New Delhi: Fouzia Dastango nervously stepped onto the stage with a story she had told many times before. This time was different. She was a Muslim woman about to perform the Ramayana in Urdu in ‘Ram ki Nagri’, Ayodhya.
But as soon as she began her performance, titled Dastan-e-Ram, those fears began to melt away. The audience listened, rapt.
“The way you made me see and feel my God—no one ever has,” an elderly Hindu woman told her after the performance, gently taking Fouzia’s hands in hers, eyes moist. “I’ve never experienced the Ramayana like this. You made me truly witness it.”
Since 2006, Fouzia, the country’s first woman dastango, has performed over 500 shows in India and abroad, captivating audiences with her command of Dastangoi—a 13th-century oral art form rooted in Persian and Urdu storytelling. The tradition had nearly faded into obscurity until artists Mahmood Farooqui and Danish Husain brought it back into the mainstream two decades ago.
Fouzia has a postgraduate degree in Educational Planning from Jamia Millia Islamia and worked for several years at the State Council of Educational Research and Training (SCERT). But the pull of Dastangoi proved stronger. In 2014, she left her job to pursue it full time. Born and raised in Old Delhi, once home to Mir Baqar Ali, the last great dastango of the 19th century, she has carved out her own place in that lineage—with some modern updates.
Her repertoire spans themes from mental health and communal harmony to mythology and feminism. It includes Dastan-e-Ghalib, Dastan-e-Kabir, Dastan Tanha Chand Ki (on Meena Kumari), and Dastan-e-Madhubala. And then there are Dastan-e-Mahabharat and Dastan-e-Ram.
“Stories don’t belong to any one religion — they belong to the people. And it is always said that Ram belongs to everyone, and so does his story,” said Fouzia, punctuating her speech with expressive hand gestures.
In 2018, the Ministry of Women and Child Development honoured her as ‘India’s First Woman Dastangoi artist’. She was also named one of 112 ‘first ladies’ who have broken ground in their fields.
“I was really scared at first,” Fouzia said of the Ayodhya performance last year, alongside fellow Dastango Ritesh Yadav. “I didn’t know if the audience would connect with the story or even understand it, since it was in Urdu. But I got my answer as soon as I began.” The entire hall erupted with chants of “Jai Shri Ram! Jai Shri Ram!”
Also Read: Urdu Ramayana isn’t a contradiction. Faridabad theatre group shows how
Performing Ram, Sita, Krishna in Urdu
Dressed in her signature white chikankari anarkali, as Fouzia launched into Dastan-e-Ram, the familiar story unfolded with a different cadence. Her version, based on a play by Danish Iqbal, was threaded through with Urdu words like basshadma (astounded) and beqaraar (restless), adding a new texture.
“Chaar ladke ho gaye, raja hue basshadma,” she said about the moment King Dashrath discovers he’s been blessed with not one son but four after a yagya for heirs.
Sita is introduced not as a symbol of virtue but as a poetic image of light and grace: “Sita jamal-o-nur ka chaand thi, sardiyoṅ ki gulabi dhoop thi”—Sita was like the moon of beauty and light, she was the rosy winter sunshine.
At Sita’s swayamvar, as warrior after warrior fails to lift Lord Shankar’s mighty bow—the shart (condition) to win her hand—Fouzia builds the scene with lyrical precision: “Bare se bara bali apna sa munh liye kaman ko tak raha tha, lekin Shankar ki kaman ka bal bhi baka na hua… Ye dekh kar Raja Janak beqaraar hue aur kehne lage.” (Even the mightiest warriors stood helpless, staring at the bow. But none could move it. Seeing this, King Janak got restless.)
To Fouzia, it doesn’t matter if some Urdu words are unfamiliar to the audience.
“If the listener is focused and truly engaged with the performance, they will understand the entire story. There’s no need to know the meaning of each and every word,” she said.
She has covered other Hindu epics and stories as well, including Dastan-e-Mahabharat, Dastan-e-Radha-Krishna, and a short piece on Ganesh, recorded on video for Ganesh Chaturthi in 2021. Dastan-e-Radha-Krishna was first staged in Mathura last year and later travelled to Bhopal, Chandigarh, Ahmedabad, Jaipur, and Mumbai. Every show was sold out.
This performance, set against the flicker of candles in front of Fouzia, draws largely from the verses of Maharaja Kishen Pershad ‘Shaad’, a poet and Nizam-era ‘prime minister’, who narrated Krishna’s entire story in the form of Urdu shayari.
One verse goes: “Krishan ke nam ka tarannum, woh tarannum hai jo shabnam ke qatre ke phool ki patti par girne se paida hota hai.” (The melody of Krishna’s name is like the sound of a dewdrop falling on a flower petal.) Fouzia brings it to life through graceful gestures—sometimes, she mimics playing a flute with her fingers, sometimes she forms a flower with her hands.
In another moment, she recites: “Sab us mein hai, woh sab mein hai, woh sab se juda hai. Khaliq bhi hai, makhluq bhi. Banda bhi hai, Khuda bhi.”
