‘Much of our syncretic world has gone asunder. But there is still something for everyone’ Demand for content too is changing…
MUMBAI: ‘Mumbai Murmurings: 213 Tiny Tales of Theatre’, a book about the connection between Mumbai and theatre, and what lurks beneath is launching on March 27 -- World Theatre Day. Hindustan Times caught up with the author Ramu Ramanathan for a tete-a-tete about the book and more. Excerpts:
Mumbai’s theatre movement has been around since preIndependence. Why did you write ‘Mumbai Murmurings: 213 Tiny Tales of Theatre’ now?
I was conducting a lot of online workshops for young theatrewallahs, and college and university drama clubs during the Covid years. A playwright friend, Himali Kothari used to attend these sessions. I tried to narrate stories for young people to help them understand a bit about the masters. Kothari felt these are educative and entertaining and they should be documented before my memory fades. That’s how it began.
But had you not thought of the idea of a book on these lines before? How long has it been in the works?
I’ve done 25 talks called ‘A to Z of Mumbai Theatre.’ So the idea’s been there since eons. As VK Shukla says, you let ideas have vanvaas -- approximately 14 years. I too let the idea pickle. A major chunk of theatre entails waiting with gupshups and guftagus. A 10-year stint as editor of ‘PT Notes’, a theatrical periodical by Sanjna Kapoor, for Prithvi Theatre, the ‘ESTQ’ bulletin, plus all the theatre writing helped. As the French historian Marc Bloch said documentation can be from intentional or unintentional sources. That’s my process too.
Other attempts focus on the history of Mumbai’s theatre movement. Your book locates theatre in its ecosystem.
This is neither an academic book nor a personal memoir. It’s fun, tiny tales that examine theatre in Mumbai. It helps that my dad is a Tamilian-malayali and my mother an Urdu-speaking Punjabi-haryanvi. I was born in Kolkata and my spouse is Gujarati. And so, at any point, seven to eight languages are being spoken at home. And each language is a doorway into a new world. I’ve encapsulated it all in the book.
How would you describe your book vis-à-vis others?
Most books about Mumbai’s theatre are about a theatre company or stars and celebrities. I’ve always sought both telescopic and microscopic investigation. Like ‘Bahuroopi’ by Kolhatkar or the autobiography by Mama Warerkar. I am also trying that. Mumbai is now part of the ‘cement economy.’ So policy makers and urban developers pour more and more cement and rebuild the city.
This means creating skyscrapers, roads, flyovers at an unprecedented pace and scale. This sort of development has always been a class phenomenon. In Mumbai, it is a lot more accentuated because you’re banishing the poor who’ve built this city. At a time when all other arts have capitulated to the tyranny of this urbanisation, theatre helps one understand this mutation better.
Interviewing theatre persons, exploring iconic neighbourhoods of theatre one understands. But khanavals (traditional eateries)? Really?
Khanavals in Girangaon were the norm. Even today, some exist. I visited one in Chinchpokli last week. It used to be a community eatery where home-style economic and nutritious meals were served. All kinds of people, including theatrewallahs ate there. Interestingly, food is central to theatre. All great playwrights have a good food scene. Food is a great unifier. It is not part of the food fascism rampant today.
Theatre once aided different ‘isms.’ Is that a thing of the past now?
On the contrary. Lots of young theatrewallahs are staging radical political plays. Even those who used to say I am apolitical or non-political, have ‘something’ to say, since 2014. And most are saying it to the best of their ability. Most plays even in inter-collegiate playwriting competitions have an angry strident voice. What’s ground to a halt since the late ’70s and early ’80s is the belief that theatre is dead. Theatre is the oldest art form on this planet. Why underestimate its innate ability to survive. Theatrewallahs know that if the play’s the thing, then playwrights know how to say “the thing” metaphorically/ allegorically. The audience gets the message. Always.
Theatre in many languages once had its own distinctiveness…
So much of our syncretic world has gone asunder. But there is still something for everyone. In the past one month, I attended the Bhendi Bazar at Mohammed Ali Road, Majestic Guppa at Vile Parle East and the Gateway Fest at the Mumbai University. All were packed with their exclusive audiences. In this complex city with multiple disjointed narratives, the dots were once easier to join, now they aren’t. We are in retreatmode…
Yes. Consider Shivaji Mandir. Marathi theatre’s mecca. What this auditorium loses in finesse, it makes up with atmosphere with three to four shows daily, round-the-clock audiences, and the vendor selling batata wadas. The Great Bombay Textile Strike of 1982 altered the nature of theatre. Post the strike, the working classes abandoned it. The balcony section at Shivaji Mandir was shut. It modified the kind of stories being told on the stage. Mumbai’s theatre never recovered from this banishment.
Who are the contemporary legatees to the legends of yore?
Sushama Deshpande’s penned a play called ‘Whay Mee Savitribai’ (1989). Later she performed this piece 2,500-3000 times in Marathi. Approximately 10 years ago she staged Urmilla Pawar’s ‘Aaydan’ with three young theatre actors. Now this trio (Nandita, Shubhangi, Shilpa) stage ‘Whay Mee Savitribai’ in English and Hindi. There’s even a production in Pardhi language. Point is, theatre talent takes time to develop. It doesn’t drop out of a tree like Newton’s apple. Legacy and legatees need time and nurturing.
Despite the consuming optics and surround sound of the mainstream, folk theatre is a big draw. Why doesn’t it get its due?
These forms know how to, and always unfailingly find their niche. There will always be lokdharmi and natyadharmi theatre. Their outreach and longterm impact will be different. It’s unfair to compare a Mukul Shivputra with Sonu Nigam, or a Venkatesh Kumar with Arijit Singh.
Do you think today’s climate would let you write ‘Mahadevbhai’, ‘3 Sakina Manzil’, ‘Cotton 56’, ‘Polyester 84’, ‘Jazz’, ‘Comrade Kumbhakarna’ and ‘Postcards From Bardoli’?
With the honourable exception of ‘Comrade Kumbhakarna’, I think all the plays can still be written and staged. Having said that, ‘Comrade Kumbhakarana’ is being performed by young university students in Maharashtra and Karnataka.
But one hears of playwrights selfcensoring…
There are those who dare to say what they want and then there are those who say very important things deploying metaphors. Shakespeare of course was the coolest cat in town. When you read ‘Richard III’, you realise his genius. To be a Catholic and write such a play; and not be arrested for treason by the religious thought-police. To say what you want to say as a playwright; and yet dodge state censorship; and above all, to stage one of the biggest box office blockbusters of the times.
What is keeping you busy now?
I’m reading Nobel laureate Efriede Jelinek’s ‘Totenauberg’. In the play a philosopher and political scientist Hannah Arendt (the woman) and the nationalistic existential philosopher Martin Heidegger (the old man) have a dialogue. It is a brilliant play about the entanglement of philosophy and fascism and the mechanisms of repression. This is the stuff theatre is made of!
‘MUMBAI MURMURINGS: 213 TINY TALES OF THEATRE’ DWELLS ON THE CONNECTION BETWEEN MUMBAI AND THEATRE