My Multidisciplinary Mentor- Tan Swie Hian


Tan Swie Hian is a cultural icon in Singapore. A painter, calligrapher, poet and translator, he lives and works in Singapore. On June 5, 2006 he received the Legion of Honour, France’s highest award. Also in 2006 Singapore issued a set of ten stamps and a souvenir sheet featuring his art and calligraphy.

I had heard of Singapore's most celebrated multidisciplinary artist Tan Swie Hian years before I met him, through common friend and writer Radhika Srinivasan. In 1996 we presented 'Radha's Quest' in Singapore, a work scripted and directed by Radhika. Swie Hian was there in the audience and highly appreciative of the effort. After that I'd hear about him off and on- on my visits to Singapore.
In year 2003, Swie Hian opened the Singapore Arts Festival in collaboration with the Singapore Chinese Orchestra. After witnessing that performance, I just had to go and meet the man. The brief meeting and exchange marked the beginning of a unique association. Over the years, Swie Hian has become my friend and mentor.

The article below is a going back to that first meeting at the Esplanade Theatre, Singapore on 30th May 2003.


MYRIAD POSSIBILITIES

By Nirmala Seshadri


At a pre-performance reception, a group of us discussed our response to orchestral
concerts. As dancers, we agree that we tend to miss the visual movement element and
often feel restless mid-way. And this is going to be music we have little exposure to - a Chinese orchestra! But then, it is the gala opening of the Singapore Arts Festival; a time to reconnect with the local arts fraternity and show solidarity with the National Arts Council that is doing so much to transform this shopper! s paradise into the cultural capital of Southeast Asia. With that thought, we made our way into the concert hall at the new Esplanade Theatre, fondly referred to as “Durian” (a local fruit) because of its shape, which has also prompted allusions to two rather amorous porcupines.

The spectre of SARS requires us to undergo a temperature scan at the entrance, passing which we are handed an “I’m Nice & Cool!” sticker. What follows is an experience that is to change our perception of orchestras, of Chinese music and of ourselves as artistes in a multi-cultural society. If it opened doors for those
directly involved with the production that night, myriad possibilities shone through the minds of the viewers.

The performance Instant is a Millennium: A Musical Conversation with Tan Swie Hian
was, like the best of artistic experimentation, both stunning and challenging. Yes, there were moments of restlessness, dips, but we had to admit that for most of the time we were sitting up straight, trying to anticipate just what might come next.
The music was by four Chinese composers who provided a wide range of styles and
tones. The opening number was dramatically avant-garde. At the centre of the stage, a
gigantic installation, intriguing in its design, revealed its representational aspects when poetry appeared on a screen. So universal in thought, it spoke of the inter-connectedness in life and of love that is to be shared by all. The Celestial Web was indeed a very moving opening to a dialogue between Singapore’s most celebrated multi-disciplinary artist-poet, sculptor, calligrapher, and set and costume designer Tan Swie Hian, and the Singapore Chinese Orchestra.

As each piece unfolded, one became aware of an intricate tapestry of visual art with its multifarious possibilities in a digital age, of lighting techniques, of poetry, and of music. In Divine Melody, we witnessed an oil painting being created in time to the music but sans the artist. Brilliant use of digital technology made it seem as if an invisible hand was at work.

The last piece saw the coming together of the Chinese art of calligraphy with music. The “running” style in Chinese calligraphy emphasises deft, flowing brush strokes, with the characters often linked to one another, thus creating a strong sense of ongoing movement. This was the only piece in which Swie Hian himself appeared on stage-in a short kurta, a pair of bermudas and sandals-to complete an entire poem of 140 Chinese characters in less than five minutes. The moment was so intense-the hall sat with bated breath as he bent over the 12-foot long sheet of rice paper and moved with great speed and strength. The image was projected on a large screen behind him. For the most part, the music was at the level of a hum, but as he approached the end of the poem, the conductor swung his arm with increasing intensity. An instant had attained the proportions of an entire millennium.

By the end of it all, I knew I couldn’t walk away without meeting the man who had
brought it all together. Tan Swie Hian is an enthusiastic communicator and excitedly told me how he had visited India as a distinguished visitor of the Indian government and that he felt he must have been an Indian in his last birth.

Swie Hian is the recipient of numerous local and international awards, most recently the World Economic Forum’s Crystal Award. But beyond it all, he is a symbol of warmth, gentleness, simplicity and pure joy.

