Nishant Natya Manch-Review of a performance by Professor Ishtiaque Ahmed in The News Lahore--1-4-2007

Nishant Natya Manch-Review of a performance by Professor Ishtiaque Ahmed in The News Lahore--1-4-2007

by Shamsul Islam (Notes) on Sunday, January 29, 2012 at 9:36am

Editor-in-Chief: Mir Shakil-ur-Rahman




 Street theatre in Delhi

The International Women's Day on March 8 is celebrated throughout the world to highlight the continuing vulnerable situation of women and to emphasise that as long as females are treated as inferior a genuinely egalitarian, democratic and humane society is still a very distant goal.

This message was brought home with intense dramatic effect on the lawns of Kirormal College of the University of Delhi by the street theatre group, Nishant (which means in Hindi 'end of darkness'). It was a fairly mild spring day and a large group of students and teachers were waiting for the play to start. I arrived just in time to see the group play an adapted version of the well-known Urdu short-story writer and novelist Krishan Chander's (1914-1977) famous story, Garrha (Hole/Pit). It is one of the most powerful satires of Krishan Chander.

The senior-most members of Nishant, Professor Shamsul Islam and his wife Neelima Sharma, have been for years taking up the themes of poverty, corruption, casteism, religious bigotry and warmongering in their street performances. In the original story a poor man falls into a hole in the earth. He starts yelling for help but nobody pays any attention to his pleas because they see no advantage in coming to his aid. Neelima had adapted Krishan Chander's Garrha to the stark reality of female degradation and replaced the man with a woman.

The woman pleads for help but street loafers, politicians, priests, the police and an academic bloke researching precisely the depressed status of Indian women -- one after the other arrive on the scene but helping a woman in distress does not cut much ice with them. The reasons they give for not doing so make very interesting though pathetic reasoning: the most interesting scene is when a Hindu pundit and a Muslim mulla refuse her help under various pretexts, including their suspicion that she does not belong to their faith, but both agree that women who do not obey men deserve to be punished and therefore falling in the pit must be some sort of divine penalising.

I could notice that the actors were completely engrossed in the characters assigned to them and made very convincing cases of the roles they played. The director, Professor Shamsul Islam, had with great skill and imagination employed humour and wit rather than a harsh and stern approach in interpreting the plight of the woman in the hole. We know from the long tradition of playwriting extending from Shakespeare to George Bernard Shaw that humour can sometimes be the most powerful medium to portray tragedy; Professor Islam indeed had grasped that point very well and brought it across most subtly.

I, therefore, do not know exactly whom the credit should go to most -- to Krishan Chander for providing the original idea of capitalist society treating poor human beings as expendable commodity; to Neelima Sharma for replacing the poor man with a poor and disowned woman and thus locating the focal point of oppression even more accurately; to Shamsul Islam for his excellent direction; or, to the various young men and women who played their roles so convincingly.

Perhaps the wisdom of the whole experience is not to try to identify the one particular candidate for most credit; rather, it was the spirit of comradeship and team work of the Nishant Street Theatre Group that deserved to get appreciation and praise collectively. Indeed the Nishant Group's philosophy is that only by working together can human beings create a better world.

The performance had an electrifying effect on the audience. Hundreds of students and several from the faculty were watching the play, and I in particular looked at the young female students who were watching it with utmost concentration. There was no doubt that each one of us had been profoundly touched by the play. Afterwards several small groups were formed and the audience and the Nishant actors were engaged in lively discussion on the position of women in Indian society. The general consensus was that without popular participation in awareness-raising campaigns things will not change fundamentally.

Nishant comprises about 100 committed activists who have performed street theatre in Hindi, Urdu, Haryanvi, Bhojpuri, Nepali, Punjabi and Telugu. It started its cultural journey in 1971 with the object of taking the dreams of justice and equality of people like Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, Sukhdev, Ashfaqullah Khan, Chandershekhar Azad, Udham Singh and others who laid down their lives while opposing British rule in India to the common people of India who they believe have been cheated by the ruling classes of India.