(He is in everything and beyond everything. The Creator and the creation. The devotee and the Divine.) Her voice laden with emotion, she proclaimed there is no equal to him in sama (heaven) or arz (earth).
One of her most popular performances is Dastan-e-Mahabharat, which has been staged in Delhi, Bhopal, Chandigarh, Lucknow, and Patna. On YouTube videos of these performances, the comments are often about shared heritage and communal harmony.
“Those who are running the business of hatred must watch this — no matter which religion they claim to represent. This is my India. Incredible,” said a comment on a 2020 video of Dastan-e-Mahabharat. Another said: “I am Muslim but I love this dastaan and love all human beings.”
Giving a new voice to Purani Dilli
In Jasola Vihar near Shaheen Bagh, Fouzia Dastango’s apartment has Dastangoi in every corner. The main hall is a practice space. A white sheet is spread on the floor, with cushions, toshaks, and bolsters for support. Urdu books line the shelves. An almirah is full of her awards. It’s less a living room, more a stage in waiting.
She’s expressive on stage, full of andaz, but in person, Fouzia is reserved. When she talks about her craft, though, she lights up.
As the daughter of a motor mechanic in Old Delhi’s Pahari Bhojla locality, stories and lavish poetry were among the family’s few luxuries. The women were always the main narrators.
“Indian households have always been rich with stories, often passed down through generations by the women of the family—our grandmothers and mothers. So why shouldn’t a woman be associated with the age-old, traditional art of storytelling?” said Fouzia.
But though she was encouraged to study and even gave tuitions as a teenager to support the family, performing on stage wasn’t considered acceptable by many around her.
“From enduring society’s and relatives’ taunts to hearing their praise, I have seen everything. Reaching anywhere has never been easy for women and I faced the same challenges,” she said.
Everything changed in 2006, when she watched a Dastangoi performance at Dayal Singh College. The moment it ended, she knew what she wanted to do. She began learning under actor, theatre director, and storyteller Danish Husain, and performed for the first time that same year in Gurugram. About eight years later, Fouzia quit her permanent job as a lecturer at the SCERT to follow her passion as a full-time Dastango.
“I come from a place (Old Delhi) where every lane, monument, and wall holds a story,” she said. “I want to preserve those stories, and also one of the art forms through which they are told.”
Fouzia wants people to stop talking only about the food or monuments of Old Delhi, and start paying attention to its language and culture. Social media is one of her strategies. Her reels, posted under the series Zubaan ka Chatkhara (The Spice of Language) or Aaj ka Muhavra (Idiom of the Day), showcase the forgotten expressions and everyday poetry of the city with flair and humour.
In one 30-second reel, she unpacks the phrase ‘landuri fakhta’, usually heard only in Purani Dilli. It means a woman who is abandoned, helpless, or simply, lonely.
With a sly smile, she gives an example of its usage: “If someone says, behen, stay here today’, you reply: ‘Arrey, I’m not some landuri fakhta who will leave everything and settle here!’”
In another video, she touches upon the idiom ‘thakel maari’, used to describe women who are criticised or looked down upon by society. She illustrates it with this example: “Oh that thakel maari —wherever she goes, she’s bound to stir up some trouble.”
It’s part of a larger project. Fouzia is working to revive the old dialects of Delhi that are now on the verge of extinction even within the city: Dilli ki Karkhandari Zubaan (language of artisans), Begmati Zubaan (the refined Urdu once spoken by noblewomen), Dhobiyon ki Zubaan (dialect of washermen), and Naiyon ki Boli (dialect of barbers). She’s developing thematic plays around them and conducts workshops to keep them alive.
“But what could be an easier, more entertaining, and faster way to share your thoughts, your voice, and your work than reels today?” she added.
An unexpected revival
Back in the mid-2000s, Fouzia was the only woman performing Dastangoi, though now there are others like Vusat Iqbal and Srishti Khare. But when she started, the form, once performed on the steps of Delhi’s Jama Masjid, had all but vanished from public memory.
Then, in 2005, thespian Mehmood Farooqui and Danish Husai decided to put on a live performance of the 19th-century Dastan-e-Amir Hamza at the India International Centre.
“We never thought that this would turn into a revival. We assumed it was one of those productions that would run for a while and then end. But then it just kept on going and kept on becoming bigger,” said Husain.
Since then, the tradition has evolved, with new themes—from the life of Ghalib to stories of Gandhi— and even tweaks to the form.
In 2016, Husain launched Qissebaazi, a multilingual storytelling format that was informed by Dastangoi. His shows, presented by The Hoshruba Repertory, feature stories in Punjabi, Marathi, Hindi, English, and Urdu, and have been staged across India, the US, and Australia. It was his way of modernising the form without stripping it of its essence.
“The milieu that supported Dastangoi had vanished. The patrons are not there, the people who speak that kind of Urdu are not there,” said Husain. “Our biggest challenge was bringing the language to today’s audiences without diluting it.”
To that end, performers began adding short preambles to contextualise the stories, explain cultural references, and ease the audience into the linguistic and narrative world of Dastangoi.