Excerpts from an interview with Tan Swie Hian:

Q: How would you define yourself: a painter, writer, sculptor, poet… all of the above
and more?

A: I am a free soul! (laughs heartily)

Q: How did you arrive at the title Instant is a Millennium?

A: The title was chosen by Tsung Yeh from my calligraphic work Instant is a
Millennium; Enlightenment to Eternity. The same living entity could, on different
planes, experience two states of mind: the secular plane where time and the
planetary system are perceived to be always on the move, and the sacred plane
where time is completely still so that a thought is held in eternity. When one is
enlightened, all phenomenal objects become one, and one is simultaneously found
in all.

Q: Your poetry tends to hinge on the religious. Do you sometimes wonder if this could
alienate segments of your audience?

A: I am religious. It comes from my heart naturally. A truly religious person will
always be loved. “Buddhist” is written on my forehead. I feel I have to portray who
I am, not what the audience likes. In the end, it all connects to the core. When you
dig deep into the ground, somewhere you discover that the source is one.
But I would rather look at my work as being more universal and spiritual in nature
than religious. When the human mind is enlightened, it is immersed in white light
(that's what the first poem spoke about). We create art to break the white light into a rainbow of colours. You know, a good painting somehow adjusts itself to the requirement of the viewer.

Q: In The Celestial Web, you used the “wink” of a butterfly which was a very subtle
but profound imagery. Why the butterfly?

A: In Chinese culture, the butterfly is a very powerful symbol of love, wisdom,
mutability and beauty. I also used the concept of Gaia, to portray the earth as a
living organism. Don’t you think it is more poetic than religious? I don! t use the
word “God”, but Goddesses, they are everywhere!

Q: The final piece must have been very tense and strenuous. How did you manage it?

A: Calligraphy is a kind of yoga. I am 60 years old and look! (He shows me his fully developed calf muscles). It is like a state of samadhi, you are not yourself. In five minutes I had to write more than 110 characters. As I climbed up those steps, I was chanting. You just move into a different plane. Art is a kind of vehicle to find the diamond in the heart. Mine is the art of happiness.

Q: But what about angst-do you ever find that coming through in your art?

A: Mine is not an expression of personal restlessness, not anymore. Before 1973, I was an angry young man.

(The year 1973 appears to have been a turning point in Swie Hian’s spiritual
journey. It is at this point that he feels he attained spiritual illumination).


I felt very transparent, one with the universe, with the moth flying in the sky. I was initially frightened. I couldn’t find myself. I started chanting. Gradually, I started to enjoy being one with everything.

(Swie Hian, a graduate of English literature worked for 24 years as press attache
at the French Embassy in Singapore. As soon as he felt that he had saved enough
money to guarantee his financial security, he left his job to live a simple life of art and meditation).


I don’t paint for money. When I have something to say, I paint.

(After he had completed the calligraphy of his poem “The Yellow River at Hukou”,
Swie Hian didn’t even stop to look at his work. He waved, turned back and walked
down the steps).


Life is like that. All in preparation for the big bye-bye!

Q: Can you share with us your connection with India?

A: Prince Siddhartha is Indian! Because of him, I love India. India is so close to my
heart (he puts his hand to his chest and the expression on his face tells it all). In
India, I felt so well understood. I have always felt that the moment man knows how to beautify or ornament himself, he ceases to be animal. Indians really know how to beautify themselves. It is a journey from beauty to spirituality. There is a whole spiritual system in India.

(Incidentally, Swie Hian has translated extensively into Chinese, works of Indian
philosophers such as Ramana Marhashi, J. Krishnamurti, Sri Aurobindo and N.
Chaitanya).


Q: Indian versus Chinese culture?

A: Spirituality versus Pragmatism.

Q: Your advice to the younger generation of artistes in Singapore?

A: Free your minds. You are naturally multi-disciplinary. To free the mind, you have
to meditate. Then the energy just flows through you. Look at J. Krishnamurti’s
writing, the diction and rhythm just fall into place!
I feel the future artist will be born with no crooked features, is healthy and
resourceful, and with all other aspects combined to make one feel like hugging him
at first sight!

Note: The article was published in The Hindu on 6 July 2003, in India.
Check out this article that appeared in the New York Times earlier in the year.

NYTimes.com: Funny, You Don't Look Dancerish

Should the Stage Banish the Aged?

Isn't there an age when a dancer ought to retire gracefully?

