Peter Brook's Mahabharata at BAM (Majestic Theater) 1987

I have not written about Peter Brook's "Mahabharata", which I saw a month ago at the remodelled Majestic Theater in Brooklyn, spread over three nights (there also was a 9+ hour hour staging).    It stopped well short of greatness.   Arthur Bonner said it was awful! The reviews, too, were generally mixed.  I think it was greatly overrated and tended to become gimmicky.    The first two parts moved well (in pace) and were enjoyable.  The game of dice itself wasn't very well done, and the emotions involved just did not get conveyed.  The third part ("The War") left me disappointed -- there wasn't the vibrancy one expects, especially having been brought up seeing battle scenes in Yakshagana.  The Gita itself was reduced to one minute of whispering between two actors, followed by a cringeworthy one minute of Vishwaroopadarshan -- it was terrible because the actor who played Krishna had a rather pompous affectation (somehow RADA did not go well with Krishna here!).  The conclusion of the play was, to use a popular Americanism, "wimpy".

The play had its moments though.   The theater had been imaginatively modeled, left half stripped down, with a clay stage that had a canal at the back and a pool up front.   The best thing about the play was the sets -- the Indian textiles and handicrafts that were used.   A lot of the stagecraft was imaginative -- the use of space and the stage, but at times got contrived, especially the pyrotechnics.    It (the stagecraft) was fortunately not confined to second-hand renderings of Indian folk theatre and dance drama, but dipped into far-eastern theatre and possibly also African theatre.  

A lot has been written about the multi-ethnic cast.  Initially the variety of accents was  distracting, but I soon found myself enjoying the non-English tones far more than the English ones.  Mallika Sarabhai as Draupadi and the actress who played Gandhari were excellent.  Duryodhana, Karna, Yudhishthira, Bhima and Drona were well acted.    Krishna and, to a lesser extent, Vyasa, definitely not.

I haven't seen Carriere's text (the English version), but not much stood out.  The only scenes which transcended theatre were the scenes where Pandu is cursed by the dying doe, and when Yudhishthira answers Yama's questions at the lake.   The other powerful scenes, such as Kunti's revelation to Karna, come from the epic itself.

On the other hand , the depiction of  supremely tragic moments such as when Yudhishthira replies to Drona that Ashwaththhama (and sotto voce "the elephant") is dead,  or when Krishna breaks every rule of war, led to audience reactions which indicated that they felt that these were (Ollie North style) "neat ideas".  Maybe that is how the US society views war tactics in these Reagan years.

I really cannot recall anything remarkable about the music.  It was not as engaging as in folk Indian theatre, and did not seem inventive rhythmically or melodically. 

No, the play did not have more than "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead".

[Part of a letter to Shouri in 1987]

"Too much democracy"

 "Too Much Democracy"

In an online address the (then) NITI Ayogya CEO (Amitabh Kant) was quoted as saying "India had too much democracy". This caused consternation even in the docile press (also called Godi Media).

In fact he used this phrase twice.

The first time was when he said "Tough reforms are very difficult in the Indian context, we have too much of democracy... You needed political will to carry out these reforms (mining, coal, labour, agriculture) and many more reforms still need to be done." The implication one can draw from his formulation is that these "reforms" (or more accurately, "deforms") need a fundamentally undemocratic political will. Make what you will about whether these changes can be "reforms" in a democracy.

The second time around he used the phrase, Kant claimed he had been quoted out of context. He helpfully tweeted (on the Twitter handle @amitabhk87 on 8th December 2020): "This is definitely not what I said. I was speaking about MEIS scheme & resources being spread thin & need for creating global champions in manufacturing sector."

So if you see disproportionately many resources being lumped in favour of one or two "global champions", why are you shocked? This has been government policy, articulated by the CEO of its in-house "think tank".

(Minor edits to a note written in September 2022)

Sheila Dikshit’s Heart

(Written c. 2013)

»Delhi Chief Minister Arvind Kejriwal called on his predecessor Sheila Dikshit before her departure for France for an aortic valve replacement. Kejriwal tweeted the news of his visit, but did not add that he stayed for barely five minutes. If his visit had been slightly longer, he could have picked up some helpful pointers from a veteran like Dikshit, who successfully ran the Delhi government for three terms without any major hitch even though the NDA was in power at the Centre for some of that period. The 80-year-old Dikshit courteously came down to see off the CM and was taken aback to find that Kejriwal was accompanied by a long convoy of cars, including several police vehicles. Kejriwal, who joined politics claiming to be a man of the people, could have taken a lesson from Dikshit who crisscrossed the city most unobtrusively. People in Nizamuddin East recall that Dikshit frequently visited the colony when she was in power, as her sister lives there, but few got to know since she travelled without any fanfare.«  Coomi Kapoor, The Indian Express, 2 September 2018.