Nishant has to its credit more than 50 plays and hundreds of songs. The Nishant activists are known for their quick cultural intervention at any place where needed. They have even been to Pakistan and performed in Lahore. It was heartening to know that the reception of the Lahore crowd to their play had also been immensely positive and many women came forward to discuss with them how to create similar groups in Pakistan.

It reminded me of the late 1960s and early 1970s when we in Pakistan had been mobilising mass support for the Pakistan People's Party and its charismatic leader Zulfikar Ali Bhutto who promised food, clothing and shelter to all citizens. I remember how idealistic young men and also girls and women had joined that mass mobilisation, but everything went wrong after 1977. Now in Pakistan one found either enthusiasts of neo-liberal capitalism or neo-fascist fundamentalism.

The heroic left meets to recall old times and tell tales of revolutionaries of a bygone era who struggled for a better world. I must say my own nostalgia for those days and a sense of guilt for leading a rather privileged life in the west has always bothered me. I was therefore deeply moved by the efforts of the street actors of Delhi to continue to uphold the honourable tradition of campaigning for a better world through theatre.

Like Nishant I too am convinced that the purpose of life is to try to change the world in a way that nobody is treated unjustly or unfairly and nobody has to live in fear of persecution and hunger. One day hopefully this message of Nishant will be heeded by all and sundry. My own hunch is that social-democracy coupled with individual freedom and choice and the rule of law is the formula that will ultimately prevail because that combination is the best one that we know of thus far.


The writer is professor of political science at the University of Stockholm, Sweden. Email: Ishtiaq.Ahmed@statsvet.su.se

On pathetic condition of Munshi Premchand's house (CRUMBLING BRICKS OF LITERARY GRANDEUR)

 DAILY PIONEER, New Delhi, 26-06-1996

CRUMBLING BRICKS OF LITERARY GRANDEUR

Katha Samrat Premchand’s residence in Lamhi Village has fallen a prey to criminal neglect. Shamsul Islam visits the ruins of a historic site.

Hum kono Premchand ke nahin janit. Ehan savere se sanjha tak chillum piye waley auro ganda ganda kam karat waley padal raha na. E ghar purey gaon ka kuda khana ban gail ha. Hum apney bachhan ke nahalwawat hai ta kaun pap karat hai?” (I do not know any Premchan. Here from morning till night the drug addicts and people involved in dirty deeds lie around. It is a house which has become a dustbin for the whole village. If I am giving bath to my children, is it a crime?)

Thus spoke Phulpatti while washing clothes and giving bath to her children on a hand-pump standing in the midst of the ruins of a house in the village Lamhi near Varanasi, where the greatest writer of Urdu-Hindi literature was born in the year 1880, wrote most of his works and died in 1936.

The functioning of this historic site as a community dustbin is a stark testimony to the insensitivity and ungratefulness of a nation to one of its writers whose fame went beyond the seven seas and who has always been acclaimed as the greatest narrator of the sorrows, joys and aspirations of the Indian peasantry.

Premchand was a worthy contemporary of Maxim Gorky and Lu Xun—incidentally all three died in the same year, 1936. It is really heart-breaking to see the crumbling state of the house where once the Katha Samrat (master story-teller) lived and created works like Soz-e-Watan, Godan, Ghaban, Nirmala, Shatranj ke Khilari, Seva Sadan, Kafan and characters like Hori, Gobar, Dhaniya, Pt. Datadin, Mote Ram Shastri and Surdas who are as real and living today as they were in the first half of this century.

Premchand was bron on July 1, 1980 in Lamhi as Dhanpat Rai Srivastav in a family of Kayasths. His initial education took place in the village madrasa and his first piece of writing was a biography of Oliver Cromwell (1903). But it was the publication of his collection of short stories Soz-e-Watan in Urdu (1909) which made him a household name in northern India. Not everyone knows that till Soz-E-Watan in Urdu (1909) which made him a household name in northern India. Not everyone knows that till Soz-e-Watan Premchand was using Nawab Rai as his penname.

Soz-e-Watan was full of nationalistic fervour and was written against the backdrop of the rising tide of revolutionary terrorist movement throughout India which reached a high-water mark with the hanging of Khudiram Bose by the British rulers.

