|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Undeniably the czarina of Punjabi theatre, Neelam Mansingh Chowdhry occupies an unassailable position. So, what drives the woman who has been scaling heights of excellence ever since she formed her theatre group, The Company, some 26 years ago. The lady on whose persona honours and awards like the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award, the Shiromani Award by Bhasha Vibhag, the Punjab and the Ford Foundation Award sit lightly, says, "When I work, I don’t think I am a cut above the rest or what all I have achieved. I work in my own space, my silences, sensibilities and aesthetics which I have nurtured over the years."
All this while drawing on her rich experiences, she hasn’t lost that sense of vertiginous thrill, the excitement of working on the edge. So, today, as she is busy rehearsing a play, created out of a short story by Rabindranath Tagore, for the great master’s 150th birth anniversary celebrations at Kolkata in August, she has not only chosen a five-page story Stree-patro (The Wife’s Letter), but also decided to have two actors playing the same character. Indeed, this theatrical ploy many directors employ but where Neelam is truly testing, nay pushing, her creative limits as well as the mettle of her actors is that male actor Vansh Bhardwaj shall be playing a female character that, too, sans the androgynous makeover. Yes, she knows such experimentation can fail but then she shoots off, " The real excitement of being on the edge is one can fall but also one can fly." No doubt, she has been flying all over. Name any theatre festival worth its salt, be it Sadlers Wells, Festival d’Avignon, LIFT (London International Festival of Theatre) or the ones at Dubai, Perth, Kyoto, Tokyo and Neelam’s plays have graced them all. And to those who deem she creates play especially for international audiences, her repartee is, "Hmm`85 were it true, my plays wouldn’t have been successful in places like Cochin, Kolkata. This aspersion that spreads like a Chinese whisper is actually quite ludicrous." As for the perceived dichotomy between her anglicised persona and her Punjabiyat, she reminds one of Salman Rushdie’s migrant’s double vision and adds, "We live in a pluralistic society and are a combination of so many histories, religions and cultures. One can never be this or that but is an amalgamation of many things." Like, she went to a convent school but then her father Dr Mansingh Nirankari who belonged to a family that led the Nirankari movement was a great Sikh scholar. On the other hand, her maternal grandfather was a lawyer. Add to it the experience gained at the National School of Drama. "The NSD gave me a good foundation", of working with theatre thespian Ebrahim Alkazi and later with B.V. Karanth at Bharat Bhawan, Bhopal. And she has no hesitation in echoing Walt Whitman’s words, "I contradict myself. I contain multitudes." No wonder. this enriched multiple interface with life manifests in her plays. Be it Naga Mandala, Kitchen Katha, Yerma, The Suit or The Little Eyolf none of her plays toe the beaten line that Punjabi rang manch otherwise never gets tired of treading. The tribe of her detractors, who believe her plays often are not quite Punjabi, for they’re often adapted from international literature, as these reflect upon subtler human emotions, feelings and relationships, better pay attention when she asserts, " It’s about time Punjabis came out of their stereotypes. If Punjabis were just about khao, pio, aish karo writers like Gurdial Singh and poets like Surjit Patar wouldn’t have created such great works. Malang, bhainga and other prototypes that have been created `85people are not that simple." Certainly, not in her dramatic narratives, which deliberate upon human complexities and frailties. Of course, her rich visual vocabulary enhances it all. If her plays are singularly unique her visual idiom is doubly so. She muses, "I do live in a visual world, may be being a woman has something to do with it. Women directors be it Amal Allana, Anuradha Kapoor or others have a tangible, tactile sense of materials." Music, yet another integral part of her plays (earlier designed by the late Karanth), has now transformed into sounds. You bet, the play on Tagore’s story will not have Rabindra Sangeet, as she is toying with the idea of Punjabi songs. She knows doing Tagore is not easy but reasons, "If the Tagore Society wanted a Bengali play, surely they wouldn’t have asked a Punjabi director to do it. This I think is universalising Tagore’s text. For, we are living in times when Shakespeare’s Macbeth becomes Maqbool, when doing Ibsen doesn’t require me to do Norwegian play." Anyway, the language of
theatre she asserts has to change with time for unlike a book or a
painting theatre belongs to now. So, when Girish Karnad asked her to
revive her acclaimed play Naga Mandla she told the playwright ,
"I will do it afresh provided it speaks to me." Not only did
the play communicate to her but when she created it anew in 2006 it
reached out to audiences across the spectrum. "Theatre,"
deems Neelam, "can be ahead of its times but there has to be an
entry point for audiences." Only she creates multiple entry
points, at many levels offering a range of perspectives in a language
that is at once Punjabi and universal, aesthetic and introspective.
|
|||
|
|
|||
