GOING TO ALL LENGTHS
For 22 years Ishamuddin Khan has amazed people with a legendary Indian illusion – making a rope seem to rise into the air. He now faces the challenges of legalising his work and saving his home
Indian rope trick conjuror says changing law will be no mean feat,
NEW DELHI // For a brief moment Ishamuddin Khan had the world at his feet. A pioneer of the Great Indian Rope Trick – an illusion of such legend it was long believed to be impossible – he thought fame and fortune were assured.
But about 22 years after he first dazzled crowds with his ability to conjure a length of coiled rope out of a basket and make it rise six metres into the air for an assistant to climb, he is still battling for recognition – for himself, and his art.
Angered by India’s lack of support for his industry, he is taking on archaic laws that criminalise street performers.
“I love to perform on the streets but under the law I am not a busker but a beggar,” Khan says.
“I can’t fight the law on my own but I am determined not to give up,” he says, adding that he has enlisted the help of a legal centre to challenge the antiquated regulations, a daunting task in India’s overburdened courts and maze-like bureaucracy. Khan’s father had a monkey show, while his mother was a ragpicker.
He grew up in Kathputli Colony, an enclave of conjurers, snake charmers and puppeteers in New Delhi’s slums famously referenced in the Salman Rushdie novel Midnight’s Children as the “magician’s ghetto”.
But such trades are no longer valued, he says, pointing to the decades- old Bombay Beggary Act, which treats millions of street buskers as a public nuisance and forces them into a state of perpetual illegality, where they must stay a step ahead of the law.
Because of this, there is little opportunity for tribal performers to be celebrated, despite India’s rich history of mysticism and artistic tradition.
“In India, if you’re talented it doesn’t make any difference,” Khan says, glancing at his rope basket and other magic props in his shanty home tucked away in an alley reeking of sewage. “If you don’t have enough money or a godfather with you, or sponsorship from the government or a businessman that is a big problem. And that makes me cry, sometimes I feel very bad.”
In 1995, Khan became the first to perform the rope trick for the public in an outside space – considered a huge feat in the world of magic because it affords few options for props, lighting trickery or hidden aids.
The trick was first mentioned by European writers during the British Raj era, Khan says. It was regarded as so difficult that in the 1930s the Magic Circle offered a reward to anyone who could do it.
Decades later, a version of the story reached Khan. Already well versed in the skills of the trade from childhood, where he had learned tricks from family and friends, he was motivated to take on the impossible.
“I heard once that if somebody succeeds in doing the trick, he would get money from the British Magic Circle. So I spent six years to find the secret of the trick,” he says.
He delivered the performance, complete with a child seemingly climbing the levitating rope, at the historic Qutub Minar monument in New Delhi to an enraptured audience of hundreds.
“Overnight I won international fame, I was world famous,” he recalls, reminiscing how the crowd broke into thunderous applause at the Mughal-era ruins. News of his achievement spread – he was invited to perform abroad, sponsors took an interest, and even now foreign tourists seek him out when visiting New Delhi.
‘ I can’t fight the law on my own but I am determined not to give up Ishamuddin Khan pioneer of Indian rope trick
Yet at home, there has been little interest in his repertoire, which also includes transforming mango seeds into a shrub by sleight of hand and regurgitating iron balls.
Performers such as Khan often have to eke out a living on the streets and risk daily harassment from police who demand bribes or threaten charges because they are in breach of the law.
Calls for the government to amend the dated legislation have fallen on deaf ears. And the slum that he and about 2,000 families of street performers call home is being razed, ending decades of tradition.
But Khan, who speaks fluent Hindi and English as well as a little French and Japanese, is hopeful that he can bring about change. “I love to perform on the streets, and I should be allowed some public space so that I can entertain passersby. Is it too much to ask?”