The entrance to Kathputli Colony, in Delhi’s West, is easy to miss. The narrow, dirt track which leads into the colony, turns off a busy road, packed with rickshaws honking noisily and speeding rickety buses.
On most days, a trickle of drummers and performers in Rajasthani garb with tinsel trimmings, amble to and from the colony, directing one to the entrance.
Today, an over-sized ginger-colored dog sits near the entry, barking manically and snapping at flies. A group of men with gold earrings, mullet haircuts and rough faces stand around smoking beedis, the Indian cigarette.
“What do you want?” asks the roughest in the group.
Not really sure that we have come to the right place we mutter that we want to visit the slum.
The man’s face erupts into a smile and he beckons for us to follow.
He takes us to his brother, Jagdish, a puppeteer who has just returned to his one bedroom house and eight children, after a stint performing in France.
Kathputli Colony is like most Delhi slums with its cramped quarters and depleted living conditions. But the theatrics of its inhabitants, young and old, colorful homes and props and puppets which seem to be as much a part of the house, as say, a cooking pot, hint at something more.
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