Badal Sircar in My Theatre Practice

Supriyo Samajdar

Some time ago, on the occasion of Badal Sircar’s centenary, I was asked to write an article for a theatre journal. The question placed before me was: how relevant are Badal Sircar’s plays today?

At the very beginning of the piece, I tried to say that I am not really the most appropriate person to speak about Badal Sircar and the relevance of his theatre.

I first encountered Badal Sircar through the play “Michhil” (The Procession). The performance was taking place beside a road. Badal Sircar himself was acting in the role of an old man. What struck me deeply was the faith he carried in his acting—the words he spoke were spoken with conviction, as if he truly believed in them. By the end of the performance, when the actors invited the audience to join their procession, the very distinction between “actor” and “spectator” seemed to dissolve. A belief spread through the performance itself.

Later, I watched his play “Bhoma”, and once again that same belief was visible. What I am trying to say is that these plays were not just theatrical works; they embodied a belief, a philosophy, which was clearly expressed in the performances of those who acted in them at that time.

The question is: does that belief remain the same today? The political context of the 1970s has naturally changed over nearly six decades. Modes of communication have changed as well. Where once a postcard was sent as an invitation to perform—a gesture that carried friendship within it—today invitations reach us in seconds through WhatsApp or email. Earlier, the time it took for a letter to arrive was itself part of the process: the thought of the invitation began even before the card arrived, then came the handwritten message, the act of posting it, and finally its arrival through the postal system. This entire process involved layers of encounter and connection, closely tied to the idea of Third Theatre. There was a sense of friendship embedded in it.

Yet Badal Sircar cannot be confined only to his Third Theatre. His plays written for the proscenium stage are among the finest in Bengali theatre—something even those who do not particularly like Badal Sircar would acknowledge.

The title of this essay is “Badal Sircar in My Theatre Practice.” I am not a playwright, nor have I been associated with the theatre group Satabdi. The group I am associated with is Bibhaban, which for the past twenty-eight years has been performing theatre outside the proscenium—in fields, homes, and open spaces. For the last twenty-three years, the group has been working with a theatre concept called “Mukto Natya” (Open Theatre), exploring the relationship between actor and spectator. This concept speaks of a journey in which anyone can participate—where everyone is an actor, everyone is a spectator, and above all, everyone is human.

When I think back to Michhil, the play through which I first came to know Badal Sircar, I realize that perhaps, unconsciously, its influence became part of this journey.

In an interview, Badal Sircar spoke about his idea of Third Theatre:

“In 1957, Joan Littlewood’s production, and in Poland, Grotowski’s Theatre Laboratory production Apocalypsis Cum Figuris, inspired me towards the creation of Third Theatre. Theatre personalities such as Jerzy Grotowski, Julian Beck, Judith Malina (Living Theatre), Richard Schechner, and experimental theatre in Europe and America influenced me. I tried to bring this stream into India.”

In another part of the same interview, speaking about the group Satabdi, he said:

“Initially, my group Satabdi did proscenium theatre. My Jawaharlal Nehru Memorial Fellowship project was titled Workshop for a Theatre of Synthesis as a Rural–Urban Link. During this project, I began to think of Third Theatre as a way to connect rural and urban cultures. When I was working in Maithon, I began my practice, and later, in the 1950s, after returning to Kolkata, I made plays—initially comedies. In 1956, influenced by foreign films, I wrote my first play Solution X. Then I went to London, where I wrote my first original play Boro Pishima. In 1959–60, after returning to Kolkata, our group Chakra was formed. Solution X and Boro Pishima were performed. Then I went to Nigeria, where the plan for Satabdi took shape. In 1967, after returning to India, Satabdi was founded.”

