‘Bachchu Kaka, Girji was Girji.’ His voice is edged with pain. ‘I know you don’t expect me to feel this way. You have only contempt for me. But I’d like to put you right on some things while we have tea. I didn’t marry because I knew I couldn’t have dealt with marriage. And my wife would have found me difficult to deal with as a husband. I have relationships only with women who know what they want. They are mature enough to choose lifestyles that suit them. I wouldn’t know what to say to submissive types who think husbands are gods. Physical relationships are clean. I strive to give women as much pleasure as they give me. We remain friends after the relationships end because nobody has deceived anybody. I don’t understand why you and others like you have a problem with how I choose to live.’

Haridas has returned to his normal state. ‘Please try not to see me as a sex maniac, but as a man who is trying to live without causing anybody pain.’

Bachchu Kaka has listened to the monologue with a neutral expression. He says calmly, ‘You are free to live as you like. You don’t need to justify your ways to me. Equally I don’t need advice from you on what I should think about whom.’

Bachchu Kaka gets up. He is at the door waiting for Anima to join him. Haridas’s voice is humble again. ‘I don’t justify my choice of lifestyle to anybody. I did so to you because I respect your life and your work. And because you brought Girji and Marli to me. They’ve gone, but I have this painting.’

30

Janaki sits at her computer, eyes closed. She had two stories to do. She has just finished one—a pre-publicity piece for the Habib Tanvir festival scheduled to be held in the city. Briefing Janaki, Mr Singh had explained that the old story about Tanvir and his troupe being attacked in Madhya Pradesh during the performance of Ponga Pundit would suffice to create the necessary buzz for the festival. All she had needed to do was tell that story in 300 words.

Background: The play—for which the eighty-year-old theatre man had had eggs, chairs and whatever else thrown at him—had been written seventy years ago by two folk actors from Chhattisgarh.

Point number one: Ponga Pundit was not a new play when it toured Madhya Pradesh. It had been performed hundreds of times before.

Point number two: All Indian folk plays mocked those in power. They had been granted the freedom to do so by tradition. If Ponga Pundit satirized the double standards of a priest’s religious transactions, that was as it should be.

Incentive to attend the festival: Ponga Pundit is one of the five plays that will be featured in the forthcoming Habib Tanvir festival.

Three hundred words over.