Song of the Swan (Play) - a review

I have been living in Mumbai for more than 10 years now, and yet I have not managed to watch many plays. Pretty shameful, indeed.

My friend and colleague had this interesting new-year resolution aspect about watching one play every month. I guess I must have been triggered by it. Plus, one of J’s friends is part of the cast of many plays.

A combination of these two factors has started to have it’s effect, and I have been to three plays that she is acting in in the last two months­­—The Vagina Monologues, Boiled Beans on Toast, and Song of the Swan.

Song of the Swan is edgy and keeps you hooked. The abrupt transitions are brilliant. #Kashmir #Terrorism #Theater http://t.co/DubMFJ0eHS

— Krishna Kumar V. (@krishna_kumar_v) June 23, 2015

The play is a recollection of stories revolving around the tragic beheading of a Norwegian theater artist, Hans Christian, in Kashmir a few years back. Hans, while chasing his dream of being a successful playwright, visited India because he was attracted by its spirituality. He visited Kerala and took Kathakali lessons from a local master. Then he went to Mumbai, where he accidentally met the Song of the Swan’s director Asad Hussain at Prithvi after a play that Hussain was in the cast of, before heading to Delhi on his way to Kashmir. In Kashmir, he was held captive by Mujahideen for several days before ultimately behind beheaded after failed negotitations.

The entire play was a continuous narrative, with the five-member cast performing the various roles within the various scenes. The transitions between the scenes were abrupt and were startling at times. I often found myself getting lost in the narrative monologues of one character, only to be shaken back to reality by the the almost intrusive entry of the next. Plus, during the more schizoid scenes, there would be two or more characters talking over each other, representing to the chaotic environment inside the minds of the various characters.

Song of the Swan has deep-rooted political and philosophical narratives. The political aspect comes from the obvious terrorism-related story. But the various scenes set in Kashmir near the Dal lake bring the viewer to painful awareness of the struggles of the natives, how they are being played out like Pawns in the game between India and Pakistan, and how they consider themselves as neither nation. The play seems to attribute some empathy to the negotiator representing the Mujahideen, and the narrative of the phone conversations between the two negotiators was an aspect that I have never come across. The most important part, however, is how the state of affairs plays with the sanity of the different players in the Kashmir theater.

The philosophical aspect comes from the fact that Hans, who is described as an absolute gem of a person with many enviable attributes (singing/acting), has had a miserable life, with multiple rejections in different fronts. He was coming from a failed marriage and had been rejected admission in some theater schools. He is lured by the spirituality aspect of India and has this dream of writing a play and getting it on the best theater in Oslo. His mother’s character often wonders if he should have been a more “normal” boy without such big aspirations. I thought that was symbolic of several artist friends that I know (including myself) who seem to struggle because of their seemingly overambitious dreams.

I loved the play. But as my friend rightly says, I’m very pleasable. So although I compeltely recommend it, I also hope that you like it as much as I did.

The shoe-lace incident

I don’t know how I forgot to mention it in the post about the play. But I’m glad that I did. I can elaborate now. And I think it needs elaboration. It happened during the interval of the play. I was out at the cafeteria with my a group of my friends sipping coffee. My left shoe’s laces were undone.

I don’t remember exactly how they were undone but the point is that they were. I was perfectly aware of the state of my laces and didn’t want to tie them up before I had my coffee and snacks because I wasn’t sure of finding a place where I could wash my hands. I think that is a sufficient explanation for not tying the laces.

A distinguished looking, middle aged woman in an elegant saree walked up to us and said with an attitude of arrogance and superiority.

‘Excuse me BOY, perhaps you have failed to notice that your shoelaces are undone. I suggest that perhaps you should learn to tie them which will help you avoid falling on your face.’

Enraged by her attitude and tone, without missing a beat, I replied with a smirk

‘Ma’am, I’m a fully-grown adult man and during my 29 years of age I have learnt enough to avoid such mishaps. I appreciate you pointing it out, but really, I CAN take care of myself. Thank you.’

She didn’t like it one bit and left to join her group of friends. My friends were offended by my tone and sarcasm. They thought that she was being ‘kind’ and ‘nice’ and I was being ‘rude’ and ‘offensive’. Give me a fucken break! What do you think? Had you been in her place, would you come up to me and say what she said in the way she did? I think I was perfectly right in returning the sarcasm to her without giving her age or gender a consideration.

