“I was Richard, I was Hamlet…” Young Indian writer Amogha Sridhar discovered Shakespeare during her childhood. Here, she tells us about the sense of familiarity she found in his works, and how this in turn has stimulated her own creativity.

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One day when I was ten and down with a fever, I was given a copy of Tales from Shakespeare by Charles and Mary Lamb. My mother had bought it from one of the old second-hand bookstores in Bangalore. It was a late 2000s edition, a green book with grey illustrations and it had questions in the end. Eyes burning, I read the whole thing in one sitting. I remember two things vividly. One, I thought Florizel (from The Winter’s Tale) was a fascinating name I should use in a story, and two, the witches in Macbeth were the most interesting characters I’d ever come across.

The next year, I played the First Witch by myself for the literary fest in my school, where I cried “Double, double toil and trouble!” and my hat flew away. I remember thinking that these were the kind of stories I wanted to write (with pencil on coloured paper, but write nevertheless).

At ten, when I first read Macbeth on that gloomy day when I was ill, I was bewitched by the idea of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I couldn’t quite place it then as clearly as I do now but I had found a familiarity in Shakespeare. Shakespeare reminded me of the stories from Indian mythology my grandfather used to tell me in Kannada, the ones with characters larger than life and elaborate arcs that tied together in the end. Nothing I had read in English as a child, a combination of Enid Blyton and EB White, had evoked that sense of familiarity.

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At 16, when I read Much Ado About Nothing, what I loved was the pure scathing wit. That play was fodder to so many daydreams of playful Benedick and Beatrice-sque romance. At 19, when I read Richard II and Hamlet, it was character. In my mind, I was Richard. I was Hamlet. With that came a desire to act in Shakespeare, and I performed the ‘Hollow Crown’ monologue for auditions for university a few months ago.

My current interest in Shakespeare is the idea I’ve come to form that in Shakespeare’s largely auditory culture the beauty of a sentence was more important than numeric or characteristic permanence. It has considerable explanatory power as to the discrepancies between 2,000 men and 20,000 men in Hamlet, or the fact that Yorick has been dead for 23 years and yet Hamlet is in university. The idea suggests that, sometimes, it isn’t about characterisation or logic. Sometimes, characters say things because it needs to be said. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter if it is contradictory or illogical – as long as it sounds beautiful, it just overrides implausibilities.

And much like my ten-year-old self, I find myself incorporating what I interpret as Shakespeare’s style into my own writing. The drafts of the apocalyptic novella I’m working on don’t add up in terms of chronological sense but sound nostalgic, trees speak up if something needs to be said and a draft contains the phrase ‘Once upon a tiger stripe’.

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Working my way through Shakespeare, I am fascinated with the Shakespearean experiment with meaning and I am most interested in how we can keep that experiment with meaning alive. I want to direct Shakespeare productions that have a conversation with the canon – I think of doubling Aumerle with Exton in Richard II or a production of Hamlet where the poisoned swords are on stage from the very beginning. I think of stirring up the infinite possibilities the canon offers. I want my post-graduate studies to focus on Shakespeare. I want to engage with my little Shakespeare discoveries with an academic rigour.

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