures the flavour of the original very accurately.
An Irish poem on a game of cards played between a man and a woman with brows “like two strokes of a pen”, the skull shaped coconuts of Goa, the ceiling fan that went “round and round” brought freshness back to age old subjects.
I like the way he rhymes with sense, his poems are deceptively simple but pack a lot of thoughts and ideas.
I’m looking forward to his return, perhaps at the Jaipur Literary Festival, which may be where the Irish Literary Festival goes next.
“Never a day without a line.”

Love dovetailed crow blows
Night bowtied, daggered days wane
Still bleeds weeds kama gardens
Tears on drip trip trickle steam
Chug hug lunge to the loam
That you feed, house louse.

Space, the final frontier surrounds me
I warm in the air you breathe out, see
Blanks confront this shooter from the hip
My gaps fill with sonnet lumiere trips
As tastes ash, pink stinks, press flesheaters.

As this sun spreads red across an inked sky
Sets, defeated, that this time too, met not yours
Hides from my wrath, the night consoles
With mere manmares to snare my soul.

As I watch her flail my soul
I stop myself from running to
Catch her before she falls
She is outside me and the world’s now.

As we trail knowledge from opposite bends
I wonder whether Columbus’s world is round.

We share a sun, not sunny signs
The moon shows us her same side
Stars lit up equal hemispheres
Can I hopscotch on them to there?

As my soul unwraps itself daily
For thee to see what I be
I strip, unpeel to reach the core
When I know you are the shore.

As I fill my joint days
With aphim that is not you
I highjump over curdled hurdles
Only to fall in night’s moonsweats.

Whether I pause the world
Or myself
I see the same.
Whirlpool eyes that sucked me in
Where I circle, learning to swim.
Warring with oneself
Defeats the purposeful.

My thoughts tiptoe around you
Scared to breathe you in life
When they clatter, mind loses matter.

A day in the life of a tiger

is worth a thousand as a sheep.

Chinese proverb.

Open Baithak Biradari featuring Bob Holman

Bob's hyperactivity reminded me of Robin Williams, whom I like only in films. The Challenge was an innovative way to combine the regulars with the new- Bob would respond to each poet with one of his own. I enjoyed Badshah's poem on the tiger- how it returns to the sunset and curses us with an Ice Age.
Taught exchange rate in hindi-hope my student passes her boards. Some of what I teach is guesswork. Terrific strain on the brain.
Finally finished Zadie Smith's The Autograph Man- which I had bought at the last book fair. It had it's moments but I found it tough to read it for more than an hour at a time- which is unusual for me.
New coach at the gym is making me work out with a vengeance- feels good.
was also fun to meet a woman writer- Claire Kilroy with two others at the Irish Literary festival. Over red wine, I asked her whether she connected with women wroters differently. She agreed. Men write women incorrectly often, because they look at them differently.
I liked the reading of the children's book The Boy in the Striped Pajamas best. Think my attention span has not progressed much:) Another listener shared my sentiments, finding it the most readable. The Information Overload Age has had many side effects.
What struck me was that they write so much- 8 hours a day.
None of them read from what they had written on Ireland. The world writer now seems to be a reality.

The Hungry Spirit by Charles Handy

I had picked it up at the Walden sale but then ended up giving it away before I had time to read it. I read the first page online.
Coincidentally, it talks of how "In Africa, they say there are two hungers. The lesser and the greater. The lesser refers to food and sleep. The greater to the question Why?"
Titillation, often seen in art today, caters to the former. It was well treated by a Ruchika production I saw a couple of years ago, which I described and a team member agreed to, as being like a souffle. A frank discussion of family's different ways of coming to terms with their varying sexualities, it was funny without being heavy breathing.
Just laughed nonstop for a while, watching a friend chase two others around the lawn.:)
Look for the bear necessities
Mother Nature's recipes
Forget about your worries and your cares
The bare necessities of life will come to you.
Jungle Book.
Don't like the story I wrote any more much. But I had supreme fun writing it.

Penultimate weekend @ Theatre Utsav

Past is Stimulation was wistful, with a gauzy green backdrop, similar to the outfits the women wore. A scene involving partial nudity evoked gasps of shock from the audience.

I liked Nati Binodini. The humour, the action which resulted from having multiple actors play the lead, ensured the subject was deftly treated.

Charandas was as usual delighful. The lead was impressive, as was the music, dance and other actors.

Burqavaganza was awful. Pakistan artistes used the burqa to make digs at everything and everyone, but the humour was gross.

Stay yet Awhile was yet another docu-drama which had Gandhi and Tagore.

Am taking a break from the festival for a couple of days.