I’ve lived in Mississauga for nearly two decades. For reference, I am only a little over two decades old. Still, this year was my first time attending the Mississauga Multilingual Fringe Festival, currently running in its fifth iteration from August 11 to 24.
Administered by the Sawitri Theatre Group (STG), the festival aims to platform performing arts shows written and performed in various languages and featuring local artists.
Historically, the STG has aimed to platform South Asian performing arts, and the festival inherits this focus. In a conversation, the STG’s founder and artistic co-director Jasmine Sawant told me that the multilingual aspect of the Mississauga Fringe isn’t a constraint, rather an explicit invitation for artists. While the STG encourages shows rooted in Asian languages and culture, the lottery-based festival (a member of the Canadian Association of Fringe Festivals) is open to artists and audiences of all linguistic and cultural backgrounds.
I happen to be fluent in Urdu, which is entirely mutually intelligible with Hindi. Many of the festival’s shows happen to be in those languages. But in case you don’t speak the language in which a show is performed, many foreign-language performances feature English translations, projected in an unobtrusive manner.
Week one of the festival was held at the intimate AN1 Studios, and week two will be performed at the Sampradaya Theatre.
Each week features six different productions; this review covers all the shows from week one, except for Kush Shah’s Gaumukhi गौमुखी, which I already reviewed for Intermission during Toronto Fringe.
At the End of Kaliyuga (English with Marathi/Hindi ad-libs)
I wasn’t sure how I would review this theatre-for-young-audiences clown show rooted in Hindu cosmology. With its singalongs and Dora the Explorer-esque audience participation, I knew I wasn’t the target audience. So I decided I’d occasionally shoot a glance down the row of chairs to a little girl who attended the show with her mother. Of course! I’d simply judge the enjoyability of this show, written and performed by Sanskruti Marathe, by measuring the degree of wonder on the child’s face. This way I could more fairly assess the merits of the performance out of the mouths of babes!
But then something childlike awoke in me, and I didn’t feel the need.
The show centres a two-way argument between the gods Shiva, the destroyer, and Vishnu, the preserver; with Brahma, the creator, occasionally speaking up. As a prelude, a (somewhat longer-than-necessary) video recalls child-of-immigrant skits like those by Ryan Higa or Lily Singh, and heralds the imminence of the “end of the Kaliyuga.”
In Hindu tradition, the world currently lives in the Kaliyuga — the black wave — which is the universe’s fourth and final age. The show’s gods bicker about whether to let the world end or continue to nurture it. This is the conflict from which the show’s humour emanates. Marathe stomps and dances around in her red clown nose with confidence, giving us a fascinating blend of jester and classical indian performer. Her enthusiasm was enough to get all ages dancing and singing — that giggling little girl, especially.
Ek Ladka Hua Karta Tha (Hindi)
Creator-performer Jay Bhoi brings an amicable presence to this traditional oral kissa (“story”) session. Intertwining witty, nostalgic anecdotes with verse, Ek Ladka Hua Karta Tha weaves a dolorous tale.
Ek Ladkha Hua Karta Tha (Hindi for “There once was a boy” or “There used to be a boy”) begins with Jay — a fictionalized version of the creator — telling the audience about the monotony of his office marketing job. His boss is stern, his work is boring, and the only good part of his day is his lunch hour, when he gets to eat and drink chai with his work friend, Pritik.
Jay spends the first portion of the story grieving the state of his life. He laments that every boy experiences the peak of his life during his college days; there, he is full of potential and has not yet been defeated by the world and its responsibilities.
When his friend has to leave work early, Jay must spend his lunch hour alone. During his break, he spies a young man getting off a bus and walking over to Jay’s office building, resume in hand, for a job interview. Afterward, the two get to talking, and form a short-lived bond that an out-of-control vehicle rips apart. Jay rushes the boy to the hospital, where he finds some of his new friend’s unsent letters.
Sitting on a lone chair for the duration of the show, Bhoi punctuates his storytelling with trembles and consistent eye contact. A subtle musical track accompanies the performance — rich enough to create an almost mystical atmosphere, but soft enough to allow the narrative to remain the focus.
Close quarters, a calm atmosphere, and a relatable tale make Ek Ladka Hua Karta Tha a very special, and intimate, experience.
Bandh Lifaafe (English, Hindi, Urdu)
Bandh Lifaafe, or “sealed envelopes,” is an appropriate name for this love letter to acclaimed poet and film director Gulzar. The show isn’t a direct adaptation of his work, rather it invokes his spirit by employing his verse, and giving a physical incarnation to his ideas of fragmented, silent loves.
