Anjana Rajan

Waking Up as an Insect in a Society Without Empathy

A searing look at today’s judgemental society, Niloy Roy’s adaptation of Kafka’s ’Metamorphosis’ for the stage is a necessary production.

The extent to which aggression has been normalised by most of us can be seen when we evaluate war in terms of economic loss and gain, rather than by the scars it leaves on civilisation. It is also visible in the quiet acceptance of hate mongering and divisiveness that many refuse to discuss, euphemistically dismissing these as belonging to a realm of ‘politics’ that does not interest them. This normalisation of a state of violence has gradually turned the human race into its own greatest enemy. At its root is an inability to imagine what the ‘other’ is experiencing – empathy.

Artists are only a subset of society and unsurprisingly, market forces, imbibed wisdom and an instinct for self-preservation propel them too to choose personal gain over altruism. Yet this view overlooks the potential of the arts to engender empathy and understanding in practitioners and consumers of art.

The poster of Niloy Roy’s ‘Metamorphosis’. Photo: Facebook/Theatre Kingdom

A recent production directed by Niloy Roy, programme director at New Delhi’s Shri Ram Centre, exemplifies this potential. Roy’s Hindi adaptation of Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis, performed by students of SRC’s one-year acting course, holds out hope of drawing young artists not yet hardened by over exposure to cynicism into conversations that attempt to slip into the skin of the ‘other’.

Designed as the final project for students of the yearlong course, the production premiered in early April but is being staged again on May 3 and 4 on popular demand.

Blending stylisation with realism, Metamorphosis reveals the tangled web society weaves with its assumptions, its hypocrisies, its dreams and grudges, its fears, ambitions and conflicted responses to perceived differences. In a time when theatre is often presented as safe entertainment that steers clear of comment on society, the production juxtaposes art with a rare penetrating look at the human condition.

Kafka’s allegorical work is disturbing in itself, but by staging it, Roy expanded every word, opening up multiple, searingly relevant meanings in the tragic story of Gregor who awakes one morning to find himself transformed into an insect.

In the play, we initially see some sympathy for the protagonist, which eventually turns to indifference and neglect. “We become complacent, start taking things for granted and moving on; we think moving on is good enough,” said Roy in a video conference along with some of the actors after the first four shows.

Change, or, difference, Roy noted, is often associated with sin, and so society turns away from the ‘sinful’ person. Those considered different are isolated.

Also read: Revisiting the Concept of Absurdity in Today’s Covid-Ridden World

“People don’t listen to you, watch you, spend time with you. It’s not about the time you spend. It’s about listening to how different you are. Every individual is different. We have to understand that,” Roy emphasised. “But that difference was always there. Now the level of acceptance has gone down. And we go to the extent of labelling that person. And we attach it to either religion, or politics, or caste, or even earning.”

Those so labelled are thus denigrated. “Every aspect of human life is being compared, judged. I think that’s the root cause of this isolation.”

Niloy Roy’s ‘Metamorphosis’. Photo: Facebook/Theatre Kingdom

People are accepted as long as they remain “like us,” said Shubham Singhania, who played Henry, the housekeeper.

“But the moment we perceive them as different, be it in terms of appearance, or caste or other parameters, they are ostracised and isolated. I have seen this and experienced it too. Whether because of one’s own caste or due to fighting caste prejudice, our society immediately moves to exclude such people.”

Rahul Sharma, cast as Michael, said, “The play is a reflection of our society. We rush to our destinations and while focusing on our own goal, we ignore our surroundings, not caring what may be happening to others.” In the process we lose contact with each other, he remarked.

The protagonist’s transformation into an insect may trigger the actions in the play, but, “After all this is a metaphor. Slowly we are changing, losing our humanity,” said Rahul.

Stanzin Dolkar, who played the lead alternately with Neelima Sharma, said the play made her ponder the “immense uncertainty of every moment” and the futility of taking one’s existence or accepted structures for granted.

To Neelima, the story could be located in any time and any place and remains relevant as an example of how “after a point, a person’s individuality gets trapped.” It is difficult to step out of the straitjacket of imbibed notions, she felt.

Shubham added that human beings are becoming “selfish, day by day.”

The production contains some striking images combining insect-like postures and movements with an abstract set and props. Pranav Mehta, cast as Mr. Wick, spoke of one such image when the actors held ropes, weaving themselves into a net.