I would normally not quote Coomi Kapoor, who is after all not much more than a political gossip columnist. And I do not know whether or not Kejriwal was accompanied by a long convoy of cars.

But I can confirm that on the two occasions that I met her, Sheila-ji was not at all officious as a CM, especially when it came to using transport and the trappings of office. In 2000, after my father had received the Indira Gandhi award for National Integration, we were crossing the road to get to our car parked in a patch behind Shastri Bhawan. A white Maruti Gypsy stopped next to us, and the lady in the passenger’s seat rolled down the window and addressed my wife: “Young lady, you look like someone I have met before. Can I drop you and your family home or somewhere where you want to go?” It was Sheila Dikshit, Chief Minister of Delhi, seated next to her driver. (Her son Sandeep and my wife had been fellow students over a decade earlier, and knew each other in the NGO sector).

The next time was when she came home to express her condolences to my mother when my father died (ten years ago, almost to the day). A white ambassador pulled up, and the CM got down from the front passenger seat (she always sat next to the driver; this time there was one policeman who sat in the back). No airs about her. My mother told her that seeing her smile would cheer her up more than anything else.

The horrific rape of Jyoti Singh (I wish people will stop using the moniker “Nirbhaya”, possibly coined by Times of India) happened at a time that Sheila Dikshit was in and out of hospital for a heart surgery. Sheila-ji was in no physical condition to address the apprehensions of the public. One of those who gained advantage of her incapacity was her successor as CM, who would exploit that moment to its fullest.

As someone who will also eventually need an aortic valve replacement, I hope the surgery goes well and I wish her a speedy recovery.

Where there’s a will

(Written about 2020)

Where there’s a will, there is the weight of something to be done usually. But there are wills that embody a life style.  

I recently found two old wills written by my father. The first, dated 16 December 1983, is typed up on that yellowish paper of peculiar dimensions that used to be found with notaries and in government offices. It was witnessed by two of his colleagues -- his devoted assistant P Sethumadhavan, and Raju Korah. The later one is handwritten and dated 17 June 1990. The provisions of the two testaments are substantially the same --- leaving his small savings and modest flat to my mother, and expressing gratitude to her and to his sons, friends and colleagues. Both conclude with a desire that there be no religious rituals post his death. 

The first Will (of 16 December 1983), written before he was 60, begins with a bland statement that he retired from government service on 30th April of that year, and while he was continuing to work in the same position, “it is an appropriate occasion to think of a time when I shall not be around”. He goes on to write: “I have travelled light and do not have many belongings. The act of writing a will therefore becomes an academic exercise. But it is good to make things easier for those who survive.” Well, one could quibble that he did have a large number of belongings, in the form of nearly ten thousand books, but these are not the kind of effects that get listed in a will. In any case he spent the last few years of his life in the “academic exercise” of selecting and handing off those books to people whom he thought were appropriate recipients for them, an act he likened in an article to a traditional father finding grooms for his daughters. He goes on to write: “My father did not leave any immovable property. I have failed to follow his example, and am trying to acquire a house by becoming a member of the CIS Officers’ Cooperative Group Housing Society...”, listing the modest amount he had paid up till then. The rest of his assets, around a few tens of thousand rupees in various bank accounts and savings schemes, and some objects, books and a couple of paintings given to him by friends, were bequeathed to my mother. Having no belief in ritual, he wanted a plain, unsentimental farewell -- for which he depended on his wife and sons, who he says “meant much to me”.

The second Will, dated 17 June 1990, begins with “Wills are left by those who have wealth. I did not make money and money did not make me. During the forty-four years of my working life, I acquired a small flat <details elided>, and a car, which I bought twenty years ago, and saved about Rs 1,75,000, which I have deposited in <bank account details elided>. All these I leave to my wife, Kamalamma, the person who means most to me in life, who has shared my outlook and has helped me to resist ambition.” He goes on to write: “With my physical problem of a blocked carotid artery, my sincere hope is that I shall not become so incapacitated as to be a burden on my wife. She knows I do not believe in rituals, and I do not want any religious rites when I am no more.”

This desire was not to be, for he suffered Parkinson’s disease for several years, with my mother bravely looking after him through his physical ordeals. But his Will was done -- there were no religious rites at his funeral, at which several friends and colleagues were present. With my mother’s firm veto, we were able to quash an attempt from one quarter at performing some rituals.

In the years after he wrote these testaments, there came up two new major “claimants” to his legacy -- his grandsons. While he gave them little by way of material possessions, what he left for them was far more precious: his unconditional love and his integrity.