Akram Khan Speaking Recently With Hardeep Singh Kohli

This a short piece of dialogue that I transcribed from a radio interview several days ago. I'd searched for a suitable place to put it here, finally settling upon its own thread.

I hope you will be as moved.

I'll tell you a little story.

I was in Australia a few years back, and I was performing with Juliette Binoche. We'd just finished the show at the Sydney Opera House - I left - I decided to take a taxi even though the hotel was very close - I waited for the taxi for 5 minutes - it was pretty cold.

A taxi arrived - as I opened the door a rude couple behind me got in the taxi and shut the door. Then they decided to role the window down and say, "Are you Akram Khan?" And I said, "Maybe". I was pretty angry because they took my taxi. "Were you the one performing at the Sydney Opera House?" I said, "Maybe", and they realised it was me, and he said, "thanks for the show", rolled up the window and left.

So, I waited another 5 minutes and a second taxi arrived. I opened the door - as I opened the door and I got in the taxi, it was the first time in my life I wanted to hear my fathers voice - I've never - I don't have a phone conversation with my father - I don't have that kind of relationship - it's my mother I call - especially when I'm abroad - I miss home - I call my mother.

But I needed to hear my fathers voice - I've never felt like that before - it was a surreal experience - I got in the taxi - I called my father.

I call my father and I'm speaking to him in Bengali and I said, "Dad, how are you?". He goes, "What you want?" I said, "I'm not sure really, I just wanted to say hello". He goes, "Ah, you're in trouble with the police aren't you?" I said, "Dad, I'm 34" - 35 at the time - "I'm not in trouble with the police, I just wanted to say hello".

So, I put the phone down - that was a - it was all in Bengali. The taxi driver turned around to me and said, "Is your father Musharraf Khan?" I started to recollect - I never mentioned my fathers name - we don't mention our fathers name in our culture - and I said, "Yeah, how do you know this?" He goes, "Just answer me one more question" - he's talking to me in Bengali - the taxi driver.

He said, "Was he from a small village called Manchikon?" Now, there are 200 people in the world that know that. 195 of those people still live there. The other 5 are my mother, my father, my sister and me, and I presume this taxi driver.

I said, "No, you tell me how you know such specific information, because you're freaking me out". He said, "Just answer the question, I beg of you". I said, " Yeah, he's from Manchikon". So, the man started to cry. I said, "look, what is going on, why are you crying now?"

He goes, "I've been searching for your father for 35 years. He was my best friend as a child. I know that his son was a dancer because I used to read the newspapers in Bangladesh, but your father emigrated to the west from that small village. I'd lent him a little bit of money that I'd saved because your father had big dreams. I didn't, and I said, 'Go and live your dreams'."

So when he left they disconnected and lost touch, and I thought, the coincidence of that freaked me out - and I called my father and I said, "Aba, there is someone who wants to speak to you". And he said, "Who is it?". I said, "Well, er, taxi driver, what's your name, how would my father call you?" He said, "say Binloopi, Abas Binloopi".

There was a silence for a minute. And then for the first time in my life I heard my father cry.

And I started to think, that's when I was in suspended time.

And I started to feel real - I started to feel spiritual. There was a moment of serenity in my fathers voice that I'd never heard before.