“The idea of the ropes was that wherever we move, we are still bound by the people around us, we cannot freely move,” said Pranav.

On the other hand, said Roy, the ropes also represented a structured community in which insects thrive but which humans might fear.

Niloy Roy’s ‘Metamorphosis’. Photo: Facebook/Theatre Kingdom

As the young actors articulated how the process of preparation had made them think deeply about their own reality, the conversation turned to the essence of communication itself.

Kafka’s protagonist speaks an insect language his family cannot understand. Roy, who took the concept further in the Hindi production, in which he combined in himself the roles of director, translator/script writer and teacher, remarked, “A lot of languages are dying (because) we lack sensitivity towards human existence as a whole. Everyone has their own way of communicating. What has happened now is that the entire communication has been taken over by gadgets.”

Using these means, people are forced to use “half-baked words” or emoticons which can never convey nuanced feelings. “We are losing the way to communicate, and as far as they are concerned,” he said, referring to his cast members, “they are all going to be actors, it becomes all the more important for them to understand the value of human languages.”

The human way of communication, he reiterated, is imbued with emotions, “which create a certain kind of sensitivity.” This sensitivity in turn adds value to each actor’s contribution to the art.

Perhaps it is thanks to a breakdown in genuine communication and a concurrent loss of sensitivity that, as Roy puts it, “every section of society is in some kind of pain, in distress, because of the kind of fragile relationships we have.”

Sensitivity and awareness were indeed on the minds of the young cast.

Pranav was sure his perceptions of life and theatre were changed by this experience. “Our society needs such a mirror, we need to learn how to live together and to live with our individual selves.”

Niloy Roy’s ‘Metamorphosis’. Photo: Facebook/Theatre Kingdom

For Neelima, the realisation was that “Uncertainty is a big part of life, and acceptance of uncertainty is the most difficult thing.”

Stanzin spoke of conflicts at various levels – between the conscious and subconscious mind, between individual and society or between different societies. “We take everything at such a superficial level and it’s high time we thought deeply about these matters. From the audience response it seemed we touched a deep chord with at least a few, and I think it’s a success for Niloy Sir and our team. I hope more such work is done in theatre,” she said.

Shubham felt he had developed a sense of acceptance that he earlier lacked. “One of the characters says, ‘If you accept someone for who they are, they will also accept you.’ That hit me,” he said, adding that the process also taught him surrender, which is the only way to progress in learning.

Sushant Pandey who played Franz Vinci said the work made him realise that even the thoughts he might be harbouring in his subconscious might be apparent

to people. “I used to judge people subconsciously,” he remarked.

Niloy Roy’s ‘Metamorphosis’. Photo: Facebook/Theatre Kingdom

For Rahul these lines of exploration of human thought were not new, but he felt affirmed in his attitude towards life and drama. “And there was a response from the audience, so I think to some extent we can bring about discussion on this matter.” Theatre is entertainment all right, said Rahul, but offering a message to society is an ideal combination.

The production glints with innumerable reflections of society’s current state, and the willingness of the young actors to explore their own attitudes and their environment showed courage. Practising or performing art in a bubble, aloof from the everyday world, offers a comfortable protection of not having to see or to participate in the pain of others.

If most of the problems facing the planet today can be sourced to the prevailing lack of empathy in society, this production, though admittedly just a ripple in the murky waters, holds out hope.

Because the nature of ripples is to spread.

Metamorphosis, a play in Hindi, will be performed again on May 4 at New Delhi’s Shri Ram Centre, 3 and 7 pm.

Anjana Rajan has been writing on the arts, literature and society for nearly 20 years. She is a former deputy editor of The Hindu, a dance exponent and theatre practitioner.

COVID-19: With No Financial Support from Govt, Performing Artistes Left High and Dry

“We never, ever thought that artistes[‘ situation] would come to such a pass. We never expected to be so let down by the government.”

It has become a cliché to laud India’s classical musicians and dancers as unofficial ambassadors of their country, but the description is not overly exaggerated, since they do represent cultivated image governments over the decades have been happy to endorse. It is ironic that having been officially placed on the pedestals of honour and adulation, they were seemingly forgotten when it came to welfare schemes for the lockdown-affected after the Coronavirus pandemic shut down all performances and other in-person activities.