“Artists can break the text, gloss it, add poetry, anecdotes, or even take detours,” said Ritesh Yadav, a Dastangoi performer who performs Dastan-e-Ram with Fouzia. “There are hacks a storyteller can use to keep the audience with you.”
When Fouzia visits universities, schools, and institutions for lectures and workshops, she often faces a barrage of questions. What does it take to be a Dastango? How is it different from regular storytelling? Can someone who doesn’t know Urdu become a Dastango? How does one teach or learn this art? What is the most important thing to master in Dastangoi?
“Patience and practice,” is her advice to students: “No props, no costumes, just voice and presence make Dastangoi accessible to anyone with a passion for storytelling.”
Dastangoi 2.0
Dastangoi is emerging from its elite bubble. The artists are more varied, each with their own style, and the form now travels to college campuses, festivals, even living rooms.
“What began as a niche performance for urban elites—staged at curated festivals, academic centers, and literary events—has gradually expanded,” said Husain, although he noted that the hubs are still cultural venues in cities such as Delhi, Hyderabad, Lucknow, and Bangalore.
Event organisers like Rekhta, Udaipur Tales, and ShowCase Events say they have seen a rising demand for Dastangoi, especially as it increasingly breaks out of the confines of chaste Urdu.
Husain’s Qissebaazi, for instance, pairs regional languages like Bhojpuri, Bangla, or Tamil with Hindi or English, making the stories accessible to audiences unfamiliar with the original tongue. Similarly, Fouzia Dastango explains and enlivens the forgotten dialects of Old Delhi through her reels and live performances.
Newer artists like Ainee Farooqui and Nusrat Ansari frequently blend Hindi and Urdu, especially in adaptations like Dastan Alice ki, based on Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. They sometimes even pepper in English words to connect with younger audiences.
“People want something different, and Dastangoi gives them a unique experience,” says Nanni Singh, chief executive at ShowCase Events.
Udaipur Tales, a three-day cultural festival held annually in Udaipur, also spotlights oral storytelling traditions such as Dastangoi, Kavad, Jumlebaazi.
Its founder Sushmita Singha says audience interest has grown dramatically—from 80 to 90 attendees in 2016 to hundreds today.
“We usually close entries at around 300, and it’s always a full house,” she said. “These types of events require a different kind of setup and engagement, so they cannot be overcrowded.”
The festival changes its lineup each year. Notable performers have included author Devdutt Pattanaik, actor Mita Vashisht, British-Belgian storyteller Rebecca Lemaire, theatre artist Ulka Mayur, and dastangos like Syed Sahil Agha and Fouzia.
“Fouzia Dastango brought fresh perspectives to the tradition,” said Singha. In addition to her renditions of the Ramayana and Mahabharata, Fouzia has performed Dastaan-e-Rape, centred on the 2012 Nirbhaya case, and Dastan Nanhi ki Naani, based on a story by Ismat Chughtai, with themes of self-worth, family pressure, and female mental health.
“By bringing these epics back to life through Dastangoi, she reintroduces them to a new generation of audiences — a much-needed effort in fostering cultural understanding and social harmony,” added Singha.
Also Read: Delhi mosques say women are welcome. Worship, wuzu and washrooms
Biases and branding
Even as Dastangoi expands its reach, old biases haven’t disappeared.
Fouzia said that some of her shows have been cancelled simply because of her identity. Just this May, a Dastan-e-Ram staging in Delhi was shelved by a private organiser after objections from some of the event coordinators.
“Organisers have canceled my shows several times after receiving complaints or backlash about a Muslim woman performing the Ramayana or Mahabharata,” she said.
The good always comes with the bad, she added, reciting a couplet to underscore the point: “Mere junoon ka nateeja zaroor niklega, Isi siyah samandar se noor niklega.” (The outcome of my passion will surely emerge, even from this dark ocean, light will rise.)
But even popularity has its downsides. As Dastangoi enters the mainstream and undergoes modifications, she fears it risks drifting too far from its foundations.
“Dastangoi is now becoming a brand. I don’t want it to become a brand and lose its essence. We need new artists in the field who truly want to do Dastangoi, not just storytelling,” said Fouzia.
(Edited by Asavari Singh)
All eyes on “kalesh” – or rather, distortions, mythmaking and potential softcore proselytism 👀
Not making this up prejudicially – Sanskrit meanings are trivially distorted when translated. It isn’t for nothing that good translations into Bharatiya languages leave key Sanskrit terms intact. Even respectable English translations do now.
The idioms, etymologies, and connotations of these languages fail to capture the essence of the Sanskrit. Urdu, being far less neutral than the English of today, only stands on worse footing when it comes to expressing Dharmic ideas.
As an exercise, off the top of my head, I invite readers to share the Urdu equivalents of dharma, ātman, brahman (not th varna!), varna, jāti, bhakti, kāla, karma, pāpa.
There is so much good happening around us that we are simply not aware of, with news focusing mainly on negativity.
Thank you The Print for bringing this story to us.