Hum Nachte Kyun Hain?: On An Artist’s Love For Art

Pratyush Mishra (UG’27), an aspiring filmmaker who enjoys singing and acting, was inspired by films such as Black Swan (2010), Phantom Thread (2017), and Whiplash (2014) when he wrote the play Hum Nachte Kyun Hain? (“Why do we dance?”). “I had always wanted to write a story about an artist, how they feel for their art, and why they do their art.” Pratyush read the script of Whiplash over the summer and knew he wanted to create an “anti-Whiplash” arc, which went against the destructive trope/theme where an obsessive artist gives up their soul in the pursuit of their art. The fulcrum of the play is this dilemma, to either “give up what you are in order to become what you want, or still become what you want to become by staying who you are.”

The play was funded by Ashoka’s Centre for Studies in Gender and Sexuality along with the Visual Arts department. Devasheesh Saxena (UG’28) directed the play, with Jia Sharma (UG’28) and Sarah Pittalwala (UG’28) as assistant directors. Devasheesh resonates with the fear of being unable to perform due to a temporarily disabling injury he suffered. On Mahira, he says, “A lot of other people could not comprehend what it is like to be afraid of being unable to perform. So I think a lot of how I view Mahira came through my own experience of struggling as a dancer.” 

At the beginning of the production in the Blackbox Theatre, graceful figures in white saris sometimes  are cast in shadow, and sometimes glow a bright golden. The costumes of the dance group are coordinated and elegant, transitioning from saris to chikankari kurtis and then to tops and skirts. Only Mahira Kapoor’s (played by Anusha Jalori, UG’28) blouse is a different colour from the rest. Slow stamping and a steady, rhythmic ghungroo give way to lively movements and clapping. Lingering aftereffects of the dance scenes take the form of gentle music. How does dance evoke such emotions? What power does the artist wield? What does it mean for an artist to come close to losing this power? 

The performance within a performance appears again and again, sometimes in the form of dance, but at times as a persona, as a bold facade in the face of a crippling truth. Mahira Kapoor, ever the soloist and prodigal dancer, finds herself as alone in life as she is on stage when she is informed she has early-onset Parkinson’s disease. Her first thought is about her ability to perform: Ye mere shareer ko kya karega? (“What will this do to my body?”) and Kitna vakt hai? Matlab… stage par? (“How much time do I have? I mean… on the stage?”) 

There is something undeniably heart wrenching about the ‘mirror scene’ in which Mahira is overwhelmed by the voices in her head and experiences a panic attack. “I think in terms of the Blackbox when I’m writing,” says Mishra, a practice that specially comes across when Mahira stands amidst the audience in a narrow aisle within the darkened space, which partially hides her and creates a sense of closeness and intimacy. 

Hum nachte kyun hain? — Why do we dance? —This question, which encompasses all art forms, is an important one for Pratyush, who feels driven to create art by the thought that one day, his work might move someone the way films have affected him. Mahira, who sacrifices a lot of herself to gain fame and success, realises how alone she really is, and is able to guide Veda (played by Rashi Rajeev, UG’28), her student, toward a better future. She is initially resistant to change, saying,“Jo kaam kar raha hai, vo kyu badla jaye?” (“Why should we change something that is working?”) The reconciliation with her art occurs when she is reminded of why she started in the first place— “Mai is liye nahi dance karti hoon kyunki mei best hoon. Mai is liye nachti hoon kyunki mujhe naachne se pyaar hai.” (“I don’t dance because I’m the best. I dance because I love to dance.”) This reminder, which comes in the form of Parkinson’s disease, sets her hands constantly trembling and counterintuitively marks the beginning of her journey away from self-destruction. Her hand movements flit eerily between being graceful and out of control, reminding us that her time on stage is limited. 

We watch as Mahira learns to let go of the control— “Mauke diye nahi, liye jaate hain, Veda,” (“Opportunities are are not given, they are seized,”) and “Bhool gayi ho kya tum kaun ho aur hum kaun?” (“Have you forgotten who you are, and who I am?”) – which she has held close to her for so long. She begins to forge an affectionate and trusting relationship  with Veda, who takes on a greater leadership role in the group. “Laga ki har shabd tumhare dance ke liye likha gaya ho,” (“It felt like every word was written for you to dance to it,”), Mahira tells Veda. The solo performance becomes a duet.

Mahira has a series of brief but poignant moments with her mother (Ananya Kaushal, UG’27), who initially pressures her to make a name for herself, but eventually holds her with a care and affection that seems to transcend worldly matters. We discover, during a vulnerable conversation between Mahira and Veda, that Mahira’s real name is Radha, and ‘Mahira’ is  an image she has chased, an identity she has tried to attest to. Radha realises the futility and danger of this chase, and urges Veda to keep her own name. Affection subtly fills many moments, and the relationship between Veda and Isleen (played by Kynaa Jain, UG’26) also develops in a heartfelt and organic way, with no other intention but to portray genuine chemistry and intensity. Veda, who is having trouble balancing her dance practices and spending time with Isleen, is advised by Mahira not to abandon what matters to her in the pursuit of success, which is bound to leave her alone and unhappy. Mishra initially received feedback that there was not enough focus on the relationship itself, which he agrees with. He says, “What is the play about? It’s not about that love, really. It’s about the love for dancing.” The real love story is between the art and artist. Nonetheless, the relationship was gently and thoughtfully shown in the play.  

In the last performance, it is Veda who wears a different coloured blouse from the rest, a whirling red amidst green. They dance almost too fast for the eye to follow, and Mahira is able to embrace being out of control, being vulnerable, being Radha Kumari. In a feel-good ending, the group wins the competition for the fourth time in a row and breaks the record. 

The last scene of the play shows Mahira making peace with her roots. She returns to her mother and gently lays down in her lap, holding her hand. The lights begin to slowly fade, and the last sound we hear is the same ghungroo ringing, a callback to the beginning of the play, echoing the last line on the pamphlet: Remember why you began...

(Edited by Teista Dwivedi and Giya Sood.)