Fairs and festivals all around — the din, decoration and clutter of celebration abounds everywhere – from the coloured pages of newspapers to the neon lights that glitter through the city nights while the bright advertisements flood the houses with promises of more fun, more gala events, more comfort and yet more events. It’s a merry time – the right time to be – and yet there are so few smiling faces around. The frown on the forehead, the crease of worry on the brow, the tense shoulders and stiff knees seem to say something that is not heard – and which, perhaps, remains inaudible in the din that fills the atmosphere. The noise, like a shroud of silence, smothers a voice, a song or a sigh that may be covered in its folds, an expression so unnoticed that it ceases to exist. This is much like the disconnection we experience, when, in the noise of horns and in the hurling of abuse, one cannot listen to the heartbeat or keep track of the whisperings of the breath. Of course, this glitz is not exclusive – it’s now on display for all. Even the pavement dweller has the brilliance of the firecrackers and the blare of mikes for company. Those who work hard all day can feel the presence of this glitz on the way back from work – they can feel the colour and the sparkle, even through the smell and stickiness of the dust and sweat in the bus. Those who receive orders all day can now receive entertainment in turn. The bored and fatigued can smile as they gulp their meals – for the bread is savoury with a sauce served on a smiling channel. There is no need to hum a tune, no need to lift and move the feet; the cramped muscles need not yell out in pain, for that would disrupt the way things are — and disruption is not only unnecessary, but unwelcome and uncalled for. Thus, it’s best to let be – to delight in what’s around. Cover up with ointment the part that may be disagreeable, be pleasant and passive. Rest and be fed on the surfeit of entertainment till slumber rolls on…why add more to a hard day’s work?

Labour has never been easy, and yet it has never been devoid of expression, the constant companion of toil. The universe came into being not without the proverbial bang. The women’s pain of labour that brings forth life in human form into the world is personified by the moans and screams generated by intense experiences. The man with the plough sings to his fields – often loudly at dawn and at dusk and in a dull murmur in the summer noon. The woman at the grindstone sings to the rhythm and momentum of the heavy task. The vegetable vendor spends hours in the morning arranging his stall – playing with the colours and shapes inherent in his produce – long and slender white radishes, round purple brinjals, dusty irregular potatoes, green woolly spinach, yellow pumpkin, red pink carrots. He places them all aesthetically and the more poetic amongst them sings their praises in voices that are loud and clear. The toil of the grindstone may have been reduced by the grinder mixer, the vendors stall by vegetables neatly arranged in shelves, but the leisure created by this reduction may not necessarily have facilitated an increase in creative expression from more members of the society. True, radio jingles play on while work is done – but the one who works and the song are not in one and the same person. This segregation distinguishes one from the other – creates compartments where one can exist without the other and may, in due course, negate the other. This is not to say that the process of creating entertainment does not constitute work – in fact, today, it exists as an important industry employing lakhs and generating business that amounts to crores. It is dealing with products, often branded, often popularised at great cost and marketed simultaneously to a huge geographical area. By its dominant presence and its sheer hugeness, this culture tends to become the mainstream of the expression of a society. Any state is responsible for the kind of culture that permeates and pervades all cross-sections of society. There are concrete policies that facilitate certain kinds of activity and do not facilitate other kinds. There may be an argument that the state cannot interfere with each and every thing that individuals do or do not do. But flag-hoisting at schools has set a trend that affects teachers and students alike. It has categorised the expression of children into norms of acceptability. Patriotic songs, plays extolling bravery, bhajans and rhetorical exhortations to goodness have excluded a host of other creative innovations that could have been possible. For generations, schools have laughed at and mocked ‘Ramu’ naukars – the rural, illiterate worker good only to serve and so foolish that allowing him to serve also seems a favour. Factories that are most reluctant to spend a few thousand rupees to organise workshops for the creative expression of their employees easily spend lakhs to get well-known stars for an evening’s entertainment on their Annual Days. Educational institutions seem to follow the same path. The creative expression of a person is seen to have less value than something that can be put on display. This may translate itself into self effacement that shies from expression – ‘I will not sing or dance unless I am sure it will get applause’ or, ‘I will not speak till I am sure it would be appreciated’.

