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Behind a big market. The human and vehicular traffic cast a
mist of dust. I have a bag in my hand and 10 rupees in my shirt pocket. This is
the end of the month and the money in my pocket is all I have. My wife, a
mother of two children came up with the 10 Rupees after a treasure hunt amongst
our belongings. In the cloth store where I work as a clerk, the payday is the 5th
of every month. My mission now was to buy rice to feed the family till then. My
occasional earnings from contributions to the language periodicals were few and
far between. There is a crowd in front of the ‘Taj Hotel’; looks like a
gathering around a street seller….
I am very fond of street sellers. They sell their wares
through street performance. In that sense they are street performers. I have
experienced a compelling immediacy in street performances. You don’t get such
quality entertainment and value for money in film or formal theatre. The fact
that street seller performances are free and you are free to move on at any time
demands that such performers can only put on what is really effective.
Once I had watched a dog climb a rack of old vegetable oil
tins clutching the arched handle of a brass container. Most of the audience
watched with bated breath and moved on when the master of ceremonies came
around with his collection box.
At another time I had enjoyed watching the ‘Bio Scope’. For
a humble fee of 50 paise, I had enjoyed the antics of Charlie Chaplin whose
performance was controlled by the steady cranking of the ‘Bio Scope’ projector
mounted on a movable stand. Of course I had to contend with the crowd of boys
and was careful to look around and ensure that none of my friends or
acquaintances were around. An added feature was the song and commentary of the
Bio Scope man and the splendid liberties he took in the stories he wove around
the visuals. I was secretly happy that I did not bring my children. Don’t you
think I an entitled to such small exclusive pleasures? Even a poor family man
needs his private diversions!
In another performance that I enjoyed, a man had spread a
bevy of cobras on the sidewalk. He waved purported certificates from VIPs under
our noses and before anyone could take a good look at them, his compelling
harangue about his experiences with dangerous snakes with divine powers
effectively distracted the crowd. His face beneath a dirty white turban was
creased and weathered and added weight to his jungle tales. His rough and
confident demeanor lent credence to his pronouncements. It was only after he had
the whole crowd hanging on his every word did he produce his ware. They were
tiny black stone chips wrapped on newspaper bits along with a piece of cotton
for padding and improved presentation. He convinced quite a number of people in
the crowd that if the stone were applied on snakebite, it would stick to the
wound, absorb the poison and fall off once the job is done. He told the crowd
that though the stone has been obtained at great risk to his life, he was
offering it for a small sum of five rupees, as he was not a greedy man. He was
very convincing, going by the fact that there were many takers for the
‘magical’ stones.
Today when I saw the crowd, my feet were naturally drawn in
that direction. My height and thin frame helped me to get a vantage point
quickly:
There was a well-built ‘Pathan’ in the center of the crowd.
He sat cross-legged. He looked very comfortable in that posture. A few tin
containers, two bottles of water, some metal charms and beads were among the
spread laid out on view for the crowd. He had an ornate baton in his hand. He
waved his baton rhythmically in tune with his vertical exposition of an object
that looked like a piece of charcoal.
His actions had great economy of movement. Only his hands
moved while the rest of his body was still signaling a body language of
authority and solid assurance
“This is called
‘Subang’ in Urudu...
‘Kalkarali” in Hindi...
‘Murugarinal’ in Oria..
‘Basmakar’ in Bengali..
‘.............’ In Telegu...
................................
All the names he was invoking on
the object of his praise were novel and unheard of. The crowd was soon
mesmerized by these incantations coming from this smartly clad Pathan. He made
an impressive and exotic sight in his maroon turban and red pajama suit. The
rather derelict crowd was agape at his size, manner and demeanor.
The object of his praise was kept
on top of an old vegetable oil tin. It looked somewhat like a piece of black
coal. As he waved his baton about he flipped the lid of one of the big
containers with a deft move of the baton, As if startled by this unexpected
move, the lid jumped and fell on the hard tarmac rolling on its axis in a noisy
rhythm before settling down and providing a dramatic punctuation to the
performance. The crowd as one man craned their necks to look inside the
container.
