It was a late November night. Kavya and I sipped on our chai, killing time before the final performance of the night at ATIRA, the Ahmedabad Textile Industry’s Research Association. This show was part of a consortium of exhibitions in visual art, music, dance, and theater during Abhivyakti, an arts festival here in Ahmedabad. There was an hour to kill before the final performance of the night at 9.30pm, and though the evening sleepies were starting to creep in like winter in Gujarat, the blurb for the show on Instagram seemed interesting enough. And so did the title.
Vahi Kahani, Phir.
That same story, again.
I’ve never been the most fond of plays, often I find them intrusive– feeling like an outsider peering into an intimate story. With movies, the screen of separation quells this anxiety, protecting the actors from being fully perceived by me, protecting me from being fully perceived by them. Their art thereby enclosed in this liminal space that blurs true reality and cushions the inherent vulnerability of their work. But plays don’t have this cushion—Vahi Kahani, Phir was raw, imaginative, and somehow balanced being both playful and painful. I’ll try doing it justice without giving away too much, as there’s another showing left and it’s a must-see.
This play was not a feminist story. Our narrators promised the audience this at the show’s very start, yet it provides a window into the all-too-common adversities of womanhood. It follows Leela, a personification of many Indian women played by a kathak dancer, and her journey from girlhood to the confines of married life. A sextet of strings, drums and voice, alongside the two spirited narrators, set the scene of Leela’s story. The theatrics were impressive. In the words of my friend Kavya, “the lighting shifted with precision, casting enchanting shadows while an evocative musical score filled the air, creating a harmonious backdrop that enhanced every moment.” As the play progressed, the performers relied less on dialogue and more on song and dance to depict themes of violence, betrayal, and reclamation.
Anannya Vaidya’s Vahi Kahani, Phir showed me the importance and value of vulnerability. Sharing laughter during punchlines with an audience of nearly 700, all gathered at an outdoor theater for the sole purpose of enjoying art, I felt connected to all those centuries prior doing the same thing. Theater isn’t intrusive, it’s honest. It’s ancient. Presenting a folk story like Vahi Kahani, Phir on a modern stage was a reminder of how connected our struggles are as women to those who came before us, despite centuries of “progress” that have since occurred. The gravity of feminine despair, the emotional labor invisibilized through centuries of resilience despite the fact, and the power of artistry in the face of that agony — this is what Vahi Kahani, Phir was about.
More on the play Vahi Kahani, Phir can be found on Instagram at @vahi.kahani.phir
