Ruth is best known for her pioneering work integrating sacred texts into contemporary voice/body theatre. Her pioneering approach to the transcendental aspect of voice is founded solidly in sacred cantorial Jewish traditions. In Mirror Sky in a backdrop of dimly lit scenes Ruth, swirling, moaning, producing gutrral sound explains the origin of her techniques:
Tamasha is considered a major traditional dance form of the Marathi theatre, which includes celebration filled with dancing and singing and is performed mainly by nomadic theatre groups throughout the Maharashtra region. Marathi theatre marked its journey at the beginning of 1843.3 In the following years, Tamasha primarily consisted of singing and dancing, expanded its range.
Gulon mein rang bhare Baad-e-naubahaar chale Chale bhi aao ki Gulshan ka karobaar chale Come bahaar or spring and we all end up quoting Faiz Ahmed Faiz conjuring up evocative and tantalizing images of...
You’re lost in a fantasy
A dream maybe
Where I cease to exist.
You seem peaceful,
I seem greedy.
the two birds
lived in a
seamless crave for freedom,
where the abyss
melted into the horizon”
During the North East fest on Monday, the 29th October, at the Fountain Lawns, the audience was confronted by a disturbing solo performance by actor director, Lapdiang Syiem from Meghalaya, called A Being Human. Earlier on the same day we had a presentation by Soli Roy about a Manipuri play, Crimson Rainclouds, written by his own mother, Sahitya Akademi Awardee, Binodini Devi
In April, Sushant had deleted all his old pictures that he had posted since he created his account on Instagram. Yet nobody had time to look imto his trauma. Read the touching Ode Renu Mal has dedicated to his memory
We spend years and years trying to find answers to the half spoken sentences and mid-air collapsed promises. The night teases us to insomnia, trying to replay the tape of those incidents, moments, gestures. What could have been, what should have We spend years and years trying to find answers to the half spoken sentences and mid-air collapsed promises. The night teases us to insomnia, trying to replay the tape of those incidents, moments, gestures. What could have been, what should have been. Were we real then
. Were we real then?
The old hag lay face down,Her dried hair up in the air,Like dry twigs after harvest.Her scrawny left arm upturnedat an angle, as if not sure,whether for alms or in benediction;Her other hand, mottled,...
I will give you a piece of my land, I will give you a piece of my kid’s custody, I will give you the healthier half of the meal, I will give you the...