Total darkness. We are led carefully to seats; glass of red wine in hand. Intimate audience – 12 people. Dancer Australian - in her late 50s. Theme - self-exploration. Subtle movements, stunning yet sensitive lighting. Darkness again. Our seats are moving forward. Lights come on - we are almost inside performance space. Dancer is now in state of semi-nudity; continues to explore body and self. Suddenly becomes aware of outsiders’ presence. Shock, embarrassment, vulnerability. Darkness. Seats move backwards; back to where we began.

The 18-minute piece, part of the Singapore Arts Festival, was the shortest performance I had ever attended but it left me thinking. Ultimately age is not a barrier to being on stage. In fact, being ‘old’ is a prerequisite to performing such a piece. In such work it is concept, experience in life and subtle portrayal that overrides all else; a younger dancer could not have depicted with such sensitivity what I had just witnessed.

Stocky bald old man, clad in simple white dhoti. Radha, hands stretched over her head asking Krishna to touch her breasts. Most erotic, convincing and moving portrayal of Radha ever. Now I am watching Krishna dancing, not Kelu Babu.

The same man, Kelucharan Mohapatra, could portray both man and woman characters so convincingly that that day I understood dance can transcend not only age but even gender.

Yet recently a sabha secretary in Chennai lamented that older dancers kept expecting performance slots during the December season. A journalist friend asked me why there is no age bar when it comes to our dance forms. Isn’t there an age when a dancer ought to retire gracefully?

I don’t believe there is. Unless of course the older dancer is trying to do exactly what he or she did at age 25, without moving into more honest portrayals; without bringing the wisdom and experience of life into art. For while it is through the body that dance happens, true aesthetic experience is provided by something beyond the physical. Truly experiencing the dance requires a separation of the dancer from the dance and the idea that is being conveyed. In our culture men seem able to transcend this dancer-dance boundary more effectively. Two other examples are Birju Maharaj and Ammanur Madhava Chakyar.

Women of Indian dance are more prone to objectification. In Bharatanatyam this can be seen very clearly in the costumes and heavy ornaments that women dancers have been made to wear and the themes that they have been taught to portray. However much one tries to view all these aspects of the form as a means of communicating with the Ultimate, how can one ignore the Male Gaze given the history of the dance. God was male, so were the priests, kings, gurus, musicians, tailors, make up artists and sabha secretaries! The very reason that our centre stage is dominated by women is due to Male Gaze and for the same reason the pleasure machines called women grow too old and ugly while men remain eternally young! Sadly there is no female gaze.

Carlo Suarez’s documentary films show that Flamenco dance is often performed very gracefully by bulky old women. On my visits to Bali I have watched 75-year old women dancing in temples. Even in Kabuki and Noh older women perform for it is believed that with age they mature and their technique improves. In the west Pina Bausch, Susanne Linke and Martha Graham are examples of solo women dancers who danced beyond the externally imposed boundaries of age. All these dancers have observed minimalisation in costume and ornamentation. Their dance has been entirely devoted to body, movement and a moving inward. In India we had Balasaraswati who aged so gracefully on stage. An understated approach draws attention to the dance rather than the dancer. Otherwise it tends to be a vulgar exhibition of colour, ornamentation and wealth. A leading international artist who had just seen a picture of heavily ornamented Indian dancers laughed as he said to me, “They don’t know where to stop, do they!”

With lack of sensitive patronage from society and support from the state in a capitalistic world our dance has become tightly linked with the world of commerce, advertising and media all of which are linked ultimately to the idea of Male Gaze. In a society that is flooded with self-styled experts, where art criticism is still at a nascent stage and the creation of sacred cows is an unquestioned aspect of culture, it is virtually impossible to separate the dancer from the dance. Who takes centre stage becomes more important than the work that is being presented. And so there is no real incentive to reinvent and redefine until the female dancer wakes up one day and feels that her position on centre stage might be threatened. Even the intrinsic process of reinventing oneself is dictated by external pressures.

Yet dance forms of the east have always had the tools to go inward. Our very definition of dance has been different right from the beginning. Ours is not a conquest of space but using space to go inward. One part of our dance doesn’t even require so much body movement. Our dance forms are becoming more acrobatic because we have borrowed indiscriminately from the west. With age this prancing around on stage becomes more and more difficult to do. But by this time the audience has been conditioned to equate acrobatics and entertainment with excellence. And the sabhas are on the lookout for younger acrobats!

