On September 7th, one month after the tragic incident at R.G. Kar Medical College in Kolkata, the Academy of Fine Arts, a renowned hub for theatre and art exhibitions, opened its stage free of charge for protests expressed through theatre. This night-long show countered a controversial suggestion by the Chief Minister of West Bengal who advised women to avoid night shifts or late-night jobs—a statement that sent shockwaves through the middle class, not just in West Bengal but across India.
The following day, the workers’ union of the Academy of Fine Arts, affiliated with the Centre for Indian Trade Unions (CITU), convened a meeting to organize a protest through theatre, amplifying voices of dissent with the resounding slogan, “We Want Justice.” Veteran thespians and young theatre activists proposed an all-night theatre performance directed and performed by women, resulting in the exhibition of six plays and several open-air performances.
Typist, directed by Poulami Chatterjee, is a Bengali adaptation of Murray Schisgal’s play in English, translated by Soumitra Chatterjee. It is the love story of a single woman (Poulami) and her married colleague (Debshankar Halder), their affection growing over time, set against the changing rhythms of the typewriter. Poulami beautifully renders the complexity of a boss-lady exuding authority, only to reveal her vulnerable self in love with her subordinate.
Next was Spare Parts, directed by Seema Mukhopadhyay. The play delves into the human organ trade and exposes how it thrives under the complacent gaze of the government and political parties. Spare Parts directly critiques the sitting government and its allies. When asked about the lack of topicality in contemporary Bengali theatre, Mukhopadhyay highlighted that small theatre groups from suburban towns and villages regularly perform plays that critique the system. It made me realise how myopic we, the Kolkata elites, have become in our approach to culture, treating it as a consumable product, valuing it only at our convenience. We remain indifferent to lesser-known figures like Professor Tamojit Roy, whose play Inquilab has been performed by several small groups across West Bengal since the R.G. Kar incident. If a play doesn’t make it to the Academy or other elite venues in Kolkata, we pay little attention—just as we’ve ignored numerous rapes and murders by political goons in the past.
Beerangana Kabya, directed by Turna Das, explored the stories of five mythological women: Shurpanakha, Tara, Duhshala, Kaikeyi, and Jana. Dazzling performances conveyed themes of unfulfilled desire, love, and the pain of loss in wars. Shurpanakha, Kaikeyi, and Duhshala — often seen as villainous — were reimagined as symbols of reclamation and resistance.
After watching three plays, a few open-air performances and a children’s skit, I no longer felt like an outsider or an invitee. Along with the full-house audience, I felt as though we were the event’s organisers. “That is the power of theatre,” said Das. She said the protesters had become a bigger community and theatre is just an endeavour to sharpen the voices of dissent.
The next play, Sheetalpati, directed by Sanchita Bhattacharya, told the story of a village woman, Aju (Sanchita Bhattacharya), abandoned by her husband and parents, who resorts to prostitution to support her son. Sanchita’s evocative performance moved the audience. Aparajita Aaj O, directed by Nancy and Prantik, depicted the struggles of a middle-class divorcee, Aparajita, feeling cornered in her brother’s home. Her desperate search for a job leads her to a manipulative theatre director. But suddenly, Prantik, the co-director of the play, steps onto the stage and declares, “I don’t want Aparajita to go with that depraved man. Can’t we all stand together and demand justice for all helpless women?” The audience erupted, chanting, “We want justice!” The slogan reverberated through the hall, perhaps even reaching RG Kar Medical College.
The final performance, Resistance, directed by Srabanti Bhattacharya, was an abstract portrayal of state atrocities against women. A classical Odissi dancer known for her subversive performances in street corners and slums, Srabanti produced a visceral 20-minute presentation. At the end, she disrobed her petticoat, standing naked in defiance. The audience was transported back to the disturbing memory of Sabitri Hasneim’s similar performance in Dopodi — 24 years ago on the same stage.
The night dissolved into morning, and we left the Academy around 6:30 am. While I stood beside the gate of the Academy opposite Victoria Memorial, a haunting image lingered in my mind: the iconic fairy atop the Victoria Memorial shedding her clothes in solidarity with the call for justice.
A few days later, one of the event’s main conveners, Sourav Palodhi of the Ichcheymoto group, reflected on the limitations of art in changing society or the system. “Some of us try to match the steps with ongoing incidents by staging topical plays, as theatre has always done.” Joyraj Bhattacharya of Canteen Theatre spoke about the Meitei women’s naked protest in front of the Assam Rifles Headquarters in 2004, which occurred after Heisnam’s performance. Perhaps, as Joyraj suggested, alternative art might yet influence the language of protest in unexpected ways.
Kolkata’s mass protests have created a new Habermasian public sphere, a horizontal space of people’s dialogue striving to break the verticals of power. I don’t know if we stand in the transitional chaos of an old world dying and a new one being born, but the times are surely different, as West Bengal hasn’t observed such a prolonged urban uprising in last 50 years. The Bengali middle class, uncharacteristically, is ready to forgo Durga Puja and instead embrace night-long protests—through slogans, flash-mobs, music, candles, and theatre.
