Medieval art, new interest

It was his “moment of truth” that propelled Sunil Mehra towards dastangoi, the medieval art form of extemporaneous storytelling. The former journalist says it all happened after the 2014 general elections, when he spent time “ranting on social media” about issues that he thought were “unfair and unjust.” It was also a time when he was reading Ismat Chughtai. “It hit me that all the issues enraging me were covered in her works.” That’s when Mehra felt compelled “to tell stories and, while entertaining the audience, also communicate a socio-political message.” Dastangoi, naturally, followed.

A dastango (storyteller) is a proponent of an art form that, in the 19th century, had touched dizzying heights — when both the mehfils of the aristocracy and the ‘commoner’ gatherings at opium houses would be regaled with dastans (tales) of war, romance, aiyyari and tilism (trickery and suspense), all in the lyrical and romantic language of Urdu.
And the credit for bringing it to the fore in the 21th century goes to Mahmood Farooqui, who, backed with extensive research, created a template for the contemporary form of dastangoi. Over time, this genre of storytelling has caught the imagination of city audiences, who have been listening to the tales of Arabian Nights, The Panchatantra and Amir Hamza, Prophet Muhammad’s uncle.

Having become a dastango about a year ago, Mehra says one of the reasons he took it up was his love for Urdu. “One grew up in a surround sound of this delicious language, courtesy my Lucknow dad. From my early years, I was exposed to the works of Zauq, Mir, Ghalib, Faiz, whose couplets my father’s friends’ conversations were peppered with,” he adds.

Two’s company

Mehra’s calendar of events has been full of performances with his dastangoi partner Askari Naqvi, a lawyer.
And among the dastans that the duo has become synonymous with is Chughtai’s Gharwali. “Traditionalists may sometimes get offended by our choice of tales, but it must be remembered that the dos and don’ts of dantangoi are in the realm of conjecture. So, dastangos have a certain poetic licence ­­— of course, artistes have to use it judiciously.”

While Mehra and Naqvi are amongst those who can be called self-taught, there are many who have been trained by Farooqui himself. Nadeem Shah, who started performing soon after he returned to India in 2009, after a two-year research stint in Berlin, is one of them.

It all started when, having gauged his easy command over Urdu, Farooqui asked him to attend a dastangoi workshop. There’s been no looking back for the 36-year-old who, after “a long break from academics,” is also teaching medieval Indian history at a Delhi university.

What’s “particularly satisfying” for Shah is that this art form is creating quite a buzz even among his students. And a function at his college saw two of his pupils, under his guidance, put up a dastangoi performance.

While it is “almost mandatory” for dastangoi performances to include tales from traditional texts like Dastan-e-Amir Hamza or Tilism-e-Hoshruba, many artistes are working to bring in innovations and contemporary tales that lend themselves to dastangoi. Shah’s dastans are based on Sharat Chandra Chattopadhyay’s Mahesh, folk tales from Rajasthan, and, of course, Mehra’s recital of Ismat Chughtai’s works.

Having been initiated into dastangoi in 2006, Fouzia, who has now given up her job in the development sector to become a full-time dastango, is ready to add some Manto tales to her vast repertoire, which she recites with her dastangoi partner, Fazal, who is an organic farmer. The 39-year-old who studied Urdu till her senior school level, says familiarity with the script gives her an advantage. “Consequently, I have read the original texts that form important dastans of our performances,” says the first female dastango of this form. Fouzia is also conducting storytelling workshops with children and college students, and hopes to carry ahead her “work on social issues” through such platforms.

Learning it young

It was his passion for Hindi and Urdu that led Ashhar Haque, a casting director and scriptwriter for Indian films, to become part of the dastangoi tradition. Storytelling was an integral part of his childhood, says the 31-year-old who has been a dastango for close to four years now. “I remember my grandmother writing stories for us — and she would give them a poetic touch so that they were not just for reading, but for recitation,” he says.

Syed Sahil Agha, who became a dastango soon after he witnessed a dastangoi performance at Jamia in 2010, agrees. “Storytelling was an important part of my childhood, too, since both my parents were writers. They would not just pen stories for us, but would also encourage us to recite them — complete with voice modulation, hand movements and gestures,” says the 35-year-old businessman of antique vehicles. While most dastangos perform in pairs, he prefers going solo. Ask him about the dastans that he has added to his repertoire and he mentions Vikram-Betal and Tughlaqnama, which have become a hit with his audiences. “In the former, Betal asserts the need for swachh abhiyan in every aspect of our lives, while the latter finds parallels between what the former ruler did and what is happening now,” he says.