This is not to say that specialisation is neither possible nor good in itself. But to see artistic expression only in something that is ornamental is detrimental to a society’s overall cultural health. The preference in its favour can imply the dismissal of an approach that believes in the potential of all human beings. The connection with the arts is important for the holistic growth of all humans – man or woman. Art has the power and the nuance to connect us to the subtleties of our nature, beyond social and gender roles. When creating something through our own expression, we also gain confidence in the ability to shape things – to articulate our thoughts and create spaces and metaphors that instil within us the potential to make and remake – to alter and change – and to not merely be a cog in the wheel. When the world was large and could accommodate several independent spheres, there may have been acknowledged painters whose existence did not prevent the kolam being made at the doorstep every day. There may have been designers but that did not prevent any from planning our living spaces according to our needs and aesthetics. Standardisation, however, creates its codes and rejects a lot by its insistence on setting trends. As the world grows smaller, dominant trends make inroads into people’s quiet lives. Even a personal affair like a wedding is seen to be taken away by designers or tent and crockery managers leaving us gaping spectators to an event. This slipping away of expressiveness gradually erodes the innate strength of a community to be expressive. The creativity of the human resource, which the state swears by, needs to be carefully nurtured and sustained. Talent is rampant in this country – it is like dust, it resides in every person – given an opportunity, it blossoms. Nurtured, talent can make flowers bloom. Uncared for, it is the dust we sweep away. Indifference is part of the greater injustice that the existing order imposes on us, and the state is somewhere accountable for it.

Expression also means exercising an influence on one’s environment, creating a mould of dreams and projecting one’s own perspective onto the larger screen. It implies sharing or communicating a world view that is specific to the one doing it. Primitive cave paintings mark the presence of the inhabitants and also record the images born of their perception of their surroundings. Even before the word, there was the image; even before the word, there was the sound. And even then there was sharing – there was narration. Human beings discovered the need and place for expression in the infant years of evolution. Sociological studies reveal that we were probably still hunters then. After the hunt and combat with wild animals, the killed beast would be brought to the community. A fire would be lit and the beast hung over it to be roasted. All sat around, waiting for the food to cook. The hunters would enter the space between the fire and the people and enact the adventure of the hunt. He could switch roles – be both the hunter and the hunted. This was narration in space – a recounting of an incident that, at the time of performance, was past. In this circle existed all the basic elements of drama — a performer with a story to tell, an audience and light, ensuring visibility. The performer was a member of the community, not alienated from the daily chores common to all. It is probable that everyone took turns to perform. This is the origin which all efforts that seek to generate expression of workers’ and people’s groups try to claim as the starting point.

Many such new beginnings have been made in different parts of the country – in the busy streets, at the factory gates and in villages deep in the forest. Workers of the organised and unorganised sectors have made plays to express their ideas and views, often an impetus born out of immediate circumstances around them. It may have been the contractor giving reduced wages, the suspension of a worker or a break in the union’s negotiations with the management. The play then becomes a way to gain support for their cause. Many of these plays would be performed at factory gates, timed so as to fit into the change of shifts. A performance would often spark a chain of performances in other parts. Sometimes, a common banner would cover many groups or a Left-aligned political party would steer the effort. Most of these groups do not conceal their pro-worker pro-people stand. The intense need is to impact the current of events, to break away from proximity and indifference by reorganising the validity of their opinion and insisting on being heard. Disagreements are articulated, facts underlying policies and practices are expressed and demands for justice and equality are made. These are voices the official mass media chooses to ignore. Prompted by conviction, these groups take responsibility for what they say and also face the risk of being opposed and threatened by an authority that wishes to hide or silence them. The emergence of this expression of the voice of many is, in itself, a questioning —one that dares to see beyond it. It is inspired by hope and is a participant in the struggle – where theatre is its voice and companion.

The street is a place where the most momentous decisions are taken. It is also the place where the impact of all policies is felt and seen at a glance – the gait of the people, changing dress codes, the change in the brands of cars and the wares being sold. It is here that protests by people, waving flags, chanting songs and slogans change the course of events. Any group movement, when pressing for its demands, has to ultimately prove its strength and effectiveness in the street. Such has been the challenge of all times. When a play is performed here, it becomes part of the mainstream, part of people’s conversations; it makes its presence felt amidst bargaining, the cries of hawkers, cycle bells and the magic of dancing monkeys. However, even while moving in this general space, most workers groups carry with them issues that are specific and immediate and which often affect them personally. An actual event often becomes the main story line, with slight modifications. The audience is often expected to participate by arriving at a solution. The plays may thus be performed even in bastis and slums. Discussions after the shows are crucial as it is sought that a line of action will emerge from the performance. The play, then, is a way of discussion. The distinction between the actor and the audience gets diminished.

