In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

After Seeing Kozintsev's King Lear in Delhi Lear cries out "You are men of stones" as Cordelia hangs from a broken wall. I step out into Chandni Chowk, a street once strewn with jasmine flowers for the Empress and the royal •women who bought perfumes from Isfahan, fabrics from Dacca, essence from Kabul, glass bangles from Agra. Beggars now live here in tombs of unknown nobles and forgotten saints while hawkers sell combs and mirrors outside a Sikh temple. Across the street, a theater is showing a Bombay spectacular. I think of Zafar, poet and Emperor, being led through this street by British soldiers, his feet in chains, to watch his sons hanged. In exile he wrote: "Unfortunate Zafar spent half his life in hope, the other half waiting. He begs for two yards of Delhi for burial." He was exiled to Burma, buried in Rangoon. 25 ...

Share