Life wanes away from Kathputli Colony

My taxi fellow gave me the ultimatum. This was as far as he was going to go. I got off and decided to walk the rest of the distance. I was soon surrounded by people, all asking the same question - who was I looking for. I told them the name, and one of them started to walk, signalling me to follow. Behind him, I entered, Kathputli colony.

A colourful graffiti invites you in

Walls with a story to tell

The nameless man, (for he did not speak a word till we reached our destination, and then when I turned to thank him, he had disappeared) took me through a labyrinth, sometimes cutting across people's yards, disturbing women folks who cooked rotis in open fire and little children who had made a pastime of scooping and re-depositing the drainage muck. The man himself moved with such agility and stealth, that I had to try my best to catch up with him, while also trying to avoid stepping on black, drainage water or slipping from the stones that formed a temporary bridge across it. Why did I wear flip flops?

The houses were all painted in bright shades of blue, green, purple and pink, as if to make up for their lack of space and shapelessness. Some of them had art work running along the frame of the main door. Vines, flowers and fruits in contrasting shades - work of a careful hand. When I finally navigated through what seemed like a maze, I wondered why a national award winning artiste would want to continue living in a place like this.

For, Puran Bhatt the man I was going to meet was an award winning puppeteer, who had travelled the world. When I met Puran, he was seated on a bedless cot, surrounded by men, talking on the phone in heavily accented English. It was hard to pin down his language to a certain demographics. He most certainly hadn't learnt it in school, but his travels had shaped his tongue and it sounded like a strange concoction of many identities.

Master manipulator, national award winning puppeteer: Puran Bhatt

Kathputli Colony near Shadipur Metro station is a land of magicians, acrobats and of course puppeteers. While the magicians are from the South of India, the acrobats are from Mumbai and the puppeteers from Nagore in Rajasthan. Though originally they were travelling performers, for the past 40 odd years they had all made Kathputli Colony their base. Kathputli or wooden dolls are hand made by these puppeteers and each of them are well versed in all aspects of puppetry – they are scriptwriters, actors, musicians, dress designers and performers. Traditional Rajasthani puppeteers tell the story of Maharaja Amar Singh Rathore, taking his war victories beyond the borders of his kingdom and the clutches of time. Today, however, many like Puran have changed this script, incorporating contemporary and 

political issues into their story telling.

Rajasthani string puppets or Kathputlis'

Puran's political involvement does not end here. While others in the colony awaited the government's evacuation orders, he was meticulously making a list of resident artistes. “It is important,” he says, “that we have the exact number of performing artistes. It is the only way to ensure that the government does not cheat us again.”

The 5.2 hectare plot of land on which these gypsies have lived for the past few decades was recently sold to a construction company. The site will soon house a mall, along with 1, 2 and 3 BHK apartment complexes. In exchange for their lost houses, the artistes would each get a 1 BHK flat in the newly constructed building. A 'noble' clean city initiative by the government!

16 strings to control this chap

We are free souls. We sing, dance, entertain and come and go as we please. We are travelling artistes, and to cage us in a single room flat on the 10th floor of a building would be criminal, not to mention, the end of life as we know it. A one room flat will come with its restrictions, and change our social standing. Soon, our children would not want to be travelling performers because it would be beneath them. A room in an apartment will be the end of our traditions and our lifestyle,” Puran explained while filling out the forms for those who had gathered around him. And then I knew why he had decided to stay on in Kathputli Colony.  

Heads covered, faces hidden

The women folk who accompanied their men to Puran's house, respectfully stood outside. They kept their faces hidden behind the pallus' of their bright coloured sarees. The men were dressed more casually in shorts, pants and tees, one of them even wore a Rastafarian bandanna. When I left Puran's house, a glass of water, two cups of tea and over an hour long conversation, interspersed with rapid instructions in Hindi mixed with Rajasthani, later, Puran's observations haunted me.

Akshay and Vicky, 20-something performing artistes took me around the village. Once more I stepped into the maze, trusting the two boys to lead me on. While we walked they filled me in with little anecdotes of their lives. Their marriages, Vicky says, happen after the Delhi wedding season, because during the season they are busy earning some extra buck. Just my luck, there was a wedding happening that very night, and I got to meet the groom. A confused and sleepy young fellow, smeared with turmeric, as part of the haldi function that lasted 5-7 days. He wore on him a large bronze sword - a symbol of his caste, now reserved for auspicious occasions.

Cooler, kitchenware, bed... the groom proudly displays his worth

Brothers, friends and young artists

Santosh Bhatt stayed further down the road. He was just back from London and was preparing for his next show. He discussed his on-going work with me, introduced me to the little kids who ran free in his house and told me with visible fear in his eyes. “The government has said that they will put us in temporary accommodation till the flats are ready. But I am not sure if they will give us the flats once we leave here. What will we do if they don't?” What indeed!

Akshay and Vicky led the way again. “Our village is popular internationally,” said Vicky, “and we have foreign individuals willing to give us money to buy back the land from the government, because they understand the value of what we have here and want us to preserve it. The sad part is that our own country men do not respect us or our work.”

A little ahead we stopped for chai at a local tea shop and many of their friends gathered around to participate in the conversation. They spoke of the wedding they had to attend that night, of how expensive the business marriage was becoming, of how love marriages were not encouraged in the village, of how all of them took life as it comes - with a glass of rum and some meat roti. “That is all we want. We do not believe in saving and when we are short of cash we borrow from our friends, and buy ourselves some more rum and meat,” Akshay said with a laugh.

A night wedding at the colony

As I walked back to my car, accompanied by these two easy-go-lucky chaps, who were best friends with everyone on the streets, I wondered if all that was going to happen to them was right. Their subaltern existence suited them just fine. They did not need new houses and they most certainly did not deserve to be thrown into 'mainstream society'. And yes, Delhi could do without another mall and apartment complex.

This is where they live and this is from where they create some beautiful shows. The terrace doubles up as sleeping and practice spaces