The popularity of the Soz-e-Watan alarmed the British administration and soon they were able to find out through their intelligence network that Nawab Rai was non other than Dhanpat Rai posted in the Department of Education at Mahoba. The English collector of Mahoba called him for an explanation.

Premchand wrote about the incident in his memoirs: “Saheb asked about the theme of each story. At the end, he was very angry and said that my stories were filled with sedition… were one-sided and had insulted the British Government. He also passed the orders that I should hand over all the copies of Soz-e-Watan to the Government and should not pen anything without his consent.” To cease to be a writer was not acceptable to Premchand. Since it was Nawab Rai who was prohibited from writing, he chose ‘Premchand’ as the other penname and started writing in Hindi as well. It is as Premchand that he has been immortalized.

Premchand was a rebel by nature. He married a child widow, Shivrani, in the year 1906 even though his biradri and family socially boycotted him. He not only wrote against practices like kanyadaan but also refused to practice the same at the time of his daughter’s marriage. He wrote, “Why kanyadaan? Either we give lifeless things as alms or only cow among living things. Is the girl a cow?”

After resigning his Government job he was often hard-up for money but he refused to be a court writer for the British or native rulers. Once when he was offered a post in the War Journal of the British Government, he turned down the offer by saying, “Unfortunately, I do not treat it as a nationalistic act.” In the like manner, he was invited by the Raja of Alwar to be his court Katha Samrat. He declined the offer by saying that by accepting the offer he would not be able to serve the cause of literature.

A fearless and uncompromising writer who fought against all that was feudal, who relentlessly exposed the British and native tyrannical regimes, who upheld the causes of the downtrodden against heavy odds, who symbolized the freedom struggle and who was often referred to as the Kalam ka Sipahi (solider with a pen), did he not deserve better treatment from posterity?  Premchand’s namesake who worked as pressman in the printing press run by Munshiji, for more than ten years, holds Premchand’s sons Amrit Rai and Sripat Rai responsible for such a shameful scenario “Munsiji’s sons earned crores of rupees by selling his works throughout the world but never bothered to visit Lamhi or take care of this historic home.”

Dr. Ram Narain Shukl of BHU holds literary organizations and the Government responsible for such an unfortunate situation. “There are more than ten big literary orgainsations which lay claim to his heritage. They shout from house-tops that they are his real inheritors, but all that is meant for publicity or pocketing government funds. They don’t visit Lamhi even for ceremonial purposes. About five years back, the sons of Premchand donated this house to the Government for constructing a suitable memorial for the literary doyen. A contractor even started some repair work but one fine morning he simply disappeared with the doors and almirahs of the house, as no payments were made to him.”

Dr. Shukl laments the fact that besides the family, Government, and literary organizations which failed in their duties, there are no public spirited people around to save Premchand’s house for the coming generations. “In the case of Mahadevi Verma, few local poets, and writers joined hands to turn her house into Mahadevi Sahitya Sangrahalaya at Ramgarh after her death. They did not wait for the Government of some literary establishment,” says Dr. Shukl.

Of course, one can have solace from the fact that it is not the memories of only Premchand which are being washed off. Mirza Ghalib’s house in Ballimaran, Delhi and great humanist poet Surya Kant Tripathi Nirala’s house at Mahishadal in West Bengal have already been lost to junk dealers and commercial appetite.   

[The print version carried 4 photographs corroborating the shocking state of Munshi Premchand’s house in Lamhi village snapped by the author of this piece.]

Street Theatre in Pakistan by Shamsul Islam

The Times of India, New Delhi, 15-03-1992

In the Eye of the Mullah’s Scorn

Shamsul Islam

And yet, street theatre in Pakistan stands up valiantly as an important weapon of protest, focusing attention on secularism, women’s equality and the downtrodden. Shamsul Islam throws light on the movement, after a recent trip to Lahore.

There is a different kind of war being fought in Pakistan today. A war against religious fanaticism that is waged through songs, dance and diatribe, the hallmark of Pakistan’s subterranean cultural activity: street theatre which continues to exist despite the stranglehold of the draconian Dramatic Performance Act, 1876. Although the Act governs theatre activity in India too, its effect gets magnified in Pakistan due to the ‘mulla raj” there which ensures that street theatre can never secure the mandatory approval from the administration. Obviously then, all street theatre activity in Pakistan remains an illegitimate, guerilla style activity.