While a large number of dancers — in a process of ‘natural selection’ brought about by the material requirements of today’s classical dance scenario, with expenses of costumes, jewellery, studio space, self-promotion — are seen to be from wealthy or highly educated families, the same is not the case with the majority of classical musicians. And even casual conversations reveal how immensely let down they feel by their governments both in the states and at the Centre. It is as if when not in the arc lights, they don’t exist.

Eminent qawwali artiste Ustad Abdul Hameed Sabri, who belongs to the famed Dilli Gharana of the Hindustani music and was a gandaband disciple of the legendary Ustad Chand Khan, paints a representative picture: “When the sarangi player is on stage, the hall resounds with applause. A little while later, he is at the bus stand, sarangi tucked under his arm, waiting for a bus to take him home. The organisers roam around in cars, however, the musicians, of whose art they make money, are on the road.”

Music director Rupendra Shridhar.

Delhi-based music director Rupendra Shridhar says, “There are no benefits from the government for musicians like us working in the freelance space. This is why we have been struggling for nearly two years now.”

Without work from the 2020 lockdown onwards, Shridhar says he survived thanks to the support of his son and daughter who have jobs in other fields. But for many, the curtain has come down in the form of hopelessness and humiliation.

Shridhar states, “I know musicians who have set up vegetable thelas (vending carts). Many have left the music scene altogether and gone back to their hometowns or villages.”

Says Siddhartha Roy Chowdhury, an eminent Kolkata-based exponent of sarod, sitar and tabla, “I know many in Kolkata who are selling masks and sanitiser on the streets. Because they don’t have any programmes, nor do they have tuitions.”

The stigma surrounding an artiste coming to such a pass prevents these seniors from revealing the names of any such musicians, even when promised the information won’t be published. Roy Chowdhury mentions, “This much I can tell you. Some of them are singers who used to have five-six programmes a month.” They are popular artistes, singing Bengali Khayal or Rabindra Sangeet, “but not Bollywood songs”, he clarifies.

Of himself, Roy Chowdhury says, “I have lots of students, they are learning from me online, so financially so far I’ve got no problem.” Similarly, he says, other well-established musicians have survived, but the young musicians are in great trouble.

“Lots of my students (who depend on performance and recording fees) are suffering. I and a few of my co-musicians are helping them. But this is the thing. Classical musicians, in a way, are dying. I talk to many young musicians. They say, ‘Kaku (uncle), it’s better we get COVID-19 and die.’ The situation is like this since last March (2020). It’s terrible for the classical musicians, especially.”

Sabri says, “We never, ever thought that artistes would come to such a pass. We never expected to be so let down by the government.”

His expectations from the country’s leaders stemmed in part from his having performed over the decades largely in government-sponsored festivals, “right from the Qutub Festival of Delhi, and from Kashmir to Kanyakumari,” and at the express invitation of dignitaries.

Also read: India’s Indie Musicians Struggle as COVID Restrictions Reduce Their Incomes by Half

The musicians make it a point of underlining the classical qualifications of the suffering artistes. Much of the reason for this lies in the lifelong commitment such training requires. Such artistes are often exceptional in the skills required by their art, but ill-equipped in other areas. Their academic education may be meagre — and also, it must be conceded, the mental makeup of performing artistes frequently leaves them unsuited to other mundane jobs.

And then there is the matter of prestige, both at the level of the individual and that of the gharana, guru or tradition. Considerations of going ‘up’ or ‘down’ in life — as measured by the fees one is offered or by the work one must do to supplement a dwindling income — are harshly real for these musicians, whose chances depend so much on reputation. It is part of a larger malaise in our class- and caste-ridden society and cannot be pushed aside as a simple matter of an artiste’s ego. So is it any wonder that musicians, highly erudite in their specialised field but not perhaps equipped with PhDs or other degrees conducive to ‘prestigious’ employment, baulk at the idea of picking up odd jobs to make ends meet?

Harrowing stories

Light designer Gautam Bhattacharya.

Musicians are of course not the only group confounded by the halt in performances. Light designer Gautam Bhattacharya, who along with Sanjoy Roy and several other influencers in the arts field strenuously tried to bring the attention of the ministry of culture and other official bodies towards this cause, citing an example of a Delhi-based dancer who had to temporarily work as an Amazon delivery boy. Others have switched from dance to teaching Yoga, a more lucrative trade these days.