To quote modern dancer, choreographer and critic Martin David, “A young dancer may be able to leap her own height or touch his toe to his ear. An older dancer may be able to conjure worlds beyond the realm of daily experience, simply by standing on stage and raising an arm. A younger dancer may be able to put his or her soul into the work, but an older dancer's soul is the work.”

In the world of dance every age brings its unique and individual insights to the art form. There is no need to eulogize the one and neglect the other. The canvas is a large one on which there is place for the vigour of the young and wisdom of the old to co-exist. As one ages it is a gradual shift in emphasis from the outward to the inward. A combination of the physical excellence of the younger dancer with the mellowed wisdom and maturity of the older dancer provides a fuller artistic experience. Old or young, the final criterion depends upon the merit of the dancer. As one grows older it is about redefining and reinventing oneself as an artist. Ultimately it is the separation of the dance from the dancer and doing whatever it takes to arrive at that. Everything else is incidental.

NIRMALA SESHADRI

Note: The article was published in The Hindu, Sunday magazine, on 25/2/2007.

LOOKING BACK: "MARGAPRAVESAM & AMBAPRAVESAM" by ANITHA


19th November 2007, Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, Chennai

INTRODUCTION,SYNOPSIS & REVIEW



INTRODUCTION
In ordinary terms this could have been called her arangetram, but both she and I saw it as something more than just getting on stage. For Anitha, it was the affirming of her commitment to Dance and moving into the next phase of her artistic journey. An entry into a path - a path that is uncertain, lonely, painful and yet exciting, fulfilling and elevating. For me- the satisfaction of passing on what I know to the next generation, to see my creative instinct and vision expressed through another person; one in whom I see commitment, dedication, single-pointed focus, sensitivity, respect for tradition and yet the openness to view tradition through a modern lens. And ultimately, teaching Anitha gives me joy.

Nirmala Seshadri

SYNOPSIS
The performance is divided into two parts.

In the first part, the traditional pattern is followed to a large extent. However, there is a shift of emphasis from the student’s first entry onto public stage to an entry into the tradition itself. In effect the term ‘Margam’ takes on another significance: that of the path or journey through the tradition. As is usual in the tradition, it is the male deity who is invoked in this segment.

The second part symbolises the dancer’s first step into another space. Margam is taught by the teacher but there is an ultimate Guru which the student begins to approach. Varnam, the piece in the traditional repertoire which contains all the elements of the form, takes on another hue, and serves as an entry into that other space which is higher than technique, concept or emotion; a spiritual space. In order to fully realise the female consciousness, the dancer begins to communicate with the Ultimate by focusing on a female deity, the empowering Mother Goddess.


REVIEW

Anitha- Margapravesam

When Nirmala invited me to the Margapravesam & Ambapravesam of her fourteen year old student I must admit I decided to attend without expectations. In other words I didn't expect too "see much" that would either hold my interest, let alone inspire me!
But I realised soon enough that this was "different" from the word 'go'. Different, yes... but was it going to be enough? I asked.
Entry: Anitha danced her way to centre stage clad only in a salwar khameez and her long hair knitted into a beautiful traditional braid.
Her anjali of ringing the bell and adorning it with flowers gave even the inanimate bell a poetic importance rather than being reduced to a mere prop.
The jathiswaram showed her competence in rhythm. It was not a traditional margam- yet it had not deviated from the grammar. Nirmala must be applauded on treating the "performance" with such delicacy that only a craftsman handling porcelain could!
Anitha excelled herself in the kriti Baro Krishnayya. An oft seen item on stage, yet it was rendered so differently. Anitha not only played with the little Krishna but took the audience to experience bhakti through vatsalya bhava- such intensity in a young girl-child of fourteen is beyond human understanding.
"Mogudocchi Pilachedu" where she plays the child bride seemed to perfect and tailor-made for her. Though she faltered in her Thillana, her body kept pace with rhythm at all times.
It was in the second half of the performance- Ambapravesam, that Anitha was at her best. The dramatic entry she made clad in a green skirt walking from across the aisle onto the stage was truly memorable.
There was a general building up of nritta and bhava from the first item to the last- very gradual and effective. As Meenakshi, Anitha was captivating. Nirmala sitting underneath the bell to recite the jathis was again out of the ordinary.
The musicians were given ample scope to deliver their best rendering and the result was sheer magic.
All of us went back home with a little bit of dance in our hearts!

