No, no, no, no, JLF ain’t the redemption Jaipur needs

It was a pink October evening in Jaipur. I sat in the breezy environs of the Indian Coffee House, sipping their hot ‘South Indian style’ coffee (as it’s called this side of the country), just as the sun was going down, a humming bird hovering near me, around one of the creepers that dot its corners. Loud chatter — discussions on art, music and theatre (ah, theatre!) — hit my temples as I tried to finish the last chapter of The Devil Wears Prada, one of those numerous books that had been on my to-do list for a long time; one of those that I will have managed to finish in this lifetime. I was trying to kill time and time I did kill, waiting for a play to be staged by a local group at the Rangayan auditorium. One of the rare occasions when I mustered up the will to walk into a theatre, having been disappointed on all of my last attempts. 

I sat through the play (couldn’t even munch on the popcorn to kill time here, sigh! That’s why I prefer the sorry movies instead; also, since they allow you to walk out whenever you wish, without so much as a threat of not allowing you back in), which challenged the theatre artiste in me. The actors were straining their lungs hard to bring out the otherwise subtle and beautifully-penned script. By the end of the play, my brain gave out its Kafkaesque verdict and revolted against being subjected to such maltreatment — ‘we need to talk,’ it told me, ‘there’s no hope’, it screamed harder than the actors. I decided to stall these adventurous theatre outings of mine, at least until December, when the much-talked-about Jairangam would bring a spectrum of plays from around the country, along with some homegrown ones, to the city’s rangmanch.

Unlike theatre circles of Mumbai, New Delhi or Kolkata, which boast of a rich theatre scape, Jaipur (despite having produced stellar film and theatre artistes, musicians, singers and folk performers) has failed to keep up in terms of the productions that are staged locally. The highlight is this annual theatre festival, which began on December 15 this year with a satire —  Qissa Urdu Ki Akhri Kitab Ka. Over the eight days of the festival in 2018, well-known names like Makarand Deshpande, Anup Soni, Sadiya Siddiqui and Saurabh Shukla are to participate in plays being held at two venues — JKK and Maharana Pratap Auditorium.

But the question that remains is, why should we look at only the stars to sell theatre in the city? And that too, with performances that are too few and far between. Why can we not have local talent showcased, with announcement of plays at paan shops, small stores and street corners, pockets of stories being enacted here and there, just as one would find in a city like Kolkata? In the meantime, perhaps, feasting yourself on a vada-pao and chai during the interval, spending a total of a hundred rupees on the outing, ticket included. 

But no, for engaging theatre, or good literature and discussions around it, we need the bigger names to draw the crowds. The now-spectacular Jaipur Literature Festival (JLF) is already making news with names like Yann Martel and Jeffrey Archer participating in the upcoming season (Diggi Palace, January 24-28, 2019). Why, because as citizens we complain of not enough windows to showcase arts and crafts; as theatre artistes, we complain of not enough funding; but wouldn’t sit down at the coffee house and brainstorm with friends over a book. I tried the last one, and failed miserably on numerous occasions. So I sat there alone that fateful October day, and overheard the heated discussions that unfortunately only touched upon the subject by ruing the sad state of stagecraft in this city, when it could have been the interpretation of a Sartre script, or a Tagore poem. 

As for the two spectacular Js of Jaipur, JLF and Jairangam, what after the tamasha is over? Back to square one. I will have to do with the starry performances and jostle the crowds at Diggi Palace, where I can pick up another book to adorn my bookshelf.

So, three months after these thoughts inundated my mind, I am here again at the coffee house, with a new book that I had picked from last year’s literary circus, one that I am yet to begin reading. The sun has already set, winter bringing in the dark earlier than usual. I overhear a bunch of young kids, talking about Shakespeare’s As You Like It. To what’s sweet music to my ears, they are talking of staging the play with new actors and a new director. I am hopeful, again. 

Sorry, dear brain. I will watch this one when it happens. We can talk some other day…