Amlan Das, Tushar Dalvi and Neha Poduval in ‘Aala Tamasha Aala’, Photo by Heena Chauhan
Presented by Nautanki Bazaar
While Aala Tamasha Aala is often quite funny, bursting with joyful dance numbers choreographed by Nidhi Baadkar, it is ultimately devastating. Opening on Abhay (Tushar Tukaram Dalvi), a security guard asleep at his post, we see he’s smiling to himself, lost in a dream. His desk is off to the side of a wide stage, suggesting that he’s somehow removed here from the story that awaits us—his story. A Lavni dancer (Neha Poduval) and her MC-style sidekick (Amlan Das) could be a figment of his yearning imagination.
With Poduval’s movements as illustration, Das gives us a playfully meandering explanation of Tamasha: it is popular, vibrant, somewhat naughty entertainment; yet is also useful as a term to describe a particularly problematic situation. When things go awry, it can make a “Tamasha” of your life.
And it seems that has happened to Abhay. As he struggles to stay awake, he longs for home and tries to fend off depression. He’s trapped. His business administration credentials aren’t helping him, and that isn’t even his real aspiration. When the Lavni dancer suddenly appears before him, the lines between memory and reality start to blur. We see him as a young man of twenty, happening upon a tamasha show and falling hard for its flamboyant, life-affirming charms.
His pursuit of artistry is shameful to his father, whose driving ambition is to have him honour the family and their sacrifices with a legitimate profession. As his father, Das is an imposing portrait of oppressive judgement. The scene where he publicly berates his son and the Lavni dancer is truly crushing. With more experience of the world beneath her sari, the dancer holds her own, but she doesn’t need such aggravation and sends Abhay away—now without any support. Poduval’s portrayal is radiantly charismatic. She also penned this heartbreaking tale.
In one of the most beautiful segments of her script, when the dancer suggests Lavni is a womanly pursuit, Abhay asks if it’s so necessary that he always feel like man. “Art has no gender.” It’s such a plain statement, but it sent a thrilling jolt through my body.
There are many strikingly expressive elements to director Himanshu Sitlani’s staging. Utilizing the vast screen backdrop, lighting designer Megha Subramanian uses orange and pink to evoke India, its terrestrial warmth and Abhay’s nostalgia for it; cool blue defines his dismal life in Canada. A spotlight drifts and hovers—suggesting a sun or a moon, yet always asserting itself as a familiar theatrical convention, highlighting the ecstasy of Abhay’s dreams of performance. Clever transitional motifs abound too, with objects drawing parallels between past and present. In one particularly evocative sequence, the crackling walkie-talkie that usually carries the voice of Abhay’s superior, is suddenly delivering a series of taunting and cruel attacks on of his masculinity.
With lottery tickets and Timbits miserably failing to bring any solace, Abhay’s youthful enthusiasm and defiance give way to despondency and madness. Dalvi is persuasive and endearing in the central role and he broke my heart.
Aala Tamasha Aala
@ Toronto Fringe Festival
running July 3 to 14, 2024
Native Earth’s Aki Studio (585 Dundas Street E)
running time: 60 minutes
