Keval Arora’s Kolumn

Curtain Call

For most of us, the curtain call is a ritual that marks the close of a performance. As a ritual it cuts both ways. It’s gratifying when we’ve enjoyed the show and wish to demonstrate our appreciation. Or, it’s a tiresome chore when we haven’t and are keen to duck our heads and run. Understandably, this spectacle of playmakers lined up to receive applause is often regarded as simply an appendage to the main event, a polite form of ‘goodbye’ and nothing more. But, I sometimes wonder if we have anything else, amongst the wide variety of conventions that govern the theatre, to match the curtain call in the way it underlines, with economy and assurance, the ‘live’ aspect of theatrical performance.

 For, until that moment when performers shed their fictional selves and return to the stage in their own persons, the actor-spectator relation in the theatre is essentially no different from that found in other kinds of performance, such as the television or the cinema. That is to say, it is a relation where performers and audiences are hermetically sealed off from each other, each inhabiting qualitatively different zones of being. Sure, when compared to the actor in cinema/television who is a fixed and unvarying aggregate of pre-recorded decisions, the theatre actor is available as a ‘live’, volatile presence that forever holds out the promise of doing things differently in each performance. However, the degree to which the spectator is separated from the ‘character’ised actor in both these cases is remarkably similar. It is only with the curtain call in the theatre that the boundaries which segregate the two are comprehensively dissolved.

 When actors slip out of their ‘characters’ and step up to receive the audience’s applause, when spectators gesture their appreciation directly to the actors, the world of make-believe finally ceases to be. The actor re-enters his own (and the audience’s) world, so to speak, and a different, informal, and more ‘real’ compact between the two parties in the performance equation comes into being. On the occasions when performers and spectators have interacted after the show, either through Q&A sessions or in cocktail-fuelled get-togethers, such cohabitation has taken on a life of its own. But, even when there is no post-performance transaction, the curtain call remains an acknowledgement, albeit brief and perfunctory, of the basic contract that underlies all theatre performance and consumption. As a gathering together of distinct strands of being, the curtain call affirms in its own way the communitarian nature of the theatre – a place where people come together to enact and to witness. It is therefore possible to celebrate the humble curtain call as a distinctive marker of theatrical performance.

 Am I reading too much into what is today an automatic practice rather than a deliberated expression of pleasure and praise? Perhaps. But, the fact that we often feel guilty when we do not play our part as spectators (and therefore compensate by applauding the actors’ effort even when there is little of merit in their achievement) is proof that we attach value to such gestures, even when they are at their most mechanical.

 Incidentally, we ought not to confuse such transitions, as formalised by the curtain call, with similar moments in the work of Bertolt Brecht. In Brecht’s theatre, we do find transitions from a fictive world peopled by actors to the everyday world of the audience, from the magic of ‘another place, another time’ to the reality of the ‘here and now’, but here these categories are sequential and mutually exclusive. Brecht’s theatre challenges the conventions that separate actor from character, and embeds the performer’s political responsibility within such equivalence. However, he works it out mainly as an interruptive device – that is, as a rupture which is most effective when it subverts the common assumption that the best works of art ought to possess an organic unity.  The sequential and exclusionary quality of transition that is intrinsic to the curtain call is thus completely alien to the Brechtian project both in method and intent.

 It is interesting to note that in Ebrahim Alkazi’s time at the National School of Drama, the NSD Repertory did not take curtain calls. Not (though one can never be sure of the reasons for this policy) in spite of its celebratory nature, but because of it. For, the one danger with curtain calls is that these can be hijacked, by performer and spectator alike, into re-structuring relations in terms that are quite inimical to the collaborative nature of theatre production. An instance: curtain calls, especially in our English-language theatre, are often arranged as a series of separate entrances, with actors in the leading roles being the last to complete the line-up while minions in the minor parts are thrust in right at the beginning. The purpose may well be to lead the audience into a swelling applause which culminates in a final burst of appreciation for the lead actors. But talent isn’t always marked by such an easy lineage – the lead may have been boringly flat, whereas a small cameo may have provided the production’s abiding memory. Also, when audiences are encouraged to applaud each actor’s contribution separately, and when the play’s cast is stratified in a hierarchy of minor and major actors, theatre groups’ claims to being ensembles of equal contributors stand embarrassingly exposed.

