Look at me and tell me what you see.
Me, I am blind.
And do not try to open my eyes, for I will loose everything.
I
On the bus ride to the village I noticed the many piles of bricks along the road. The bricks started “to talk”. They told a story of oppression, an old legend called “capitalism”. And they reminded me of the other bricks that I saw on my second evening: the work-actors of Jana Sanskriti were building a chain leading up the stairs to the construction site of the Boal Auditorium. They were passing bricks from one hand to the next. They were a colorful chain, the women in their saris, shouting and singing… Someone once told me that the world was created in seven days. And I could not believe it. But the Auditorium was ready – and I will not count the days, one more or less, who cares? Those bricks, at the end, built up the platform for the performance. And the performance did not pretend to be of a different matter. Feet on the ground, heads up, back straight. This is how, I noticed, the workers transported all the construction material up the stairs, balancing it on their heads. It is, also, the body posture of a hula dancer.
II
A blue brick flew directly into my brain, without warning. It was printed in the “Deutsche Demokratische Republik”. It smashed a window. And everything changed. Now, it is way too heavy to lift. I had bought it once in an antiquarian bookstore. It had this special smell and feel to it: a whole era in my life distilled in this brick of a book. I had almost forgotten. Now it all started mixing with the smell of burned paper and gasoline, the taste of tee and curry. It was thrown by Marx. In India I caught it.
III
I remember watching Jana Sanskriti’s rehearsal of “The Village Dream” outside on the round stage. Most of our people were out for shopping. Me, Jim, and Sitara stayed back. While watching, I was stitching a red hula skirt for Helga who had borrowed it from Karin’s daughter for this trip and which, we had just found out, needed shortening. It was the night before our first performance. My eyes were fixed on the red fabric. I listened to the Bengali melody of words and sentences, irregularly throwing short glances up to the actors. Jim kept me informed on what was happening. I remember him imitating the voice of one of the actors, acting surprised: “Where have all the women gone?!” And Sitara? She pointed to the mango tree next to the stage: “Wow, I am in INDIA and THIS tree is actually REAL!!!”
IV
And me? Well, I have actually danced on a stage that has been built right over my head, every day, until late into the night, following me into my dreams: on my first morning in India I dreamed that the Brazilians had arrived, especially one very loud man, and I was so happy to hear this language of my childhood again… when I woke up, I heard Karin say: “The workers here, they are shouting just like our workers!” I replied, totally convinced that I had not been dreaming: “This was not the workers, this was the Brazilians! They always talk so loud! I wanted to tell you right away, but I was too tired…” Then I heard the shouts of the workers and started to doubt if my dream really was true… Well, after dancing in the auditorium, I know that my dream actually was true: the Brazilians, especially this one very loud man, actually arrived -
V
…and then come these Indian women, they are my mirror and they put the inside of one palm against the other. Now, it is all in me. It is all moving. It is still chaos…
VI
My eyes are wide open, looking through a bus window: I see people, different kinds of profession, specialized movement. Can’t – Stop – Watching. People. Order. Collect. Build. Move. Join. Neglect. Disregard. Rubbish. Litter. Survival. Bodies. Now: This is, what my eyes are made of!
VII
I left India restless. India became my mirror. I could see right in its face. Now, I am faceless. This is my point of connection: not the shock, but the shaking after the shock, after the braking of the taboo. Now, I cannot tell right from left. Everything started mixing. And my eyes? This morning, they fell out of my head. Now, I am blind.
Anna Wiesheu
Salzburg, in the winter of 2015/16