Inside the container was a heap
of small transparent plastic bags and inside of each was a piece of the same
coal like substance that was the object of his praise. There was a moment of
silence. The Pathan had created the pause to throw a meaningful glance at his
assistant that was not lost on the crowd. As if on cue, his assistant started
to weed out the boys and girls in the crowd and shooed them out of the
gathering. This sent a suspenseful message across the crowd. Why were the boys
and girls sent away? The next leg of performance must be meant for an exclusive
adult audience!
When the Pathan had made sure
that there are no boys and girls in the crowd, he kept the black object on the
palm of his outstretched left hand. With his right hand, he maneuvered a
matchstick out of matchbox and with a quick stroke lit a flame. He then brought
the fame over the black object. The object melted into a tar like paste. He
then pushed the burning match into the paste. The flame acquiesced and went out
in a whimper. With supreme confidence, he pulled on the black substance with
his thumb and index finger. The substance came out in thread like streaks. The
Pathan looked around to check whether the crowd has acknowledged this minor
achievement. Again as if on cue, a man who was standing near the performer end
of the crowd and who could well be his second assistant put out the palm of his
left hand. There were two red lines across his palm, the trail of a knife that
had gone over the skin! The Pathan in a swift move kept the black paste on the
palm and started rubbing vigorously. The palm turned into a bloody black and
red mess as the rubbing continued. The assistant eventually withdrew his palm
and kept it folded as if to signal the miraculous cure. So that’s why he wanted
the boys and girls out, I thought. He didn’t want them to witness the bloody
show! But I was in for a surprise.
As some in the crowd started
moving out assuming that the climax is over, what the Pathan said in an
authoritative tone, made them stop. In the next few minutes the black stuff in
the plastic bags were sold like hot cakes at the rate of 10 Rupees each. Many
of the buyers looked poor, many were in their 50s; some middle class looking
buyers made a quick and surreptitious purchase and melted away into the bazaar.
Two scruffy men, stretched out a five-rupee note, which apparently is all they
had. Anxious that all the stuff may be sold out soon, they pleaded with the
Pathan to give them a discount. In the midst of the flurry of selling, the
Pathan assessed their appearance and in an irritated but sympathetic gesture
condescended to accept a lower amount.
The reason why the product sold
so fast was the additional powers (in addition to curing gooey knife cuts on
the palm) of the product that the Pathan expounded. The summary of these
additional powers was effectively conveyed with non-verbal body gestures. First
the Pathan let his left hand index finger go limp. He then mimed the act of
swallowing the product. At the very next moment, his left hand index finger
jerked up straight and taut. These gestures effectively conveyed to the crowd,
the man-woman aspect of the product.
As I watching the sale-show, it
seemed to me that when it comes to basic instincts, there is a level ground
that doesn’t discriminate between age, economic status or social standing. This
is an egalitarian domain where everyone can share a common communion of basic
instincts. The pivotal phenomena that materialized the mass enthusiasm here was
the Pathan’s colorful confident performance. Like the Pathan, the snake
charmer, the Bio Scope man, the roadside quack and other street sellers
practice a consummate art. They in fact perform street theatre with the
difference that their next meal depends on the effectiveness of their
performance. They are capable of selling even a useless piece of stone by
invoking in them magical powers through their performance. For those poor souls
who buy the product, there is a ‘healing crusade effect’ brought about by the
blind faith that the performance induces.
My wife watched me as I entered
my home, hung my bag on a nail in the wall and quietly went to wash my feet.
She understood that I haven’t got what I went to get. Our 15-year marriage has
made the need for verbal communication redundant in such situations. As the
cluttering sound of vessels in the kitchen signaled that my wife is busy, I
opened our old wooden cupboard. I stretched out and put my hand under the stack
of clothes on the upper left tier of the cupboard. I took out the much-thumbed
tin box, which contained my exclusive personal knick-knacks. The box contained
the odds and ends that I had collected since childhood. A couple of old quarter
Anna and two Anna coins, a metal badge, an unusually big marble and a soap
stone Shiva were the kind of tributes and symbols that filled this personal
reference chest. A new item was added to the tributes section to day; a
black coal like substance in a small plastic bag.
…………………..
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T.Jothi