 It is now the accepted thing, after the clapping is over and done with, for actors to call the backstage and production crew on stage, to gesture towards the lights and sound booths, and then to invite the director onto the stage. Which most directors do after a decent pause, as if caught short by an unexpected request. Apart from the peculiar arrangement of this credits sequence, I’ve always found it interesting that directors preface their arrival on stage by an ‘invitation’ extended by the cast, especially as it is usually the director who orchestrates the curtain call in the first place! What is this – humility, coyness, or self-celebration?

 Role-playing of course isn’t confined only to the performers. You can find it even in something as uni-dimensional as applause. The recent tendency of Delhi’s English-language theatre audiences to offer standing ovations – or, as a friend pointed out the other day, “an ovation while standing” – to even mediocre productions, in apparent deference to the pedigree of the performing group, is evidence of yet another kind of hijacking of the curtain call, and that by the spectators this time!

 One spin-off of austerity such as the NSD’s is that it reminds actors to look at the work at hand as something to be done for its own sake rather than for the plaudits that could come their way. I must however confess that, despite my belief that this is a good thing (especially in the environs of a training school), I too have felt cheated and resentful, when I have thoroughly enjoyed a production, at being denied an opportunity to demonstrate my appreciation. Perhaps the mainstream theatre too needs a dose of such self-denial, for it could do with less self-congratulatory preening and greater attention to quality.

 The curtain call, like most artistic conventions, can be employed to great effect. Either through silence and a no-show (as in Rabih Mroue’s Looking for a Missing Employee, performed at NSD’s Theatre Utsav 2006); or through a technique of ironic quotation (as in the TAG production of Peter Weiss’ Marat/Sade several decades ago).

 The curtain-call Peter Brook devised for his well-known production of Marat/Sade closed with the chorus of asylum inmates breaking into a slow handclap in mimicry of the audience’s end-of-show applause. Each time this happened during the TAG production at the Kamani (Barry John had picked up the idea from Brook’s production, lock, stock and barrel), the audience’s applause had petered out, as if to demonstrate that audiences are capable of lapping up even the most savage spectacles of non-conformism only so long as they aren’t made to feel they’re the victims. By thus undermining the sanctity of this ‘last of meeting places’ and challenging the comforting superiority that spectators usually feel in their capacity as observers, Brook seemed to have made his audiences experience a truth which was till then for them only an aspect of the fiction.

 It’s of course another matter that Brook’s decision to make the actors, who played the inmates of the lunatic asylum, stay within their characters as they mimicked and parodied the audience’s behaviour during the curtain call dilutes its subversive thrust considerably. With spectators finding it easy to deflect whatever discomfort they may have initially felt (these guys are mad after all!), Brook’s innovation shows up as surprisingly inelastic, an innovation that agitates the surface but leaves the essential structure placidly intact.

 Mroue’s Looking for a Missing Employee was a solo narration of a man trying to piece together ­– through print and TV news clippings, interviews, and of course logical deduction – the story of a real bureaucrat who suddenly went missing in Beirut. The performance’s highlight lay in the narration being delivered entirely through live and recorded videocam feeds projected simultaneously on three video screens. The stage, consisting of just a table and chair, remained unused throughout the performance. What then could be a more fitting conclusion to this brilliant performance of a tale of a missing man, by an actor missing from the stage, than a no-show by the performer-director during the curtain call? The audience at the Abhimanch that January night had hung on, applauding no one in particular and testing Mroue’s determination to stay away from the stage. But, as the minutes went by and the audience milled about confusedly, it struck me that we were experiencing an unscripted, impromptu performance that could be titled ‘Looking for a Missing Performer’. As in the case of Marat/Sade, this production too extended its thematic dynamics into a space that properly does not belong to the fiction, but for precisely that reason can be used to extend meanings in a different and perhaps more resonant register

