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In a remote village with 30 houses or so in Maharashtra’s Beed district, Waman Kendre, a farmer’s son, would often watch his father perform bharud — an impromptu performance of dance, recitations and enactment based on the poetry of saints — or sneak out of his house to watch visiting nautankis. The lives of the farmers and performers were intertwined. And before he would even realise it, Kendre’s life and theatre too became intertwined.
As head of the National School of Drama, or NSD, Kendre has come a long way from Daradwadi. The village is still disconnected from the rest of civilisation during the monsoon rains with no roads or bridges leading there. But the lives of farmers and travelling folk artistes remain strongly connected to one another’s. A leading director in contemporary Indian theatre, Kendre says he owes much to this inseparable bond that he shares with his village and its culture.
In his thespian journey, Kendre travelled from village to village, picking up elements of folk music and theatre, which he then amalgamated into his own productions. The contemporary Indian drama that he has created through this amalgamation serves the urban audiences, interlinking them to the blend of the village and its art.
Kendre, who has recently been appointed president of Asia-Pacific Bond of Theatre Schools and vice-president of Global Alliance of Theatre Schools, both forums that include drama schools from across countries, is a man on a mission: to bring out the Indianness in Indian theatre and make drama, in whatever way possible, the voice of the voiceless.
While the journey started in his village, Kendre says the turning point came when he saw the play Lok Katha in second year of college. “It was about the gang rape of a Dalit woman and what happens to her after that,” he says. “I couldn’t sleep for eight days after seeing it.” That’s when he decided to pursue theatre professionally and eventually came to NSD as a student.
“Yes, theatre has to entertain, but I am not here just for the glamour of it,” he says. A lot of his theatre is about expressing the pain and pleasure of people, many of whom society doesn’t even accept as humans or who it shuns and abuses.
Ghazab Teri Adaa
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After NSD, the first play he directed was Zulwa, about girls who are offered to the goddess Yellamma in certain parts of Maharashtra. “They then become accessible and available to all the men wherever they go,” says Kendre. “While the Devadasi cult has a dignity, these girls lead a wretched life.” Zulwa is today considered a milestone play.
One particular character that stood out in the play was of the man who lives with these women as their guardian. He often dresses up like them, has been abused as a child and sometimes becomes as abuser as an adult.
Someone described him as a hijra (transgender). “And I said, ‘No, he’s not a hijra’. To which, I was told, ‘Of course, he is. And if he is not, then tell me who is a hijra’.” Kendre shot back, “It’s not my job to find an answer to everything.” But the question kept haunting him for years.
After about 10 years of Zulwa, while sitting in a restaurant, Kendre decided to answer that question through a play on the lives of this secretive and private community. He entrusted the task of writing the play to a young man who used to sing in the chorus at Zulwa. It took five years of intensive research and close interaction with the community before the plotline of the play was written, rewritten and re-rewritten — ten times.
“The play, Janemann, when finally performed at NSD, was the first authentic portrayal on stage of the lives of this marginalised and often mocked community,” says Diwan Singh Bajeli who has followed Kendre’s work for over two decades.
A total theatre artiste — writer, director, designer and music composer — is how Bajeli describes Kendre. His play, Ghazab Teri Adaa, is yet another example of this. It is based on Lysistrata, an anti-war comedy with a pacifist message by Greek dramatist Aristophanes that was first staged in 411 BC. Staged by Kendre in 2014, the centenary year of World War I, it is about the power of women who take it upon themselves to get the war-obsessed men of the kingdom to give peace a chance. It plays out with the women saying no to sex till the time the men do not give up arms. The queen also joins in the protest and so do the sex workers.
Kendre’s play that created a world record with three back-to-back inaugural shows in three languages. It was performed as O My Love (English), Mohe Piya (Hindi) and Priya Bawari (Marathi) by the same team.
As in each of his productions, the music of Ghazab Teri Adaa is as powerful as the performance. But then, Kendre’s music, which he composes himself, has always been part of the soul of his theatre. “I do not want the routine taal or composition,” he says. “The music emerges from within my play; it evolves and ends with it.” During the course of the performance, it attracts, interprets, creates contrast and disturbs — as do his plays. And like his plays, it provokes you to think.
It is late at NSD. Most of his staff, which also works into the night now, has left. Kendre is still here, after day-long rehearsals of his next play, a Hindi adaptation of George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion. He is yet to think of a name for it. He stops to talk to the odd student who is still on campus. A few former students walk in and he chats with them.
A few days ago he was in Varanasi where he inaugurated a theatre festival. His son, Rutwik, was performing there. His wife, Gauri, who is into children theatre, is at work in Mumbai. The family is scattered but connected in its deep love for theatre.
Kendre wants to turn NSD into the face of Indian theatre. “Like Britain promoted Shakespeare and Germany promoted Brecht, it is time we told the world about our many treasures: Kalidas, Tagore, Mohan Rakesh, Vijay Tendulkar, Girish Karnad; the list is long.”
He has another two years as NSD director to make the kind of impact he is aiming for. The late nights will continue.