Geetanjali Krishna: No strings on this puppet

PEOPLE LIKE THEM

One evening he plays a rider on a wonderfully caparisoned Rajasthani horse, the next evening he's enthralling kids as the tall man on stilts.

And for all you know, the evening after that, he's doing the Punjabi bhangra or tying turbans on the members of a large marriage party.

In addition to these, 19-year-old Ghillu can play all sorts of drums; pick up dance steps of any sort in a jiffy; sing everything from Rajasthani folk to quawali and Punjabi marriage songs; make puppets and perform puppet shows.

For this jack-of-all-trades, it's not important where these various traditional entertainment forms originate from "" all he knows is that they are the many different ways in which he can earn his daily bread.

Originally from Sikar, the heart of the Shekhawati region in Rajasthan, Ghillu's family belong to the bhat sub caste, which traditionally makes puppets and does puppet shows.

"Even as children, we knew how to make puppets, or at least, parts of puppets," said Ghillu, "all we did was watch my parents and uncles at work!"

He says he loved it: "But sadly, there was little to be earned in puppetry then, and even lesser to be earned from it now!"

That is why Ghillu today uses his inborn talents to show the paying public whatever it wants to see. "If people are willing to give me money to disco dance, I'll do it. All I'm interested in is making a living!" says he.

As for the traditional significance of puppetry, Ghillu hasn't a clue. Neither does he know much about his homeland, except that it was stark and poor. "Sikar was a desert in every sense," he reminisced, "it's yielded little by the way of crops, and little by the way of earnings."

When Ghillu came to Delhi with his entire family 12 years ago, his eyes opened. Delhi was so different from Sikar, he said, where people made more money than he'd seen in a year, doing things other than what they were traditionally ordained to do.

"When we came here, my father and uncles thought a hundred times before they tried their hands at anything other than puppetry. They were so ingrained with the thought that that was the only way they were destined to earn a living," said he.

Ghillu, a product as much of the place he was born in, as he was of the big city he'd adopted as his own, never had such qualms.

However, much he might deny his roots, there's no doubt that showmanship runs in Ghillu's blood.

He can carry any tune, dance any step, and the way he looks you in the eye when he's performing are all signs of a born performer.

"I don't know much, but from what my mother tells me, our family has been into performing arts for ever," he said, getting ready for his next performance as a Rajasthani horse and rider.

On went the exaggeratedly black eye make up, the long stripe of vermilion on his forehead. A gold-embroidered tunic was thrown carelessly over his trendy shirt and jeans, and Ghillu the master showman was almost ready to face the arc lights.

He stepped into his hollow horse, gaily festooned with all manner of glitter and gold (which he'd made himself, he said), and leapt into the fray as his brother beat the drum.

The children gasped as he lunged towards them, his tail gleaming in the night. When the drum rolled it's final beat, he strolled up to me, wiping his brow, "I've to do the bhangra with my group tomorrow. The party is loaded. Want to come and watch?"