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Folk singers and puppeteers at
Kathputli colony in New Delhi |
New Delhi:
"We are like flowers growing in filth." Somehow when translated in
English, the significance of Sajjan Bhatt's bitter words seems to
get lost. But try braving a walk through Kathputli colony, a Delhi
slum, where the puppeteer lives with other street artists and the
significance would stay forever, if not the nauseating stench.
Located in west Delhi's Shadipur area, the 5.22 hectare Kathputli
colony housing over 4,000 families is one of the biggest hubs of
street artists in India. Magicians, acrobats, puppeteers, folk
singers, dancers, jugglers, tightrope walkers -- at each odd turn,
in each dilapidated house, resides a talent, a performer, or as
they best like to describe themselves -- an artist.
Mostly migrated from Rajasthan, Maharashtra and Uttar Pradesh,
these people have made the colony their habitat for half a decade.
Everyone's born with a talent here. Children learn to beat drums
as soon as they start speaking. The claustrophobic lanes are their
first stage, the goats, the cows and the sheepish dogs the
permanent audience. The show never ends.
But Sajjan Bhatt is not happy. "There was a time when there used
to be long queues of customers outside this slum. They wanted to
buy puppets, book us for shows. But not any more," the 65-year-old
says.
"Now you have cable TV, internet...so many other means of
entertainment. For the greater part of the year, we are literally
jobless. It's only in winter that we see some good business,"
Bhatt, who is originally from Rajasthan, told IANS.
Of his four sons, Murli, 32, is the odd one out. He plays drums,
instead of exploiting his hereditary talent of puppeteering.
"We play at marriages, parties...but ever since DJs have come into
the picture, our business has been going downhill."
Living with his wife and four children in a 10X10 feet
room-cum-house, Murli makes a modest Rs.500 from each performance.
"But there are days during the marriage season when the demand is
more than the supply and we can ask for more money."
Murli has been a drum player ever since he was five. But his
children, all well over that age, will never pick up the sticks.
"I don't want them to become street artists. We have been
performing since generations. But that was then... now there's no
future in this," he says, while shooing away inquisitive kids and
eavesdropping rats at the same time.
Agrees Jagdish Bhatt, a self-confessed multi-talent. "There will
come a day when people will have to call jugglers and puppeteers
from abroad. We will perish," the 60-year-old announces,
increasing the decibel level that adds a dramatic effect.
Originally a puppeteer, Jagdish picked up magic tricks and other
art forms from his neighbours and rightfully passed them on to the
next generation.
"I have performed in over 20 countries," Jagdish told IANS,
ordering his grandson to fetch the album and certificates, sensing
one's unexpressed scepticism.
Next door, a cursing woman is making a futile effort of making her
husband take a bath. Half-naked and dripping with water, the man,
drunk on cheap liquor and existential thoughts, shouts "everyone
will die one day" to no one in particular.
In the meantime, Jagdish's grandson, Vicky, 22, appears with the
files and a plastic egg wrapped in a green cloth. He performs the
classic act of the egg disappearing from the cloth with the air
and oratory of a distinguished artist.
"Last month, 25 boys from this slum started working in malls as
cleaners. It's a real hand-to-mouth situation," the young magician
says, before his grandfather interrupts.
"Governments in foreign countries take care of their artists and
try to promote talent. People there are shocked to know that we
live in such conditions," he says, while pointing towards an army
of flies happily buzzing on a cocktail of slush and animal
excreta.
Some houses away, if they could be called so, Jharsanut, 60, is
having a practice session of acrobatics with his four
granddaughters.
Sitting on the steps, Jharsanut's wife shoots comments to the
girls on how to get the balance right. She's wrinkled and retired,
but clearly her memory's intact.
Ask her why she doesn't possess her neighbours' cynicism about the
future of street artists and sends her granddaughters to schools,
and all she manages is a 'what is the option' shrug.
Words like 'education' and 'school' don't register with her. She
ignores the sticky subject and fetches the photo album. It soon
turns out that every household in the slum has one -- the
portfolio. That they have, even if they have little else.
(Mohita Nagpal can be
contacted at mohita.n@ians.in)
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