Promoting Culture in Educational Films

-Manohar Khushalani

Let’s face it. If one has to enjoy educational video, then it must be presented in a pleasing and absorbing fashion. It was realised by the promoters of Educational Television that if viewers were to be attracted to their programs then the films must have impeccable aesthetics. To encourage and promote creative excellence The First UGC‑CEC Educational Video Competition was organised in the year 1988 in Delhi. As Pradeep Kaul, Director, Consortium for Educational Communication (CEC), put it: “The annual UGC‑CEC Educational Video Competition was instituted so as to nurture, encourage, and recognise excellence in educational video programming in India.”

Rajendra Mishra, Research Scientist, CEC, who has been associated with organising the Jury screenings every year, adds; “In the beginning the Competition was restricted only to the productions of Media Centres. However, since last seven years this Competition has been made open to all citizens and organisations of India who produce educational Programmes.” Unfortunately the Educational Films segment has not received the kind of support that it deserves. In fact the support has been dwindling. This writer too has  been fortunate to be a part of the Jury for a number of  years and can vouch for the quality of some of the films which won the awards. There are some films which one has seen as far back as seven years ago and remembers their brilliance to this day. Such was the impact of those rare films.

This year too the Jury has met and chosen the best Educational Films of 2002 under various categories, such as Best Educational Programme (for any audience); Best Educational Programme (for undergraduates); Best Educational Programme for Children, Teachers, Adults, on Child & Women Issues and on Environment Development and Human Rights; Technical Excellence awards and awards for Best Amateur Video Production for the year. CEC also instituted an award for Life Time Achievement in Educational Communication. In the last 5 years this award has been given to Fr. Gaston Roberge, Prof. E.V. Chitnis, Prof. Yash Pal, Vijaya Mulay, and Kiran Karnik. The life time award contains a citation, a trophy, and a shawl. All the other awards contain a cash prize, a trophy which is a stylised form of ‘veena’ and a certificate of excellence. The announcement for this year’s awards is due any day now and as soon as they are made public the readers of Mid Day will be privy to the results.

The Consortium for Educational Communication (CEC) is an Inter‑University Centre set up by the University Grants Commission (UGC) with the responsibility of utilising electronic media in education. Countrywide Classroom programmes are produced by 17 Media Centres set up by the UGC in the universities/institutions in India. These programmes produced in Hindi and English are telecast over the national network of Doordarshan CEC is vested with the responsibility of coordinating the management, research and production of the programmes at the Media Centres.

What may be of interest to the regular readers of this column is the fact that UGC-CEC recognises culture to be a definitive part of Education. This year too there were a number of films on this theme. ‘Some Roots Grow Upwards’ was a film based on the theatre of Rattan Thiyam, set against the backdrop of a strife torn region. ‘Rangayana- the Soul of Theatre’ was a film about the theatrical institution set up in Karnataka by the legendry B.V. Karanth. A series called ‘Creativity’ dealt with works of various painters such as Krishen Khanna, Arpita Singh, and Amitava Das. A couple of films on music completed the picture such as one on ‘Tabla’ from Pune and another on ‘Bauls’ from Calcutta. ‘Pung Cholom’ dealt with a Manipuri instrument by the same name. ‘Living in the Shadows’ was about leather puppeteers of Andhra Pradesh who were getting marginalised. Mishra is quite optimistic about the future, since the number of entries is on the rise each year. “India is the biggest producer of educational films,” claims Kaul, “in fact CEC itself has a repository of 11000 films!” Perhaps CEC could conduct a film appreciation course for educational films, similar to the one being conducted by FTII which deals with fictional films?