But this does not affect its vibrancy in any way. As theatre-activist Waseem puts it, “the war against mullaism has to be fought to its logical end. There is no way out. The issue involved does not concern only a few democratic rights. The dignity of human race and people’s creativity are at stake. So the fight must go on.”

Street theatre in Pakistan originated much later than India and in far worse conditions. By the beginning of the ‘80’s Pakistan had consolidated into a real theocratic state. Log reigns of martial law combined with strong doses of mullaism had totally liquidated any kind of protest from the organised left or centrist forces.

In such a scenario of terror and silence street theatre in Pakistan came up to accept the challenges around 1983. Madiha Gauhar, a noted street theatre activists points out, “In a situation of subjugation and total censorship, theatre activity of Pakistan somehow got hold of Badal Sarcar’s Jaloos. We started performing it without any permission. This was the beginning of the street theatre movement in our country. Along with Jaloos came the realization that theatre was not only a medium of entertainment but could also be used for political mobilisation.

Since then street theatre has not looked back in Pakistan. Several active groups in Punjab and Sindh are doing pioneer work. The Lahore-based Lok-Rehas is one of the most active and technically sound street theatre groups. Comprising both boys and girls, the group performs only in Punjabi. Maut Da Vipari (on the Gulf war), Kurlat (on rape), Zanani (on the status of women), Dharti (on landless peasants) and Guddo (on child marriage) are some of its popular productions. Their latest play focuses on the pathetic condition of minorities in Pakistan. The group puts up about 250 shows in a year. All its performances are extremely colourful with a strong content of folk music and songs. Lok-Rehas has incurred fundamentalist ire several times and has often been rescued by the audience itself.

Equally important is another Lahore-based group, Ajoka Theatre (Today’s Theatre) which performs both in Punjabi and Urdu. It also wants to branch into proscenium, a field in which Lok-Rehas already excels. Amongst its noteworthy productions are Badal Sarcar’s Jaloos, Itt (on the brick kiln workers), Dhee Rani (on the status of daughters) and Choolah (on dowry deaths). Adaptations of Brecht also feature amongst its lists of accomplishments. Led by the husband-wife team of Shahid Nadeem and Madiha Gauhar, both of whom lost their government jobs for their political theatrical activities, Ajoka performed in India in 1988.

Dastak, based in Karachi, performs only in Urdu. It consists mainly of Mohaijrs from India and is led by Mansoor Saeed who migrated from Delhi in the early ’70’s. The group has popularized Indian street plays of the Jana Natya Manch and Nishant Natya Manch in the industrial areas of Karachi. 

Then there are groups like Simbara (named after the dancing girl from Mohenjodaro) which performs only in Sindhi in the province of Sindh, and Naya Theatre which is active in Punjab. Apart from street theatre, the latter is also involved in political puppetry on themes that are secular, pro-women and for the downtrodden. Unfortunately, they are not very regular in their shows.

In its essence, street theatre in Pakistan is not only a revolt against the prevailing system, the different groups also have distinct regional, linguistic and cultural aspirations. For instance Lok- Rehas wields the banner of ‘Punjabiat’ and is dead against Urdu while Dastak articulates the socio-political outlook of the Mohajirs. Simbara, on the other hand, sees itself as a reflection of Sindhi nationalism.

A distinct feature of street theatre in Pakistan is its over-whelming folk flavour. In its form, music and poetry it is either Punjabi or Sindhi. In its music it surpasses its Indian counterpart. Dastak in fact, is the only group which performs our kind of urban street theatre. Another important aspect is its ingenuous use of puppets and masks to heighten impact and contrary to the prevalent impression, girls are an active component of street theatre actively in Pakistan too. 

