Deval Soni in Gaumukhi (Cow) | Photo by Liann Endozo
Presented by Dramatic Jukebox & CinemaClub
Much like his Elephant Song, one of the highlights of my 2024 Toronto Fringe experience, writer and director Kush Shah’s Gaumukhi (Cow) is too dense and considered to fully appreciate upon a single viewing. That relentlessly poetic mode, with its sharp observations, feels ceremonial. I’m drawn to it, yes, though it’s—not intimidating exactly, but—certainly demanding. Every line and gesture, however slight, feels purposeful. Especially since it’s embedded so firmly in a volatile culture not my own, I feel I owe it rigorous attention.
And yet, despite how daunting I make it sound, it’s not an exhausting experience. The craft is alluring. The light, sound, texture and rhythm, even the quality of the air, is transporting. Beauty, even on its own terms, is persuasive.
A solo piece, it tracks the experience of an Indian cow after the beef ban. Or, at least, one manifestation of her consciousness exists in the present, for she seems to exist across time rather than in it. Deval Soni, who never burdens his persuasive performance with any contrived bovine affect, is a deeply compelling presence and so entirely human—so funny, violent and curious—I often forgot he was a cow.
Shah integrates his performance fully into the space with expressionistic, though carefully restrained, lighting effects by Abbey Kruse—intensified by the heavy haze in the air. Live Indian classical music by Kabir Agarwal and hypnotic vocals by Utsav Alok create a lyrical, mythic ambiance. Often, Soni adds his voice to the melody and in these moments Gaumukhi feels the most transcendent. This harmonious aspect makes the term solo show, even in terms of performance, rather inaccurate.
At the top, Shah himself delivers a prologue about restrictions on beef slaughter and consumption and its impact on the livelihoods of lower caste and non-Hindu communities. I’ve also caught some social media clips where he explains some of his intentions with this piece. In this context, Gaumukhi has allegorical resonance with its central creature wanting to examine, perhaps reshape, their own existence in a fraught political and religious climate. She’s uncomfortable with being a symbol.
I can’t pretend to fully grasp its commentary, but that hardly diminishes its visceral and emotional impact. As Gaumukhi leaves her family of cows behind to befriend a rebellious pig, having been seduced by the sight of him writhing in mud, I can understand the allure of freedom and camaraderie. When she finds purpose in learning music from a Pandit, I can understand the devotion. There is so much loving connection to balance out the encroaching oppression and violence. And, most urgently, her relationship to us throughout her journey can be internalized and taken home.
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