Protests and protest marches, dharnas and strikes have generated a vast repertoire of songs, skits and slogans, much of which have been spontaneous expressions. Some have been compiled in booklets but much still remains only in the memories of the people who created and passed them on. The reaction of the establishment to this culture varies, depending on its perception of the threat to its own existence. By and large, it is predictably constant in its suspicion and hostility. The workers may be lathi-charged or even killed. At the other extreme is the attitude that tends to ignore this whole bulk of creative expression as propaganda and unworthy of serious discourse. It is trivialised and hence marginalised. Every political system bans plays and films that denounce it with almost the same vehemence with which they ban strikes and protest marches. The Natyashastra has an interesting anecdote to narrate in this context. After Bharat Muni and his sons had mastered the art of Natya, they enacted plays which were highly appreciated in Heaven. However, the sons trespassed beyond the zone of propriety and in one of the plays mocked the Gods. As result, they were ousted from Heaven, cursed to carry on their activities as the low-born of the earth. Ever since then, expression pays the price for daring to trespass into forbidden areas – the areas that disturb the comfort zones of the ones in power.

The ability of people’s culture to challenge the parameters of the mainstream makes it an invaluable asset for the development of alternate expression. Much more serious thought and work is required in this direction. Workers organisations, trade unions and popular movements can explore some of these dimensions. Often, the creation of a play for a specific moment becomes an end in itself. Richer potential remains unexplored. One is not talking of artistic merit, not of the overall texture and grain of the form. Simplicity and innocence are their own value. However, is artistic merit merely putting together a few slogans and speeches? It can certainly be so and yet can be much more. If just a message was enough, then why make a play out of it? The answer is that a play can explore the aspects that make the core of an idea significant – by placing it in the context of life. The purpose is not to make an ideology saleable but to go deeper into all that from which the idea too has probably emerged. It is not an echo of another voice, but a full song that builds and leaves behind its vibrations. It is the human face behind facts that this expression can reveal and bring forth. Of course, it is envisioned through the colour of the creators – with the language, images, music and impressions that are special and unique to the group that brings it forward. Ingenuity, by its very presence, infuses energy and richness into the form. The creativity of workers will, therefore, be diverse  and specific to each unique creative group.

To arrive, there requires confidence, a yearning and faith. By and large, most groups begin with nervousness and hesitation. Presumed benchmarks of standardised quality often fill beginners with inadequacy. A space and moment to create and express is unusual and perplexing for most people. While rehearsals with a script may be possible, to begin with, the self and emptiness seem exciting and yet fill one with fear and awe. There may also be obstacles of conditioning and habit. A group of weavers, when once talking of their workplace, talked of the shed, the machines and the movement of their hands. None of them mentioned the colours of the rayon they handled – pink, blue and white and gold. Those were merely part of the drudgery that was ‘work’. A child who labours in a factory for twelve hours a day has a spine that is as stiff as a person many times his age. I still remember the chill that ran through my body as I touched a child of nine to urge her neck downwards (thinking that she was not trying enough) and sensed the stiffness in each joint. Loss of childhood does not mean merely a denial of school and books but a loss of suppleness, flexibility and lightness in the body, which are all at the core of a child’s playfulness. A group of women Madhubani painters was trying theatre. The women were saddened by the treatment the world had given them, shy to the extent of being stubborn – almost afraid of stretching their arms full length. One of them found turning around difficult, leave alone balancing her weight on one foot. With a sari too long for her, she seemed indefinable – neither flesh nor bone. But she had spirit, and on the fourth day she was able to do it. She balanced her body on one foot and let the other go behind and stood with arms stretched to the side, like a little baby bird. The wrinkles creased into a smile as the morning light glowed around her, creating a brief moment of bliss. She danced that night, her little feet circling and patting the floor. This mystery, this revelation, this freeness and this unfolding of beauty are what the arts are all about.

However, this freedom and flow of energy can be experienced only with willingness. Society has traditionally deemed this taboo and thus there is a corresponding reticence from exercising this freedom. In a closely knit and caste-dominated society, social prejudices are bound to exist. Traditionally, singing and performing, including singing ballads, telling stories, dancing, acting, puppetry, clowning, playing drums and acrobatics are the professional duties of particular caste groups who are considered low in the social hierarchy of the village. This often compels people from other caste groups to shy away from performing. Workers’ groups insist that their plays are born of activism and that they are not entertainers. Even though acting and dancing are creative expressions, many prefer not to be identified with them as they do not find it respectable enough. Hence, they deny themselves the opportunity of expressing through them. This is also indicative of the way society has looked at the arts and often treated the artist with disdain. Most caste-specific rural artists are artists by bondage of birth and not by choice. Art is their profession and they have no other means of livelihood. Poor and landless, their survival is linked to the attitude of the upper castes.