But above all, street theatre in Pakistan has convincingly proved that though the intelligentsia, the print media, the electronic media have all surrendered meekly to theocracy, street theatre has not. It has emerged as a powerful weapon against fundamentalist fascism. Today the greatest challenge that confronts it, says Waseem is “the attempt of co-option by state sponsored, non-governmental organisations.” Most of the theatre activists concede that this is a pitfall against which all such protest groups must guard themselves.  

[The Print edition had a photo of a street theatre performance in Lahore]  

Bansi Parimu (renowned Kashmiri artist) interviewed by Shamsul Islam

THE SUNDAY TIMES OF INDIA, AUGUST 4, 1991

Donkeys Grazing on a Saffron Field

Bansi Parimu could never reconcile himself to his forced departure from the Valley of Kashmir. Deprived of Kashmir–its life, flora, fauna, and culture–he felt rootless and was haunted by memories of his paradise. An alien city like Delhi, with its unbearable summer, further aggravated his physical ailment and mental agony. Thus died Bansi Parimu, a refugee artist with a scar deep in his heart.

Parimu viewed the Kashmir issue from a perspective that had both artistic lucidity and personal anguish. We present his conversation on the subject, recorded a few days before his death with Shamsul Islam.

What are the factors responsible for the present impasse in Kashmir?

Kashmir’s present tragedy is the living example of what petty politics can do to a people with a glorious history of peace and brotherhood. The rulers in Delhi and their henchmen in the valley systematically aimed at under-mining the values life norms and culture of the Kashmiris.

What is the background of the youth who have taken to terrorism and fundamentalism? Most of them were, till recently, in main-stream politics. Half of them were corrupted by moneyed politicians, and the other half were declared to be anti-national because they did not agree to become stooges of the political mafia.

You have been part of the left in Kashmir. Where does it stand today in the face of the fundamentalist challenge?

The left finds itself in isolation for many reasons. Firstly, due to historical reasons there is no industrial working class or progressive peasant movement. By and large the left cadre came from the middle class which is by nature compromising. Then the central leadership also committed blunders. They always supported the man in the chair. Today most of the left is disillusioned and in disarray. In spite of this, it is only the leftists who are challenging the terrorists in the valley.

Can the military solve the Kashmir problem?

No, I do not think so. Military solution will mean that we guard Kashmir like Siachen—devoid of human life. Militants vs military seems to be an unending chain of events. It is difficult to pass value judgments, but I am sure that this violence is causing great damage to the Kashmiri psyche. On the contrary there is an urgent need of starting a dialogue within Kashmiri society. But there is no imitative.

Will you ever be able to return back to the Valley?

As far as indications from the ruling classes are concerned I do not think it is possible. However, if you search the heart of a Kashmiri migrant most of them want to go back to Kashmir. Though it may be sheer optimism

Why did you refuse to accept the migrants’ allowance?

It is so humiliating. Anyone with self respect will not seek it. It’s tout raj there.

What has been your reaction to the situation as an artist?

I am yet to settle down. Most of my time is consumed in running from one place to another for ration card, gas and admission of my daughter. Rules don’t mention that migrants will arrive from Kashmir, so the bureaucracy is insensitive. However I am planning to work on a large painting and few posters on Kashmir. One theme can be donkeys grazing on a field of saffron. 

[The great Kashmiri artist, Bansi Parimu was interviewed in Delhi. The print version appeared with a photograph in which Bansi was shown participating in a demonstration in Delhi organized by Artist Against Communalism.]

Badal Sircar's interview by Shamsul Islam

The Sunday Times of India, 11.10.1992

It won’t be ‘free’ theatre

…. If it survives on grant, instead of voluntary public contributions, Badal Sircar tells Shamsul Islam, in a rare interview

A wrecker of tradition. That perhaps describes Badal Sircar better than the expression path finder in the realm of theatre in the Indian subcontinent.

With a bang the trained town planner had appeared on the Bengali theatre scene in the early 1950’s and marked instant success as a playwright and director. Even a socially committed plays like Badi Buwaji, Pagla Ghoda, Evam Indrajeet and Baki Itihas became very popular and were performed in several other Indian languages. But, thought his proscenium productions were nationally acclaimed, at the height of its popularity he abandoned it altogether. Decrying it as moribund, in 1972-73 he switched over to ‘third theatre’ which he later named free theatre. With vigour and zeal Shatabdi, his 25 year old group, gave street performances of Sagina Mahato, Spartacus, Juloos, Ghera, Bhuma and Sheerhi. And they became all the rage with political theatre activists.