He further said:

“In 1969, our first production was Pralap, followed by Saar Raattir Shesh Nei and Ballabhpurer Rupkatha. All of these were created with the concept of Poor Theatre, though they were performed on the proscenium stage. In 1971, when I wrote Sagina Mahato, I realized that it was time to leave proscenium theatre. On 24 October, Sagina Mahato was performed outside the proscenium for the first time at the All Bengal Teachers’ Association Hall. During the performance, the lights suddenly went out, and the play continued in darkness—no stage lighting could be used. Yet countless spectators enjoyed the play. A wave of awakening arose; I understood that theatre could exist without stage décor. Later, although Abu Hossain was successfully performed, economic problems became acute. We then broke away from the conventions of stage theatre and moved towards Third Theatre. From 1972, our plays were staged in the courtyard theatre of the Academy of Fine Arts. In 1973, Spartacus was first performed in the courtyard. Then we moved from the courtyard to open spaces—Shraddhanand Park, Curzon Park, and in front of the Academy. Thus, the petals of Third Theatre began to unfold.”

(Amritalok, 1996)

I have quoted these portions of Badal Sircar’s interview because they show that a thought does not emerge suddenly; it takes shape through many paths and under the influence of many people. By the time this interview was conducted, Satabdi had already spent twenty years working with the idea of Third Theatre.

When I began my own journey in theatre, I did not really know Satabdi. Around 1995–96, I was acting with a theatre group in Kolkata, performing at Rabindra Sadan, Girish Mancha, and the Academy of Fine Arts. At that time, my attraction was towards proscenium theatre, not Third Theatre. In 1996, in front of the Academy of Fine Arts, I watched my first Satabdi performance—the play Michhil that I mentioned earlier.

In the same year, Bibhaban was formed by a group of students from the Department of Drama at Rabindra Bharati University, and from the beginning, I took on the role of director.

Bibhaban’s first production was on the proscenium stage, but due to financial difficulties, from 1997 onwards the group left the stage and began performing on the streets. The initial courage for this shift was provided by Prabir Guha, who had worked with Badal Sircar for several months, later formed his own group, and created theatre under Badal Sircar’s influence. His group was called Alternative Living Theatre, which primarily worked with physical language. I participated in a workshop with him, where I came to understand another way of seeing theatre outside the stage, another theatrical language.

When I first directed an open-air performance with Bibhaban, two figures stood before me—Prabir Guha and Badal Sircar. Later, many others influenced my work, including the dancer Ranjabati Sircar and theatre director Abani Biswas, with whom I worked directly through workshops. There were also figures beyond India, such as Jerzy Grotowski of Poland. Though I had no direct contact with him, his theatre philosophy inspired me to work with Mukto Natya. There are many others whose contributions I have not mentioned individually.

For the past twenty-three years, I have been working with Mukto Natya, which primarily takes place indoors, in intimate spaces. In Kolkata, Bibhaban has gone through twenty-eight years (1997–2025) of varied experiences with this intimate theatre practice. At times, it has felt that this theatre practice is not for everyone. Yet we continue, constantly re-examining our own belief. There have been moments of despair—especially when, after creating a play, the audience turnout has been low. At such moments, I remind myself of a story I once witnessed.

Perhaps around 2008–2009, Satabdi was regularly performing at Loreto School, Sealdah. I went to watch one of their plays. Badal Sircar was sitting there; his health was not good. The performance was going on. In the audience, there were only eight to ten of us, along with a few homeless children who lived nearby.

After the play ended, Badal Sircar remained seated. I watched him from a distance and returned home with that image. I tried to understand this man—Badal Sircar—whose plays had been translated into many languages and performed across India, who had received numerous national awards, who had dreamed of taking his Third Theatre to people and speaking of love for humanity. He believed in his theatre.

Though there may be differences between Third Theatre and intimate theatre practice—where in simple terms, in one philosophy comes first and in the other form takes precedence—there is no fundamental opposition between them. Despite these differences, I hold deep respect and affection for Badal Sircar’s way of being. That very presence has inspired me to continue working with Mukto Natya.

In my theatre practice, Badal Sircar is not just a theatre person. He is a human being who constantly tried to rethink what he already knew.

A human being who dreamed of love beyond right and wrong, dreaming of a world where everyone could live well.

(This article originally written in Bengali February 2025, latter translated in English.)