Sabri’s situation is dire. “My rent is Rs 6,000 a month. For nearly two years, I have been unable to pay it. I am known as a great qawwal, but I am like Mirza Ghalib.” He refers to the great poet’s life spent in penury and the haveli he lived in becoming a heritage landmark over a century after his death.

“Now his spectacles are there and some clothes, but what’s the use? He spent his life in debt. That’s my condition today. I owe my milkman some 12,000 rupees. Poor thing, he has approached me several times sweetly saying, ‘Sabri saheb, when do you think it would be possible to pay up?’ I’ve told him as soon as I get some money I’ll first come running to you. The landlord also came demanding his money, and I can’t even repeat the kind of words that were used. So we have managed our life till now somehow, by borrowing.”

The Sabris’ daughter and son-in-law, themselves not too well off, have been loyally helping out, he adds. And yet, he says, “Sometimes we just don’t cook for two days in a row. We are in real trouble. This is the fact. There’s nothing to hide and nothing to lie about.”

He is grateful to the private organisations that have supported him and others in need, mentioning Goonj and Shefali Khanna’s Dear Sunshine Foundation. “They distributed rations and also sent some four-five thousand rupees sometimes into people’s accounts. Although that didn’t help reduce the debt, I’m telling you what they did for us,” he says.

The late Ustad Iqbal Ahmed Khan, khalifa of the Delhi Gharana, was Ustad Abdul Hameed Sabri’s nephew. Khan’s immediate family and groups under him too were helping their fellow artistes, especially in Old Delhi. His sudden death during the pandemic year was a blow to the music fraternity in every respect.

Ustad Abdul Hameed Sabri with Birju Maharaj.

But as Sabri recounts his tale of sliding into destitution, as also memories of performing with top artistes — Birju Maharaj, Amjad Ali Khan, Yesudas, Anup Jalota… those with whom he has shared a stage include all the contemporary greats, and influential names have showered him with praise and money in the past — his sonorous bass voice is steady and forthright, but numbingly sad.

“Anyway, all this is now but a dream for me, nothing more than a dream. My life is just about ground into the dust. I don’t have much hope now. When I have to go into the market, I go after it is dark, just to avoid meeting anybody who might ask for their money back.”

Indu Prakash Trivedi, another well-known Delhi-based vocalist with a musical lineage through his father Pandit Babu Ram Trivedi as well as illustrious gurus such as Ustad Naseer Khan, Iqbal Ahmed Khan, Amjad Ali Khan and Siddique Ahmed Khan, currently teaches in Mayur Vihar. Earlier he was associated with institutions like the Kathak Kendra and Bharatiya Kala Kendra. For some time, the internationally travelled artiste too had to depend on staples supplied by good samaritans.

“When the first lockdown started (March 2020), all my students went away,” he narrates. “My income came almost to zero. A few children did send payment despite not coming for lessons, but I was in a lot of difficulties.”

Vocalist Indu Prakash Trivedi

Not only did he struggle to cover expenses, he also felt as if he were “jailed” with the police blocking all entry and exit points around his residence, he laughs, sharing his imagination. Now he can afford to laugh, but not back then. He relates with great humility and honesty, “One doesn’t talk about these things, but in those days I actually queued up once to accept free rations.”

“Now conditions are much improved,” he says because he has been able to set up online classes, and also he goes out for an occasional tuition assignment.

“I feel the government may well have helped artistes, but I didn’t get to know. Government schemes are often good, but implementation is not,” he says mildly.

Private support

But Bhattacharya would disagree any government schemes were in place. Soon after the effects of the pandemic started being felt by financially unstable artistes, he along with Roy and others formed a WhatsApp group, ‘Creative Artists’.

“We collected data about some 3,000-4,000 artistes all over India and we kept telling the ministry (of Culture) and the Sangeet Natak Akademi,” he says. The data was submitted to these agencies and the group leaders tried multiple times to get support for artists in need, but, “nothing happened. They were absolutely not proactive. And the feedback we got was, ‘paisa nahin hai (there is no money)’.”

Also read: West Bengal: No End to Patua Artists’ Financial Woes As COVID-19 Rages

Again, individuals and private entities came forward. “Individual efforts were made, contributions were made, and we requested the artistes in dire need to approach and were sending money individually.” It was an artiste-to-artiste approach, he clarifies, “something like crowdfunding.”