That however is only half the story of the phenomenon that is Badal Sircar. Theatre workshops conducted by him in Bangladesh and Pakistan heralded popular political theatre movements in these countries. His immense contribution to the ideological front of theatre does not stop with thought-provoking writings like Third Theatre, Changing language of Theatre and Voyages of Theatre. At 67, he yet has no dearth of ideas nor of energy. Always on the move, he is busy these days holding theatre workshops for tribals, social activists, women’s organizations, working class activists and amateur theatre activists.

In Delhi for a such workshop, he agreed after much resistance to be interviewed for the press which he has shunned for the last 10 years. Excerpts:

You propounded the theory of third theatre in early ’70s, and kept on changing your notion. How do you visualize free theatre, now?

It is true, once I thought of third theatre as a synthesis of urban and rural theatres. But even as I was working on it I corrected my opinion. For third theatre could not be a synthesis of anything if it had to be an alternative theatre. Earlier I had fallen prey to a mechanical approach. I came to the conclusion that third theatre, to be a free theatre, should not be costly, immobile or infested with commercialism. It should attempt a dialogue with the audience.

Once you decide to get rid of the paraphernalia of conventional proscenium theatre you have to depend supremely on the human body. Its potentials should be developed through intense training. Free theatre cannot be treated as pastime. For us, theatrical experience rather than narration of story is more relevant. In any case physical acting and the improvisation are far more effective than an abject dependence on language.

Critics feel your kind of theatre is merely physical theatre, at the cost of language or spoken words. They also say that too much dependence on physical formations reduces your theatre to an acrobatical experience communicable only to a middle class audience. How do you react to these comments?

This will be said only by those people who have not seen our performances, or do not want to know anything about our theatre. Even if they were to praise us, it would be for the wrong reason. But that’s the way it is in this country: without knowing anything one can go on passing judgments.

In fact we do the reverse of what has been alleged. We start with the theme script and go on to explore the form. For us content is the most important aspect of theatre. There are many who start with a form and tailor a theme or script, to fit it. We never do that.

There’s another problem with these critics. They like to believe that common people cannot respond to the finer nuances of a performance, that this is a prerogative of the elite. Our experience is that common people understand the symbols, gestures and the spirit of the play more than the so-called urban intelligentsia.

How do you explain the popularity of your theatre workshops?

In my workshops I never work on a script or play. That will be sheer wastage. Frankly, my workshops have no outcome as such. There is no end product. Because I believe a theatre workshop should simply help the participants to be creative, to live theatre and not to copy or simply follow dictats. Theatre should not be the reserve of the director alone. 

What has been the feedback in this process?

Not much in north India. In Delhi I’ve conducted workshops for NSD, Sambhav, SRC Repertory. But none of these does free theatre. It’s quite the opposite in Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu and West Bengal. In these states free theatre is taking the shape of a movement. These workshops helped theatre activists in Pakistan too, to initiate free theatre movement.

What are your views on the issue of state patronage for culture?

We are dead against it. We never apply for grants or favour from the state or its agencies. If we start asking for patronage free theatre will become meaningless. It is our experience of 20 years that you can do theatre without state grants, through voluntary public contributions.

How correct are those who believe that you want to destroy proscenium theatre?

Even if I had tried I’m sure I would not have succeeded. It is a myth propagated. True, I don’t believe in proscenium theatre, and I don’t practise it. Why should I, when I don’t find it relevant? But that does not mean that those doing proscenium theatre are my enemies.  

Why is it that suicide as a theme recurs in your plays?

It occurs in only three–Pagla Ghoda, Evem Inderajeet and Baki Itihas–out of my 50 plays. It is a wrong generalization. And please note, even though they have suicide these are not pessimistic plays. They are full of life. They do not propagate suicide. It occurs simply because it fits into the framework of the play.

[The printed interview carried a photograph of Badal Sircar which is not reproduced here.]