Our Prufrock

And then Habib Tanvir brought his play Charandas Chor to town. The impact of the play on all of us was stunning. The stage suddenly burst alive with a combination of dance, music and the rhythm of folk actors, who were used splendidly in the play. The areas of the stage became whatever the director wished them to be, and we suspended our disbelief not because of a pretense of realism, but the emotional impact of the piece itself. It was truly liberating and exhilarating. I still remember the sound of the anklets on the actress8217; feet. The music was used not only to comment on the action, but also to heighten emotional impact.

The viewer was moved by the situation of the characters, but also saw it in the context of the ebb and flow of life itself. But behind it all, the viewer also experienced an acute theatrical mind, which used the folk traditions of Chattisgarh with a modern understanding of ideas and the craft of theatre. There was a lament about the world we lived in, but simultaneously there was a joyous abandon which was truly infectious.

Here was a totally rooted, yet totally cosmopolitan and international mind. He knew more about the tradition of classical Sanskrit theatre and folk traditions than any petty propagator of Hindu nationalism. He was also absolutely secular. Not in an armchair academic sort of way, but in his soul. That, combined with his deep knowledge of Urdu and Western theatre makes him one of the truly great artistes of any time.

Years after he changed my views on theatre, I was sitting in a room in Bombay writing my first script, Yeh Woh Manzil Toh Nahin. It was about three old men who go back to their hometown for a college reunion. The face that came to me as I wrote the character of one of the old men was Habib Tanvir8217;s.

The main reason why the film worked is his presence. His face, in a close shot, is a sculptor8217;s dream. It is the face of a man who has lived life. It is arrogant, yet kind. You can see the ordeal of his early years, which he spent in Bombay. It was a time when he flirted with the film medium with Zia Sarhadi8217;s Footpath and trained at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts in London.

The decision to follow his true calling, which was to define a new space for himself in theatre, must have been a tough one. In his eyes, there8217;s a sadness that reflects the insults and humiliations that must have been part of a theatre artiste8217;s life in those days. But there is also a wisdom that accepts all this without bitterness and moves on. He is a man with a viewpoint about the world he lives in and understands his role in it.

Like TS Eliot, Habib Tanvir knows that though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed; Though I have seen my head growing slightly bald brought in upon a platter; I am no prophet8212;and here8217;s no great matter; I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker; And I have seen the eternal footman hold my coat, and snicker; And in short I was afraid.

Habib Tanvir is 8216;afraid8217; in the best sense of the word. Afraid that there is so much to do and so little time. Afraid of mortality and those he loves. Afraid that he will not measure up to his own expectations.

But certainly not afraid of the petty tyrants in Madhya Pradesh who are now persecuting him. These are the types he has faced all his life.

If all of us support him, he will smile, but if we don8217;t, he will forgive us our cowardice and move on.