ABSTRACT
Alone at home, I’d hear the rhythmic roll of the dholki and halgi over the loudspeaker system and it would invariably make me restless. I couldn’t possibly sit at home quietly while that seductive beat beckoned! So I devised a way out. I learnt how to bolt the door of our room as if from inside and escape. When my uncle came to check on me, he’d assume I was fast asleep inside. That’s how . . . I saw some of the best and most well-known Tamasha artistes perform . . . The Tamasha meant excitement of every kind – the percussion, beginning with that first arresting slap on the dholki that sets every Maharashtrian’s blood racing; those wonderful traditional lavani melodies; the dance.