Actor at large

 -Manohar Khushalani

When was the last time you heard of a guy actually getting nabbed by the police on the basis of a newspaper ad displaying his mug? Don’t we all remember how different a terrorist, caught recently in Portugal, looked from his picture circulated earlier? Ask an actor – he will tell you all about bahoorupias.
What is an actor after all? A mimic who transforms himself to ape another person? A turncoat who abandons his own persona? A split personality? An exhibitionist? A person vying to be some one else? A being wanting to lead multiple lives? A person seeking a catharsis? May be he is all this and more. But 60 year old Subba Rao, former Dean Academics, who teaches Yoga and Voice at the National School of Drama, at an interactive workshop with students and the makeup man demonstrated just one such aspect of the actor – how makeup, with a bit of wool, a dab of colour, crepe and improvised objects (such as two pipes to replace a double barrel gun or a chunni for a pugree), and the appropriate expressions can make all the difference between truth and make believe. Subba also proves that make up need not be loud, just one additional tuft of hair and you can transcend your race to another. Just the addition of a pair spectacles can soften your face. A little bit of kajal and rouge can transform you sex. Did one hear someone say – looks could be deceptive?

Without Boundaries – Hindu Temples in Pakistan

-Manohar Khushalani

The Indo-Pak cricket war has brought into limelight some of the temples that still exist in Pakistan and have been shown on TV. In the thaw generated by people to people and cultural exchanges between India and Pakistan, four Secular Pakistani artists were invited by Shumita Didi of Eclectica in collaboration with Anhad to show their works in Delhi. The artists had come under the aegis of Lahore Chitrakar, which is a studio and gallery established in 2001 by a group of painters, musicians, writers and theatre workers to revive and preserve the tremendous tradition of classical music, visual and performing arts. The town of Wazirabad in Pakistani Punjab, is known for its Hindu Temples and Sikh Gurdwaras. After the Babri Masjid incident some miscreants tried to attack these Temples and Gurdwaras only to be dissuaded by the people of the township led by Hafeez Khilji, a Poet and a political activist.

Above: Hindu Temples In Pakistan

Muhammad Imran, a photographer and an active member of  ‘Save Apna Wazirabad’ a project aimed at documenting and preserving the historical buildings of Wazirabad. His  body of work, on display  portrayed the present state of historical buildings and drew attention to the need to preserve that heritage. Akram Varraich is freelance photographer from Wazirabad. His main area of interest is the portrait; he possesses an ability to draw out the human and innocent aspects of the common folks. The work which he displayed in the exhibition were based mostly on the images of Hindu and Sikh temples in Punjab, Pakistan. Some of those works can be seen in this article. Shadi Khan is a labourer from Wazirabad, Punjab who started wood carving when Varraich gifted with carpentry tools. In his spare time he makes carvings of secular themes. Among his works one saw Christ on the Cross and a Gurdwara. The characters and situations from folklore are his primary choice for carvings. Shahid Mirza who is the moving spirit of ‘Lahore Chitrakar’, conducts painting and drawing class. He is a graduate of’ National College of Arts (former Mayo school of arts, as sister school of J.J. School of Arts, Mumbai). Mirza believes that the famous folk character of Ranjha in the ‘Heer-Ranjha’ romantic duo is inspired by Krishna’s persona. Like Krishna, Ranjha too was a flute player and a cowherd whose soulful tunes made the cows dance with joy.

Probably the most focussed work was of the Dawn Photographer, Azher Jafri, Chief Photographer, Dawn and Lahore representative of AFP. His works reflected the plight of the underprivileged and the struggle against oppression in Pakistan. There was a picture of anti bomb protesters after the Nuclear blast in Pakistan. A very dramatic picture was of a temple supposedly built pre-partition by Motilal Nehru in Shalmi market, being razed to the ground. A pic of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto’s wife protesting after her husband was overthrown. To end this article – an amusing tailpiece – a picture of a poor and naked child, which was handed to a newspaper by Jafri, appeared in the paper next day, but the kid – merely two year old – was wearing an underpant. That’s self censorship for you!