HEMA RAMANI
13th Dec 07

On Choreography and Experimentation

"Choreography is a function of the imagination. I have something to say. How will I convey my idea to others? In exploring the answers to this fundamental question, in translating an idea into form, when something new emerges- this is choreography. It is the art of making a unique personal statement through movement. And it is an ongoing process.....
Choreography is the result of experimentation. Put in another way, experimentation is the basis of choreography. Both choreography and experimentation are guided by the same impulses- the urge to explore the unknown in order to create something new- a change in form, structure and content. Change in this dance form has been happening for a long time......" Nirmala Seshadri

(an abstract from her paper "What is Choreography? An Exploration into the Implications & Ramifications" presented at the Ministry of Education's Dance Education Conference, Singapore 2007)

"Off Beaten Track"

"Three dancers who believe in ingenuity, innovation and intelligence in their art, come together......" Gowri Ramnarayan (December 1st 2007, The Hindu)

December 1st marks the start of the music and dance season in Chennai. Over the last few years I have gradually extricated myself from this mammoth event. Otherwise, even as a teenager in Singapore, I used to believe that being a successful dancer meant dancing in as many sabhas as humanly possible. For various reasons, this notion has been dispelled. Now I just hibernate in December and enjoy the lovely weather!
And so it came as a complete surprise to me when Gowri Ramnarayan called me up one day saying that she would like to write a piece on three of us dancers who were dancing "off the beaten track"- a piece that was specifically for the Music & Dance supplement that is brought out by the Hindu on Dec 1 each year. Last year Vasanthi Sankaranarayanan was asked to write a similar piece in the Indian Express. Somewhere this points to a shift in perception- that there is something that exists by way of dance outside the framework of the December Festival. If this is the case then it is indeed heartening and there is hope, hopefully.
Here's a link to the piece that appeared in the Hindu on December 1st- a conversation between Manjari, Preethi Athreya and myself.
http://www.hindu.com/ms/2007/12/01/stories/2007120150120400.htm

Nirmala

Vasanthi's thoughts on: "Porcelain"- Dance Performance by Preethi Athreya

December 4th 2007, Museum Theatre, Chennai

Preethi Atreya's modern dance "Porcelain" was an engaging experience in as much as it offered various visual delights - the backdrops by way of photographs of the German porcelain sculptor's work, the clever use of light which reflected Preethi's silhouette on the backdrops as she moved in the foreground. The movements themselves were different from the ones we are used to from dancers of India and therefore
provided a variety. However, there are certain questions which come up in my mind as I look back and reflect on the dance.

1. What was Preethi trying to tell the audience through the dance?
Were her self, thoughts and ideas reflected in any way in her performance? In other words, was there anything more to the performance than the visual delight provided by the photographs of porcelain, accompanied by the unusual musical sounds made on porcelain?

2. If there was no communication beyond the obvious visual and audio, I would like to compare it to a session in modelling where the models move along with some music and against some backdrops.

3. We object to objectification of the female form in the classical dances. But, here too, wasn't the dancer seducing the audience through her nubile figure, designer costume, and sinuous movements? True, it was another kind of objectification, more a la western mode. But, still it was objectification of a kind. Supposing Preethi was not an attractive, slim young woman dancing, would the audience have found the dance so visually appealing?

4. What was the contribution of the dance to the entire production except playing second fiddle to the visuals and the music? Wouldn't the visuals along with the music provided the visual delight that I talked of? So, what exactly did the dance contribute to the whole production?

5. The entire exercise did not touch me emotionally. For me any artistic creation has to be emotionally moving. It cannot just be an assemblage of visuals, music and some movements. There has to be a central emotion or a emotionally moving factor to any production.

These are random observations. I hope they provide scope for future dialogue or discussion.


By VASANTHI SANKARANARAYANAN
vasanthi40@gmail.com

The writer is a film historian, art critic, translator AND Nirmala Seshadri’s creative collaborator.

Jazz – A play by Ramu Ramanathan

December 3rd 2007, Museum Theatre, Chennai


December in Chennai has its own quota of festivals – the main music and dance festival held by different sabhas; Every year a new festival crops up, ostentatiously to encourage the new and experimental in the fields of music and dance. This year the new entrant has been the Parks New Festival. It is initiated by Prakriti Foundation and Ranvir Shah, its active Director. He was a part of the Other Festival which was on till last year. Rumour has it that The Other Festival bowed out having lived its life and purpose and the New Festival took its place. Well, the artistic community of Chennai, as elsewhere, is used to all these Old wine in new bottle tactics and self propagating antics through new names and face lifts done by festival organizers. So, it is not with much hope or expectation that I went to see the play “Jazz” written by Ramu Ramanathan and enacted by a Bombay group, Stagesmith.

