Vijay Tendulkar
I was 16 or 17 when I watched the performance of “Giddh”, a Hindi adaptation of Tendulkar’s play “Gidhade” (The Vultures). The abuse that I saw being exchanged between a father and his sons was shocking. So was the naked language of the marketplace, and even the brothel, being used to describe human relations. It was like a slap on the face of all genteel pretensions that I had so far associated with theatre. Drama was no longer about putting make-up and delivering romantic lines. Tendulkar showed me for the first time that real drama was dirty.
But the unique mix of feudal violence, impotence, and rage that has always for me characterised Tendulkar’s work acquired a critical force on celluloid. In Benegal’s “Nishant” and then, even more powerfully, in Nihalani’s “Aakrosh” and “Ardha Satya”, Tendulkar’s anger flowered into a thing of terrible beauty.
If realism was your religion, Tendulkar would always be one of your gods. When I was working on my last book, a novel about a Bihari journalist named Binod who was writing a film-script, I imagined a scene that had my protagonist paying tribute to Tendulkar’s searing vision. This was about three years ago. And then, six months later, one January day, I happened to be in Mumbai. I called up Tendulkar.
My Tendulkar obituary appears in today’s Hindu.
Though I have not seen any of Tendulker’s play, I have enjoyed reading his Ghasiram Kotwal. The language he used was so vivid that he almost took me to the time (the time of the play) through his words. I had read the Hindi translation of the play. He lived to the ripe age of eighty, yet his departure from the Drama of life has saddened us. We have lost a great writer.
Comment by Sundeep Kumar — June 2, 2008 @ 7:43 am
Bhai, I’ve had the honour to act in many Tendulkar plays and enact his characters . When I heard the news, something caved in. I felt a similar loss when Saul Bellow, Edward Said and Kolatkar died. Thanks for the Obit. I wish there were more playwrights like him around. We actors thrive on great scripts.
Comment by Danish Husain — June 2, 2008 @ 2:04 pm
It was an evening of some time in September…rain just stopped and dropped the heat os summer in Roorkee University…….it was my first year in engineering…I was sitting in the back of a lecture theater and auditioning was going on for the next play to be staged in youth festival….about 10 to 15 new and old students were waiting for the turn… our cultural Secretary was handing our randomly a script from his stack which he was holding like a scholar ……. here my turn comes…. he threw one book towards me and randomly told a page and forth dialogue from the top for reading…. and here I start and just first line went through my spine ….though the Cultural committee rejected me that time…but I still remember the moment of reading those lines from “Khamosh Adalat Zari Hai” (a Hindi adaptation of Tendulker’s play “Shāntatā! Court Chālu Aahe”) …….. and few days back on May 20th I was at work sitting in my Nashville office, when I read about Tendulker’s death.…and thought about that audition evening when I first read the Tendulker … and a thought again went through the spine….”Tendulkers never die, they are alive in theaters.”
(Later I directed that play and wrote a “thank you” note to Tendulker. I also staged “Ghasi Ram Kotwal.” and “Panchhi Aise Ate Hain”. ) - Ravi Verma (theatercaravan@gmail.com)
Comment by Ravi — June 3, 2008 @ 9:05 am
Dear Sir,
Years ago while watching SAKHARAM BINDER at Kalidas Rangalaya in Patna I was shocked by its dialogues. I was more shocked by the fact how comfortably Late Noor Fatima mouthed those dialogues.
Really a great loss.
Comment by Abdullah Khan — June 3, 2008 @ 10:27 pm