The show peers into the lives of three friends as they reunite for an evening of wine and poetry after years and years apart.
We open with Rekha (Suma Suresh) preparing her living room to host Anita (Anubha Jha, also the playwright), who, unbeknownst to Rekha, has invited another old friend of theirs, Zoya (Gunja Chakraborty). As the women catch up, share poetry, and recall the adventures of their youth, you begin to feel the unspoken tension of verses not shared, letters not sent, and stories not told.
The characters confidently code-mix between English and Hindi, and Jha is able to incorporate some of Gulzar’s Urdu shayri into their conversations without sounding unnatural or pretentious. Chakraborty’s performance is of particular note as she manages to transition her character from reserved and secretive to more forthright. Director Harikishan Nair makes solid use of the entire black box space, with the door to the space itself serving as part of the set design.
Gulzar’s poetry often deals with themes of nostalgia, melancholic desire, and love. Bandh Lifaafe is a worthy tribute.
The Trial by Sita (English)
In this procedural reimagining of the Ramayana, a key ancient Indian epic, playwright Aditi Yadav puts the hero on trial.
Sita (played by Yadav), consort of Rama, challenges the misogynistic and inequitable laws set out by the fictional “Hindu Mythological Act,” a shorthand for the traditions and values set out by the Vedic Hindu narratives.
The play unfolds as Sita, representing herself, tussles with Rama’s vakeel (“lawyer”), played by Dila Gulaam, who delivers a performance snarky enough to make you want to punch the vakeel in his smug little face. Ranjeet Badesha plays the defendant, an aloof and allegedly regretful Rama. Dreamy mood lighting bathes them all.
As the show began, the first thing I noticed was the excellent costuming by Aakhya Singh. The men don dhotis and coloured angavastras which give each character their own chromatic identity. The Sita, draped in a passionate crimson-orange sari, hangs a subtle necklace around her neck, and uncharacteristically wide bracelets around her wrists like manacles — emphasizing the control and constraint she experiences as a woman.
I found myself wishing that director Kunal Choudhary would let the court clerk (Divyanshu Mani Hans) leave the stage, or at least step back when not speaking. Hans’ stamina is commendable, but his wide-eyed presence standing at attention behind the Judge (Vikas Quanoongo) is very distracting at times. Additionally, Quanoongo’s calm and collected Judge feels far too passive, even when the script seems to call for a more forceful delivery.
The Trial by Sita is a fascinating reframing of the kind of tale that often remains unquestioned. The show is steadfast in its position: While traditions will always be valuable, their veneration must not come at the cost of human dignity.
Out of Bounds (English with Spanish ad-libs)
A jaded middle-aged man contemplates adultery after he meets an attractive young woman who reminds him what it feels like to be free again. I’ve just described the premise of an unfortunately large number of narratives across page, screen, and stage. I also just described the premise of writer-director Virinder Singh’s Out of Bounds. Now, there’s nothing wrong with working with established narratives — but, despite its tight and energetic dialogue, Out of Bounds doesn’t manage to push at the boundaries of that well-trodden synopsis.
Love Dhawan plays Akash, a corporate lawyer and our leading sadboy. Jessica Rosales takes up the role of Rose, a vegan-gelato-eating, just-graduated-high-school, manic-Lolita type. The two meet after Rose tracks him down to apologize for hitting a ball into his car during her family baseball game. After he’s terminated from his job for his subpar performance, Rosa spots him at the local gym. The pair then go out for dessert, before deciding to take a road trip together.
The actors share decent chemistry. During the performance I attended, Dhawan stumbled over his words at times — ironically his most precise performance was that of a heavily inebriated Akash — but Rosales helped keep up the pace for the both of them.
In terms of stagecraft, the show made good use of projected backdrops, which set scenes in a bar, a motel, and the top of a ferris wheel, as well as providing the audience with closeups of phone screens and newspapers.
This show was well-acted and well-directed, with strong writing. But it was disappointing to see that talent wasted on such an overplayed story.
The Mississauga Multilingual Fringe Festival runs until August 24. More information is available here.
Intermission reviews are independent and unrelated to Intermission’s partnered content. Learn more about Intermission’s partnership model here.
WRITTEN BY
Sulaiman Hashim Khan
Sulaiman Hashim Khan is a student at Osgoode Hall Law School. He was previously the theatre columnist at The Varsity — the student newspaper at the University of Toronto, where he studied English. Sulaiman has a love all things literary, particularly stories that are set in and or grow out of the Greater a Toronto Area.
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