Protiti’s poems are mostly ‘bare’ conversational musings exploring ‘selfhood, separation, exile, love and longing’.
2020 was not a very eventful year for live theatre, as the world of performances, where social mingling is one of the prime cultures, was viciously invaded by the Covid-19 pandemic.
Aly Zaker, my Galileo, made his final exit in the early hours of November 27, 2020, bringing about a nationwide realisation of loss and shock.
With the slogan, Aai Natoker Ongone, seven new plays, written by young playwrights and directed by young directors, were staged throughout Nagorik Natya Sampradaya’s Notuner Utshab 2019 at Bangladesh Shilpakala Academy, from November 29 to December 5.
Chronicling Bangladesh Theatre and Liberation War Plays inevitably persuades one to explore how proscenium theatre culture came in this subcontinent, especially in this part of India, that is Bengal, for, contrasted with our open-stage Jatra that does not divide the audience from the performers, a proscenium stage is the “arch or opening separating the stage from the auditorium together with the area immediately in front of the arch”. This Greek tradition came to India sometimes in the mid-18th century and obviously it is a colonial cultural legacy.
Pir (variant spelling: Peer) is purely a subcontinent concept that has etymological root in Persian language. In English, the word can be translated into saint or more specifically, holy man.
More than once I have written in this column that Bangla theatre lacks musicals though we have a reasonably long tradition of dance-drama introduced by Rabindranath Thakur.
Luigi Pirandello is not a very familiar name among our mainstream theater practitioners, for as far as my memory goes, none of his plays have been translated and staged in Bangladesh so far.
Percy Bysshe Shelley, in his A Defence of Poetry, written in 1821, most famously declared poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.
Merry Christmas (belated though!), and a very happy new year to all! I finished my year (2018) with a polemical trip to Shantiniketan Pouhsmela—my first ever.
In one of my recent write ups in this column I made a promise (perhaps more to myself than to my readers) to translate Man of La Mancha, a very successful Broadway musical production of the present time.
At the very outset let me spell out what I mean by English plays. By the phrase I do not mean plays written by English playwrights in English language nor do I mean Bangla translations of English plays performed in Dhaka city. What I mean is: plays written and performed in English language in Dhaka city – beginning from the British rule until now.
Muktijudhdho(Liberation War), like innumerable Bangladeshis, is a revelation of amour to me. At the very outset I have a plain confession to make—I am not a certified Freedom Fighter.
Call it serendipitous (Indian English has coined a word with similar connotation coaccident in its Bollywood movies) if you wish, in recent months I had the rare stroke of luck watching three interviews of Ian McKellen
Yes, I am talking about Mahasthan, a play written by Dr Selim Mozahar (apologies for not being sure about the English spelling he prefers), visualized
Being homeless is perhaps the most cursed life a human being can lead. In spite of the high sounding human rights moralism propagated by big powers and human rights watchdogs, numerous homeless people are constantly being humiliated, harassed and even traded by the power mongering vicious circles globally.
From my real life experience I have learned, and that too has been a real hard learning, that fraternizing with celebrities initiates a lot of mortifying situations.