It is hard to write anything meaningful about what I feel when the world is burning. Some nutjob old men are at it again, and my contribution to the rage is writing about stuff that made me ‘feel’ things in this unbelievable world. I mean, how frivolous can one get? Maybe being distressed in times of distress is a sign of sanity? February has been a heavy month.

• Srilanka cultural show. Feeling: Wonder

Local cultural/art shows in a different country can be tricky. There is a language and culture barrier. How do I access their art without misconstruing it in my head? Especially folk art? All my doubts lay to rest as I got sucked into this Kandyan folk dance show performed by the Mallawaarachchi dance group in Kandy. This was in the itinerary of the group tour I was part of. I went in with zero research and came back filled with wonder. The costumes, the grace, the music, the songs, the happy smiles on the dancers’ faces as they performed various set pieces with energy and dexterity have stayed with me. Most of these performers were young folks in their 20s (assumption). So their dedication to keep the local arts relevant also felt good. I wish I had the time to talk to them after the show and understand more about the background and history instead of having to read it up on Google later! Alas!

• Mother Mary comes to me by Arundhati Roy. Feeling: Integrity

Writing about one’s parents objectively requires a certain kind of discernment and detachment that only the gifted writers can achieve. Without sounding problematic, revelatory, or reverential, this book peels layers of the Roy family for the reader. She writes about her storm, her mother, and, probably, a person with her own unresolved trauma and issues with a matter-of-fact humor. There is tenderness in places. A lot of fear as well. It all adds up.

From the innate anti-establishment irreverence, integrity of character, to her unshakeable value system. Roy has embodied these most of her life. However problematic her life choices might seem from the outside, you cannot question her integrity. All art is political. What if one’s life itself is political? Shaped even more so by the force that gives them birth?

• Sawaal Jawaab by Girish Datar and Apurva Kulkarni. Feeling: Political

For most of my life, I have lived in environments where independent thinking is valued. Over the years, I have learnt that merely asking questions is not enough. I needed to unlearn the middle-class upbringing of sucking up to the status quo. I had to get better at asking nuanced, relevant questions. If I wished to arrive at the answers. Right or wrong. Good or bad. This has shaped my expression as well.

The Marathi play Sawaal Jawaab, written by Girish and Apurva, tackles the tricky territory of अभिव्यक्ती स्वातंत्र्य (in Marathi), i.e., Freedom of speech. In the times we live in, a simple question can grant one the difficult, anti-national status. So, where does the duty of the artist and art lie? Shall they pander to power to toe the line? Or shall they stand up for their unique expression? All art is political. In 2026, life is political as well. When the algorithms want to control all narratives and shape people’s worldview, real, tangible art that is used to doing the same work starts bearing the brunt of it. Specially लोकनाट्य like तमाशा/लावणी.

I loved that the most about the play. It narrows its focus on the common man’s art form. Its language and expression are rooted, well-researched, and well-performed. It credits all the predecessors of this art form. The poets, the musicians, the dancers, the artists who brought the politics of their times to the stage and, in turn, to people. Resistance is the only option we have when nothing else makes sense. I hope more people get to watch it. And hum the song I am still humming.

• Kohrra by Sudip Sharma Feeling: Helplessness

When someone commits a crime, is the ‘how’ important? Or the ‘who’? Or the ‘why’? Spending more time on the ‘why’ means peeling off layers. Getting to the systemic injustices and violence. It means going to the margins. Uncovering the reality that most of us want to turn a blind eye to. This requires a deeply empathetic world view. After a point, I started feeling this dreading helplessness. If the systems of oppression are built into the human experience, will the world ever be fair? How does one even define fair? Heavy heavy stuff. Dark even. As the times we live in.