But, I was taken aback, nay stunned, by the artistic and dramatic qualities of the play. It was the minimalistic stage with a few props such as an antique chair and a table and a few jass musical instruments such as a saxophone, a trumpet and a clarinet placed in an upright position, along with two antique candle stands that greeted me and attracted my attention to begin with. Next, the announcement that the play would have only two actors caught my attention. The two characters were an old jazz musician in the last laps of his life and a young aspirant who comes to him to learn the subtleties of jazz music. Once again, minimalism, I thought. But, when Bugs Bhargava Krishna entered the stage and began his act through a bout of singing and dancing the stage was transformed. There was an electrical energy flowing through. He meandered through his life – past, present and even his own end. He related it to the boy who came to him as a pure novice – dewy eyed, in awe of the legendary musician. As he started his story the other actors also made their appearances through video clippings interspersed with the live acting in a seamless way. So, the stage became full, not through presences, but through absences represented on screen. The quality of the black and white close-ups as video or film clippings was awesome. There were no technical glitches or interruptions in the flow of the play. When the musician acted his own death, the candles on the candlestands were lit from behind the curtains using long poles. The priest in the video clippings intoned the consecrational speech and splashed holy water from the screen. It added to the eerie quality of the scene. The shape of the coffin was marked by a light design on the floor. So, the actor lived and died without effort taking the viewers through a saga of a musicians life. In the organiser’s words “Slipping in slivers of Dixieland stamp, Portuguese Fados, Ellingtonesque doodles, cha cha cha, Mozart and Bach themes. There’s egos, failed futures, alcoholism; there’s love, passion, bounced cheques; there’s showbiz, razzmatazz and some of the biggest names in popular culture from C. Ramachandra to Laxmikant Pyarelal to Sankar Jaikishan to R.D. Burman.” The context was the influence of Goan Jazz bands on early Bollywood music composers and the tunes they made. But the content was the pathos of an artist’s life, especially the evening of his life. The glory and the glitz have all faded; there’s only the lingering memory, the ephemeral phantoms of musical highs achieved. The whole effort was very moving and strangely it had a Guru Dutt film quality, the inevitable tragedy that overtakes the artist who lives a life of excess or self destruction.

But, the biggest surprise was the boy who played the saxophone – Rhys D’souza. The sounds of his sax were so good that I thought it was a recording played from the back, the boy just imitating the movements with his mouth and fingers. I am sure he would be insulted by this comment; but, I mean it as a compliment; except in a recording how can you achieve this kind of perfection of rhythm and melody? The naivete and young enthusiasm of the boy to learn music from a legend was also brought out well. The next surprise was the video interludes. Those actors in the video came alive and they were as much a part of the show even though they were not present physically on stage. What a perfect blending of two forms – video and theatre! The last, but not least aspect of the play that held me spellbound was the script. The musician spoke in songs and all the songs were composed by the scriptwriter. For a theatre scriptwriter to extend himself and write songs that go well with the theme of the play is not an easy task. But Ramu has achieved it to perfection. In spite of the patina of pathos in the play there was humour too in the words, at times risqué, most of the times as quick repartees and satirical comments. Those were the high points of the play, the script and the songs, the sound of the saxophone, the inimitable acting of the protagonist, the minimalist settings, the blending of the video clippings with the main script, the quality of the video clippings and the overall pathos underlying the whole play. But, I realize that when I see a play of this calibre, I cannot recapture all that I felt in my words; how can I encapsulate that musician or that artist who was a mixture of discipline and indiscipline, irreverence and compassion, dedication to his special form of art which turns into a passion, an obsession and the main reason for living. A creator par excellence who is self destructive, a perfectionist who revels in imperfections, a human being caught between the infinite yearning to soar into unachievable heights and falls down when his wings are clipped by external circumstances. How can I reduce to words the work of a director who managed to combine impossible elements into a coherent whole and infused inexplicable emotions into it. How can I explain the haunting quality of the boy who through the sounds of sax showed glimpses of the sublime quality of music and the tragedy of all geniuses. All I can finally say is that I was moved inexplicably by the whole experience. I am convinced that good theatre is still alive.


by VASANTHI SANKARANARAYAN
vasanthi40@gmail.com

The writer is a film historian, art critic, translator AND Nirmala Seshadri's creative collaborator.