Remembering Safdar Hashmi

–Manohar Khushalani

Having been associated with Street Theatre from late seventies my memories of Jan Natya Manch are equally old. It was way  back in 1977 that I first met Safdar Hashmi. Our group, Workshop Theatre, which  was formed after a workshop with Badal Sircar was rehearsing for William Hinton’s, Fanshen, a play about revolution in a  village in China.  Safdar had come to meet the late Sudhanshu Mishra. He sat through our rehearsal and gave many suggestions.  Our group contained people, most of whom later migrated to Television – Sudhir Mishra, Sushmita Mukherjee, Bina Pal, Anil Mehta. Only Anamika  Haksar and I stuck on wholely to theatre.  Sushmita Mukherjee occasionally indulges in theatre but is largely involved in Films and Television. But the two years that we did street theatre were full of intensity. Our most memorable production was Badal Sircar’s Bhooma, for which Badal Da himself came specially to Delhi to do a workshop with us.  Often people wept in our shows, and so did we, shamelessly, while performing. Although  I was also performing in the Proscenium Arch, this liberty one could only  take in a street play.  When we came in touch with M.K. Raina, most of Workshop Theatre members opted to work in his Street Production of  Juloos and later in Spartacus & Mother.

Our first test of  our beliefs came when Raina took our performance of  Mother  to the Brecht International Festival held in Calcutta in 1978.   There  we were greeted by the biggest floods in the last 100 years of the city. While our street plays dealt with the underdog and deprived sections of society we were confronted with a dilemma. The floods created a pool of neck deep water around the Dharamshala that we stayed in. The water remained for three days and we were holed up on the first floor at the same time that the pavement dwellers were living all around the Dharamshala with their aluminum utensils floating before their eyes . We were helpless – unable to offer them refuge in our own rooms. What kind of street  theatre were we doing? We often debated on whether doing plays was enough and whether it should not be supplemented with social work. The answers came much later when Maya Rao, Anuradha Kapoor and myself met by chance at SRC and decided to form Theater Union.  Later we co-opted fellow Prayog members like Vinod Dua , Ein Lal and Ragini Prakash, along with women activists like Urvashi Butalia and Sudesh Sehgal.

Our first play was prepared in association with several women’s groups. It was called Balatkar Kanoon . The Rape Bill was before a Select Committee, whose recommendation would be considered before it became an Act. We examined the bill, discovered the lacunae as well as the strengths. We created a play which would warn the select committee about the loop holes while educating the common women about their rights as per the Bill. During this play we had an opportunity to interact with social workers who worked in the very communities that we performed in. Needless to say this gave us more satisfaction. Much later TU prepared a play on Multinational Drug Companies who were dumping in the Third World, all those drugs which were banned in the Developed World. This play we prepared in association with Voluntary Health Association of India and got lot of information from Mira Shiva. This information we used to create an educative play in a comic vein. This play too was a useful supplement for medical workers. We also did our bit by distributing printed literature at the end of the show. However, by now the debate on whether a street theatre group should also do social work had resolved itself. It had now dawned on us that we were performers and we should stick to that. If we created a consciousness in just a few people it would spread to others by conduction.

Some times people had created doubts amongst us about the reach of street theatre. Television was cited as a medium with a greater reach. One still remembers a talk that Safdar Hashmi gave at the Jawahar Lal Nehru University City Auditorium which was so prophetic.  At that time few people owned TVs. There was only one Doordarshan channel and no private channels. Hashmi warned that TV will create antisocial vibes. While performing arts are a community affairs and bring many people under one roof the television will devided people by restricting them to their homes. He cited the example of people who visit homes of Television owners. Often the host spoke to his guest by using his  ear as his mouth. Since his mouth was turned away as he himself had his eyes glued to Television. Ofcourse he saw a deliberate conspiracy in this and felt that television  had been created to divide people, to break up communities and to destroy the collective spirit. So inspired was I by what he said that I went up to the stage to congratulate him.

