Fair Revolutionary

There are village fairs and there’s Mela Gadri Babiyan Di. S P Singh visits the mela to discover what gives it cult status
in Punjab

CULTURE CLUB: The Gadar Party flag-hoisting ceremony, which kicks off the fair at Jalandhar (top); A choreographed sequence from the skit parodying the Baba Bhaniara episode. Photos: ANIL SHARMA

As thousands occupy the rows of chairs and scores more fight for a toehold under the huge canopies, a saffron-robed, cellphone-toting Baba accompanied by several disciples — including Kalashnikov-brandishing commandos and dancing sadhvis — makes a dramatic entry to chants of Jai bolo Dera Wale Baba di. With the first reference to granths being burnt and granths being written, with the first bestowal of sons on childless couples and ministerships on politicians, the Baba leaves his audience in no doubt about what he is parodying. The choreographed dance-and-music sequence clearly alludes to the Baba Bhaniara row that’s shaking Punjab, but it’s real target is the culture of self-styled Babas and sadhu. And the audience loves it.

TO SAY Mela Gadri Babiyan Di (the fair of Gadri Babas) is different would be to bring it down to the level of mass-produced ketchup. The fair has all the requisite features of a convivial gathering — milling multitudes, merry-go-rounds, food stalls, magic-shows and snake-charmers — but it is in its progressive edge that the mela finds its cult status. So it’s not uncommon to see CPI comrades preparing langar, CPM men distributing it, CPI(ML) cadres taking care of security and all shades of Red working together to make a success of this annual event.

Come October 29, and the lawns of the Desh Bhagat Yaadgaar Hall on the Jalandhar GT Road wear a festive air. ‘‘It all began 10 years ago, when some young men suggested they put up a volleyball net at the hall, which was erected in memory of the Gadar Party revolutionaries’’, recalls Gurmit Singh, a moving force behind the fair. ‘‘A senior comrade suggested we do something more tangible to propagate the thought of the Gadris. That was how the seed was sown.’’

The hoisting of the Gadar Party’s tricolour-and-crossed-swords flag is accompanied by a choreographed revolutionary song sequence. And then follows three days of quiz competitions on the national freedom struggle, painting contests, school children’s performances, a poetry mehfil. And of course, the principal attraction: A long night of theatre. The best playwrights in Punjabi — including Bhai Gursharan Singh, National School of Drama’s Kewal Dhaliwal, Ajmer Aulakh and others — bring their performances to an audience that bears little comparison to the reach of city-based theatre groups.

To have progressive ideas hammered down the throat may not be everyone’s idea of fun, but such notions are quickly vanquished by the enthusiasm of the 25,000 people (a conservative estimate) who throng the fair each year to watch avant garde theatre, listen to revolutionary poetry and — wonder of wonders — stock up on books and journals from the rows of stalls before heading back home at six pm on a working day.

While NRIs are a prominent player — they have booked the sewa for langar for the next few years — the mela crowd largely comprises the entire Left cadre, litterateurs and poets apart from thousands of villagers.

‘‘Where else can I teach my children that there’s more to their culture than the Punjabi pop they see on TV? Here they come in touch with writers and theatre in an atmosphere shorn of all frills. This mela speaks our language, depicts our problems’’, says Surinder Singh Dhillon of Malsian village, who has been visiting the mela for four years now.

But those behind the mela are aiming still higher. ‘‘Yes, we do talk about the problems of a debt-ridden peasantry, the irresistible lure of greener pastures abroad, the inroads made by narcotic pushers. But we’re interested in more than just depicting this. We want to stimulate people to look for ways to face these challenges’’, says Jagjit Singh Anand, a member of the panel behind the mela.

Just noble thoughts? ‘‘No way. Just talk to 20 people at random here and you’d know’’, says Baba Bhagat Singh Bilga, active member of the Gadar Party who, at 95, is a major inspiration behind the fair.
Bilga wasn’t far off the mark. ‘‘I have just seen the play Gaatha Vagde Paaniya Di (written by Jagdev Dhillon and directed by Kirti Kirpal, the play focuses on a family that accrues debts to send one son abroad and eventually fragments) and I feel as if they found out about my life and put it up on stage for everyone to see. And now I’m thinking of ways to tackle the mess’’, says Malkit Singh, who owns nine acres of land in a Doaba village, and is struggling to pay off debts.

Like Pash said, Sab ton khatarnak hunda hai supnaya da mar jaana (The most dangerous thing is the death of our dreams). These dreams die everyday in Punjab’s villages, in its ramshackle teacherless, blackboardless schools, in its medicineless, doctorless health centres, in its unremunerative farms, in its corrupt administration. ‘‘We are determined not to let these dreams die’’, vows Bhai Gursharan Singh, whose plays are the lifeblood of Punjabi theatre. Excited by the response to the Gadri Babas’ fair, he’s planning to replicate it near Chandigarh now.

Bilga puts it pretty succinctly. ‘‘Ours is not a political venture, but we aren’t non-political either. We will not let any political party hijack it, but we are not propagating bhangra-gidha as Punjabi culture.’’