Theater and Tandoori

For a couple of months last year, the theater group I'm with, Spontan! participated in the Open Arts Night at Pods, in Brickfields, KL. The first Friday of every month would gather an amazing clan of artists, from dancers to music performers, from story tellers to gypsy mimes. I've seen out of this world guitar tapping, an emotionally raw traditional Indian dance that depicted the rise and fall of a prostitute - performed by a man, even more; I've thrown chairs in theatrical agony, joined break dances, and participated in dialogues that roamed the edges of imagination and delved deeper into historical, psychological culture. 

One of the best performance I witnessed was the 'Story of Rain'. As the audience sat huddled on the edges of the room, the lights were dimmed, very slowly. Out of the corner of the room we heard a clattering, and then, becoming louder, a chanting screech. With messed up hair, holding sticks and mops and brooms, bent down and covered in rags, three figures stopped down and shuffled towards us. Somewhere, a drum was beating in rhythmic, steady thuds. As the figures passed by I noticed that their faces were caked with white powder, feathers stuck in their hair, eyeing me with beady, black eyes. A man went up to stage and relayed that these three stooping women were sisters, living in a country far, far away, who had not had rain for sometime. 

They argued and shrieked, laughed and cried. They threw away rubber slippers and tossed their hair. They took candles and lit them, and as they danced around shadows were thrown dark and smothering upon the walls, covering our faces, in agony without water. A deep horn blew, and they stopped, crying, gasping in fear. Then, they started to dance for the rain god. A flute sounded, wooden and light and long, and throughout all this, were the steady beatings of the drum. They shuffled. Left, right, left, around. Left, right, left, around. The three figures in their cascading clothing and nonsensical style, bent over hunchback, shuffling and muttering and shrieking incomprehensibly. And then, slowly, a guitar joined the music, and together they became louder. A belly dancer from the crowd took up the dance. A random audience member came forward and danced. And one by one, everyone just stood up and slapped our feet on the floor and threw our hands in the air and spun around to the steady, rhythmic, almost African beats all through the night.

It sounds almost cult like, but keeping an open mind it was one of the most magical experiences I've ever had. 

Azren, a jawdropping guitar tapper (he's becoming quite famous, now!) and the traditional Indian dance which sparked a very interesting conversation on the social issues of prostitution after his performance.

Wonderful costumes.

The rain performance. 

Nadzy and I, as a distorted depiction of fallen Juliet and Puck (and I am aware that they are from different Shakespearean plays), performed spontaneously without script. Another role I was graced to act out was a circus clown, but that was a different month. Ha.

One of the many group pictures of the performers at the end of the session. The man with dreadlocks on the top left plays something like a Cudamani flute, but bigger, and sounding more amazing. All photos from Pods facebook albums, here :)