Innumerable artistes have quietly supported their peers throughout the pandemic, and Bhattacharya notes, “Frankly it was so disappointing that there was absolutely no effort made by anyone from the government. Very sad.”

There were government officials connected with culture in the WhatsApp group too, but, says Bhattacharya, they also did not respond or take the intentions of the group forward in their official capacity.

Bhattacharya says in his interactions he has been consistently quoting the kind of support other countries — he names Germany, the US and Australia — have given their freelance artistes during the unprecedented crisis brought about by the pandemic.

Sabri points out that nearly two years since the pandemic hit India, still, there are no programmes and in these circumstances, “The culture ministry has a budget of lakhs of rupees they can spend on artistes.”

Bhattacharya says cryptically, “The government is busy building the central vista. They have money for that.” He adds that SNA’s budget was heavily slashed last year. “But they should have been proactive in approaching the ministry and negotiating with them for the artistes. Which unfortunately they didn’t.”

He also points out the lack of strong leadership in the SNA which has not had a chairperson for nearly two years, and no permanently appointed secretary since Rita Swamy Choudhary’s term expired in June.

“Frankly the Akademi is in the doldrums. There is internal strife, it is pathetic.”

Says Roy Chowdhury, “The government could have done many things. Just as they are providing projects like Ayushman Bharat and others, they could have done something for the musicians.”

He highlights those immersed in the field for three-four decades, having given most of their life to serving society through music. “The government should have a budget, they should open a fund for them and make sure that the grant goes to the right persons.”

Bhattacharya was in touch with a spectrum of artistes — musicians, dancers, puppeteers, light designers — and it is hard to single out one group alone that has suffered. Paid online classes may be the solution for performers, but what about the technical folks such as light designers who depend on live shows, he asks.

A music class in progress. Photo: vistarmusic.org.

“These are major issues. That’s why we sort of held each other’s hands and tried to survive. Whoever requested help in paying rent or hospitalisation or whatever, we did raise money, and it is still going on, but it has eased off.” And naturally so. As individuals go on giving from their personal savings, and conditions hold out little hope of improving, they often find themselves rethinking their generosity.

Take Sabri’s case. He remarks, “You might ask, being such an established artiste, why doesn’t he have savings? The thing is I also tried to help those who were less fortunate than me. The ones living in [Delhi colonies like] Welcome and Seelampur, who do bhajans and qawwalis at a local level, whose condition I knew was worse than mine, I helped them out financially when the lockdown first began, but eventually I ended up in need myself.”

Adding to the misery are sporadic wild goose chases. “At the beginning of the first lockdown,” says Roy Chowdhury, “the Central government said that all musicians registered with the Sangeet Natak Akademi would get Rs 2,000 a month. I am registered with them, but I haven’t got a single paisa yet. And they announced that for those who are not registered with the Government of India or SNA, here is the website number [link], and they can apply from there. Lots of my co-musicians in Kolkata tried, but still that website is not opening.”

Bhattacharya feels such an announcement could have been spurious. The SNA had not yet responded to emailed queries at the time of writing this article.

This July, Shridhar lost his wife to cancer. “This too was due to lack of money,” he says. “If I had had access to more funds I might have been able to save her or prolong her life.”

Shridhar’s regretful statement underlines the complete absence of a safety net for freelance musicians. “There are neither any insurance policies [accessible to freelance artistes without regular, fixed incomes], nor any schemes from the government side,” he notes.

Even as they wonder if artistes can ever really unite, Shridhar, Trivedi and Sabri suggest forming an association of serious, senior artistes whom the government can consult on the genuine requirements of the community. The mood though is depressed.

Roy Chowdhury says he started his school Vistar in memory of his father Anil Roy Chowdhury, the eminent guru known for his contribution in moulding worthy performers, because as his son and disciple he felt he should also contribute to the wellbeing of future generations.

“But now I am thinking, why should I teach? Lots of [students] are playing really well, but if this is the situation, how can I ask them to take music as a profession?”

Sabri sums it up, “When the unfortunate labourers were suffering, walking to their homes, it was taken note of. Some efforts were made, some thought put into how to help them. The sad thing is no one gave a thought to the artists.”

Anjana Ranjan is a Bharatanatyam exponent and teacher, and theatre practitioner.