But the real truth about TV having a greater reach has been resolved in my mind by history. The answer lies in credibility. A human being looking into your eyes and delivering a messages has greater credibility than an electronic media supported by vested interests and  money power. When we did the play against Bride burning,  just 200 shows were enough to create Media & Government attention on the issue. Soon the issue was seen everywhere in newspapers on television in and in films. Mera Devan’s award winning film on Bride Burning, used our play’s sound track interspersed with her own visuals. Theatre Union performed shoulder to shoulder with Jan Natya Manch at many venues. There we got to see each others plays – appreciate and criticise each others work. While Safdar appreciated the choreography and aesthetics of TU productions,  he felt that the message was not direct. We felt that Janam plays were hard hitting but some times (not always) there was a poster effect. Though I must say Janam productions have been changing over the years and the last play that I saw looked like a Theatre Union play to me. Since TU had performers who also acted on the proscenium stage our productions were bound to be different. However this I am talking about the eighties. Now Janam has also performed on stage – it is alive and kicking while Theatre Union has gone into hibernation.

I still remember how it was considered a taboo for a street theatre worker to perform on stage.  The first time I remember Safdar showing an interest about problems of Proscenium  theatre was when the Bombay police act was introduced in Delhi and theatre workers were up in arms against it. Said Hashmi in a seminar specially organised against it; “this was the first step towards government  censorship of theatre”. I was particularly agitated about it since I felt that police was ill equipped to understand the nuances of theatre. Little did I realise at that time, that in effect, given the usually inefficiency of the official machinery, getting a police license, irritating  though it may be, was just another formality to be completed. Also, street theatre, which had the maximum potential of a political irritant  was outside the purview of a performance license since these performance were not in an auditorium. Yet Hashmi spoke most ardently followed by M.K. Raina who had a foot in both the boats.

Street theatre does not mean just taking up any issue , assembling a bunch of enthusiasts, and converging the first street corner one comes across. It may take months to write a nukkad natak script. Workshop Theatre took three months to translate Badal Sircar’s Bhooma and six months to further evolve the play! An issue may arise from a slum. It may be wife beating, or a drunkard husband, or a middle class dowry  problem. It is chosen, by a general consensus, workshop sessions are organised and a script is evolved keeping in mind the target audience. Few people know that Badal Sircar’sJuloos  has been performed in Pakistan as well. Street theatre has attracted a few people because of the romanticism involved in the whole exercise. Since they are often exposed,  the police which never, likes references to its own brutalities, often tries to stop the performances. Sometimes even the audience gets pulled up because of the personal, one to one relation ship that this medium tries to establish. When the police tried to stop a performance of Juloos by Prayog at Connaught Place’s central park, more than a decade ago, the audience intervened on behalf of the performers and battled with the police. Similarly, during the Emergency, when the police stopped a street performance at Curzon Park, Calcutta, the common people responded by turning up in thousands to watch the same performance the next day. The romanticism, however, wears off after some time. Only a few who are genuinely committed stick to the movement. “If ever you do street theatre, forget that you will be happy, forget that you will be famous,  forget that you will be rich,” warns Badal Sircar. However, Safdar Hashmi’s unfortunate martyrdom has changed all that. “people have become more conscious of a performer’s right to perform. But Street Theatre which appeared to be on the decline is bound to rise up again and fight the menaces of social evils. Be it with plays like Janam’s unforgettable Aurat  or  Theatre Union’s similarly memorable Toba Tek Singh.

Delhi’s Amateur Theatre – Will it weather the storm or wither?

–Manohar Khushalani 

Celebrating Women with Colours on Canvas
–-Manohar Khushalani 

Pic above: Moeen Fatima’s interpretation of
Amrita Shergill’s work.    