Even among the castes that are poor, performers are far from being equals. They are often looked upon as mere entertainers, at whose cost the rest can have fun. Their skill and ingenuity may be admired, their presence at social functions may be solicited, but acceptance as human beings and as equal members of society is not forthcoming. The denial of this acceptance indicates, perhaps, that we are loath to respect that which we enjoy, that which gives us pleasure. At the same time, as we do not wish to lose it, we keep it in bondage. At some places, performers who are born by caste into their profession cannot walk with shoes on while passing houses of upper castes. On social occasions they will not be served food with others and are often not given a glass to drink from. Demeaned and poverty stricken, many artists, skilled though they might be, have grown to dislike their own creativity. Children of women singers cannot bear songs and refuse to sing themselves. While the entertainment industry is at its zenith and new stars are born every day, artists who maintain the creative flow though ages are nowhere to be found in the industry. Facing psychological and economic crises, their self esteem is at an all-time low. A recent report has mentioned that among the caste groups affected by the drought in Bundelkhand are saperas and bedins, both connected with performance. With the prevalent conditions of scarcity, there is no money or grain to spare for entertainers. Those who have remained within the stipulated confines of their profession have no other source of income and are badly hit by any dip in the economy. Most live in conditions that are appalling. There has been no state policy to support or create alternatives. The puppeteers of Rajasthan sell puppets in cites like Jaipur. Young girls from the bedin community migrate to Mumbai where they work as entertainers in beer bars. They exist as nameless faces, like many other members of the work force, who venture into cities in search of a livelihood. The poorest and the most vulnerable take to sex work. Thus, the unaddressed issues of a feudal framework feed the needs of a globalising economy.

The traditional artist may have been looked upon as an entertainer, but had a far more significant role to play. Some kept records of family histories and others spread stories such as Satyavadi Harishchandra that upheld values essential to any society. Bahurupiyas, in their performance, would depict corruption and hypocrisy. The bedin repertoire relates to every sphere of life – housework, sexual abuse, domestic violence, migration, desertion, child marriage and celebrations of the seasons and festivals. Their music is rich and vibrant with many hues and rhythms. Most have been keepers of wisdom and poetry passed on orally from one generation to the other.

A state that has not made any serious intervention in these areas can best be described as being indifferent to its own richness, resources and strength. After independence, these resources could have provided rich material and talented human resources for education and educational institutions. The state probably internalised the upper caste gaze and attitude that did not acknowledge much value and worth in this treasure. The same system that denied expression to workers’ groups allowed the livelihood of these artists to be eroded. True, there was occasional support for a group or two in a particular form – they would often be asked to perform at government functions. These gestures, however, were not enough and were often bestowed as favours. It was not seen the other way around – that these groups were contributing so much to the social fabric by maintaining continuity and celebrating the events of our lives. An underestimation of their worth and contribution has eroded the wealth of culture that they carried with them. A ‘performer’s’ work may not produce a community outside itself. Because the social role of an artist is not as tangible as that of an artisan or a landless worker, his or her position as a worker has been ambivalent. The ‘culture zone’ looks at art, not at the artist and at his social space or economic needs. The culture zone has not created support structures for alternate avenues of expression of talent. There has been very little effort to enhance and upgrade skills, to generate ideas and debate amongst artists. The only questions are, “Where can the art be displayed?” And, “Can it be used to promote tourism?”

This focus on display de-contextualises the expression which is rooted in the space and environment of the artist. The artist lives in the present and his/her art is always contemporary. The epithet ‘traditional’ often makes artists into fossils and hence a closed chapter. The truth, however, is that the rural artist is a member of a large unorganised sector whose needs, status and contributions have not been carefully assessed. Rural artists are a group whose survival is threatened and deserve attention as citizens of this country. As the poet Gibran says, ‘The soul of the dancer resides in her body’. A state sensitive to its human resources would see merit not only in creating support structures for the rural artist, but also in opening more avenues for exploration and expression by the vast numbers of its work force. What remains then is a question of belief in this potential and in its ability to regenerate itself. By creating spaces for articulation at all levels there can be greater democratisation – and a more genuine scope for a pluralistic existence. It also means investing in that which cannot be commoditised, only assimilated in us.