On second thought, I think my friends weren’t used to the kind of sarcasm that I’m familiar with. I watch a lot of ‘Will & Grace’ where sarcasm bounces off the pachydermic characters like a tennis ball off a racket. Am I too much into sitcoms?

Anjor-Kaaya, the musical

Liberation. Something that we all dream about. Something which is close to 'nirvana'. Liberation is closely tied with arts somehow; as is captured in this photograph that Vinokur took during his hippie days. The setting is Manhattan - at the Guggenheim museum. Apparently Vinokur was standing across the street from the Guggenheim and this bus with 'Liberty' printed on it happened to pass by. The folk-lore goes on to mention that he was good enough 'capture the moment' as is demonstrated vide infra.


Here's what Vinokur would caption the picture 'As a bus named Liberty passed in front of a revered expression of freedom in the arts (Wright's masterpiece, the Guggenheim Museum), the camera's shutter opened and closed.' It's a shame that he is so lazy that he wouldn't care enough to showcase his repertoire to the world, don't you think?

Life doesn't always allow everyone his/her share of equality, or better 'liberty' in this case. I allege the medical training as the reason for me to be suffering from the injustice of being left out from arts, literature, history and all the other 'essential' traits of a gay man. I shamefully accept that I can't blame anyone but myself for not indulging in all of this - I wasn't a rich heir living the land of dreams who could do anything with their life without worrying about the mundane necessities of a third world life after all! I do this rather passively - excepting of course delving in performing music.

Some other third-world-ers took it a couple of steps ahead. I was a witness to that the other night and it was enchanting. I might be a very 'soft' critic but I am not lying. I was invited to 'Anjor-Kaaya', an experimental musical written and performed by 'professionals' from various other 'professions' - I use inverted commas to be cynical about the media and the society which felicitate these to some higher level as compared to others - like doctors, lawyers, engineers etc. One of my friends, a microbiologist, the co-writer and performer in the play, had invited me for it.

I was late. I was late by about half an hour. Ashamed, I walked in and found a couple of 'phallow gay frens' sitting right at the back. One of them was about to leave attributing his desire to attend a rock-concert somewhere else. The other one, the more-established connoisseur of art, whose cynical tendencies were rather unpublicized, was to give me company. It took a while for me to get 'into' the play. It was a fantastical story based on a wishing-fountain. Many different stories of unfortunate people from the cross section of society - an estranged teenage girl who sells umbrellas in the streets, a painter whose art goes unrecognized, a dancer who becomes quadriplegic, a mother whose son runs away from home - all were unfolded in front of the fountain which is titled 'Anjor-Kaaya'.

The script was written in old-school hindi, something which I was used to thanks to 'Doordarshan' and 'Vividbharti' from my childhood, and it elicited the reaction of the romantic poet inside me. The stories themselves were painful enough to let the language unfurl it's adjectives and allegories poignantly. The combination of the two sounded like music to my mind and I was fascinated. My friend on the other hand was ruminating about what was wrong and what could be done to undo it. I wished I could agree with him. It was extremely hard and I found respite in one aspect - the background score. I thought it could have been written better and produced way, way better. It's ironic how I suddenly jumped into being a harsher critic in a topic that was familiar to me.

Anjor and Kaaya, by the way, were evergreen, immortal lovers who would try to make the wishes of the people come true by following instructions given in little parchments. There were a lot of interesting aspects in their own characterization with issues like jealousy being dealt with in shades of poetry. The fact that they chose colours and their combinations to find solutions to the problems that the people came to them was suggestive about the diversity in which the society is immersed in and how harmony can be achieved by the appropriate combination of the different elements. A very strong message about and to society, I felt.

More importantly, the actual issues in the present day society were highlighted and presented in a very attractive, romantic method. I don't see that often these days - the stuff that we get to see these days is harsher and cynical about everything relevant. The fact that the entire crew behind this effort were people from different walks of society not trained in drama was probably something which is given far too much attention. My friend, for example, chose to highlight that fact as their only redemption. I disagree. I agree with him about only one point - things could be improved in so many ways - to make it classier, to appeal to the 'art-lovers' who are engrossed with pre-defined notions. Ah, what they miss out on, the message, the sheer elegance of the content.

I applaud my friend and the entire team of Anjor-Kaaya for making me feel closer to being liberated. Thank you!