Centre stage of the exhibition was an Installation called ‘Garbha Gruha’ by Sangeet Gandhi, celebrating the creativity of women and linking the womb cell with the cosmos. Jijo Madhvan’s response to three sisters was to show them wearing masks that gave it a universality. It was the only painting accompanied by a poem “Roles complex, response varied, flight flight, stand up..” and perhaps be counted. Her other painting in the form of a Butterfly with a peacock feathered yellow blue orange, polka dots on wings bordered dark brown displayed the strength and resilience of a woman despite her daintiness. Iloosh Ahluwalia’s ‘Soni Kuri’ was a dazzlingly beautiful light eyed modern young girl in blue kurta and red chunni. Her brush work displayed a remarkable control on the craft and a realism which was almost photographic. Vibha Desai’s ‘Elen’ was a nude woman sitting on a fur almost empathising with the sensuality of Amrita. The lines were clear and economic. The form simple and direct. A large number of artist’s pulled out one sister from the crowd and used her to make their statement. Gogi Saroj Pal chose to use a computer and turn one of the sister’s inwards adding to the communicability amongst them. She looked at the third sister’s face in a concave mirror. Aparna Caur put the third sister in a spotlight, away from the other two. Pritam Bhatty gave the third sister a brush held like a cigarette reminding one of the famous Will’s Ad of the sixties “You’ve come a long way baby!.
Pritam Bhatty’s ‘View from the balcony’ displayed the artist’s ability to sense light. Artists’ whose work attracted attention include, Fatima Ahmed, Damyanti, Moeen Fatima, Shruti Gupta, Supriya Wadgaonkar and Lalitha Lajmi. Credit is due to Radhika for collecting so many artists under one roof in a memorable exhibition.

Film Institute – looking towards a brighter future

 -Manohar Khushalani

Tripurari Sharan, an IAS ranking officer took over as Director of Film and Television Institute of India in November 2003. Initially there was some scepticism in certain quarters that perhaps an outsider has come to poach on their territory. However, with passage of time, students and teachers have come to realise that he is not an outsider but one of them who has come with a certain passion to contribute to their world. WhenManohar Khushalani visited the campus he discovered peace and tranquillity prevailing in the campus. He also had a discussion with Tripurari Sharan, about his plans for the future:

MK: What were your first reactions when you came into the Film Institute, considering the past history of this place.

TS: Well I have been soaking in the environment. Learning its history. Getting to know a place first hand is different from hearsay. It has been interesting. I would not like to offer a value judgement at this stage

MK: What are the changes you are planning to bring about in the Institute

TS: We have already started a few new courses such as script writing and acting yet another course on animation is on the anvil. These will happen along with our regular Diploma courses which are the mainstay of our institute.

MK: I believe the earlier experiences with the acting course were not too good.

TS: Acting course was discontinued way back in 1978. Within ten days of my joining here, there was a festival at the Institute and I had an opportunity to interact with a lot of the ex-students and I got some inputs from them. Of course there were problems with the way the course was structured and the environment at that time. We have taken into account all those inputs and taken appropriate care. In fact a very responsible person has been made incharge of structuring the course – Naseeruddin Shah. Also Ravi Baswani who was associated with the Delhi Theatre group Non-Group and also has experience in film acting, will be conducting the classes.

MK: Also there were problems with the kind of students the course attracted – sons of rich businessmen who came only to become stars overnight

TS: That could be just one of the viewpoints, I would neither confirm nor deny it. In any case, our selection process is quite stringent. After the normal run of the mill tests and interviews we have a seven to ten day workshop, which helps us to screen out the kind of aspirants that you are talking about. We are also planning two scholarships for children who do not have the financial backing bur are capable.

MK: You studied in JNU when there was a great deal of radicalisation. How do you rate the students now?

TS: I would not term it as radicalism, rather the students then were more aware and had a  socio-political consciousness. The new generation is not as keen to get into the nitty-gritty of understanding the socio-political complexities. In the present phase of liberalisation and globalisation the students are in a rush to make money or to make a mark professionally. For that kind of intellectual excitement you need to be more laid back and reflective.

MK: Do you think that your being from the IAS cadre is an advantage or a disadvantage?

TS:. I wasn’t chosen merely as a representative of the Indian Administrative service. I am sure there were other credentials, such as having a certain sensitivity and sensibility, for which I was chosen for this job. Having said that, I would also put to you that having worked with the Government, I am more aware about the administrative and procedural complexities in managing a place like this. Since this Institution is totally funded by the Government it needs certain skills in dealing with it. That actually puts me at an advantage.