Sandip Roy’s Chapal Rani explores gender, theatre and identity in Bengal

The book begins with an insightful and comprehensive introduction that discusses the socio-economic issues as well as the aesthetics of a man portraying a woman on stage, both in urban and rural jatra as well as what is understood as mainstream theatre. Roy deals with the subject of queer politics linked with this theatre practice in great detail through the complex life of Bhaduri, who was a jatra icon, exploring emotions and relationships on and off the stage.

A particularly interesting section is the one that delves into Bhaduri’s bond with his mother, who herself was a renowned actress and was married into an iconic theatre family. Being an actress in the 1930s, however, was looked down upon by society, resulting in her being treated poorly by the family. The book maps his journey —from the initial days as a struggling actor to becoming a legendary figure and the inevitable downfall once women joined jatra — in a nuanced narrative. The story of Bhaduri making ends meet by playing a goddess on the streets to meeting writer and theatre practitioner Naveen Kishore, who made a documentary chronicling his eventful life, although well known, are presented with a fresh perspective, as are his trip to Canada, the subsequent exposure to the so-called ‘high art’ circle and his eventual end at an old-age home.

Chapal Bhaduri (Photo credit: Express Archive)

I called this a ‘book’ instead of a ‘biography’ because it is written mostly in the form of a first-person narrative, with extensive dialogues. While that makes for an interesting read, it also comes with the danger of losing the objective gaze of a biographer. (It is a different matter that a biographer can be as biased too). But Roy has successfully steered clear of the trap by being as brutal as possible and by bringing in more than one voice across the chapters, including that of an actress who used to play secondary roles, thereby making it richer.

In such cases, though, texts often run the risk of being misconstrued as novels. And at times, reading Chapal Rani does arouse confusion over its format. Thankfully, its sharp focus on the subject and a linearity of narrative works in its favour. And if one is not too finicky about casting a book in the silos of a particular genre, one can happily accept the end result.

In its expanse, it virtually becomes a biography of the world of jatra in the late 20th century, into which is woven the complex fabric of agony and ecstasy that defined Bhaduri’s life.

As Roy writes, “I had begun this project imagining Chapal Rani as an ageing jatra queen sitting in front of a mirror and talking into it. But slowly I understood there is no one mirror, that memory itself is a hall of mirrors. And none of the reflections are wholly true or untrue… The interludes in this book are the ghosts in this story. They exist somewhere between Chapal’s reality and my imagination — and they too have stories to tell. It is up to the reader to decide how much to believe.’

There is no doubt that the book is an invaluable addition as a sensitive documentation created through multiple perspectives — social, psychological, aesthetic and historical.

Sathe is an architect and writer