Dream Devis: two responses from Devika Ranjan & Radia Ali
Image captured by Ty Yamamoto
Dream Devis was hosted as part of Steppenwolf's LookOut Series on April 4, 5, 12, & 13.
Curated by: Abhijeet Rane
Featured performers: Abhijeet Rane, Leha as The Salamander, Masala Sapphire, Gulabi Sapphire, Shruthi Kannan and DJ RIYA RIYA
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divinity by Devika Ranjan
In the green hills of northern India, in a state that has been torn apart by tanks and special rule, I needed to use the bathroom. Actually, several of us did. We had been on a bus for hours: them, performers, about to perform the folk tale of Bawa Jitto in an open-air theater for a crowd of hundreds of people; and me, a researcher, trying to understand how theatre was useful in times of crisis.
Right now, the crisis was the bathroom. We had held it for hours. We were invited into one person’s house, that we would use as the women’s dressing room. Her house was simple, and she led us through it as we waited for each of us, one by one, to use the toilet. She set up the actresses in the puja room. On the wall were photos of deities. Krishna, in his blue-skinned beneficence, a half-smile at his lips while he holds up a flute. Shiva, with his snarl and lifted leg, eternally in the cosmic dance. And next to them, those who are equally revered: Katrina Kaif, Hrithik Roshan, and other Bollywood superstars who were carefully cut out of tabloids. They, like the ancient gods around them, were scantily clad and lavishly posed.
This is not me exotifying this little village house, like, look at these backwards rural people worshipping Bollywood stars. I am saying that Hinduism, like Bollywood, is CAMP. Have you ever been to a Hindu temple? Our gods are BLUE. They are decked out in jewelry. They are larger than life; their mythologies doubling as morality and entertainment. Even the concept of our multiple gods is campy, queer, allows for disbelief and telenovela-like drama. My grandmother makes little outfits for Krishna (her namesake) out of gold lace and scraps of leftovers from Joanne Fabrics.
The parallels between divinity and Bollywood make sense to me. They are both omniscient, ever-present in the lives of Indian-Americans. They are larger than life. They change with the political moment – gods and goddesses outfitted to serve patriarchal norms, actors bowing in the name of nationalism in this recent rise of patriotic fervor. And, most importantly, they are all perceptions. Performance, at core. There is no reality.
How do I bring you to this show – the euphoria of the room, songs that have been in my body since before I knew language, to learn from the people who have taught me to embrace queerness and Desiness and Chicagoness so fully? A black box theater – named so because of its ability to be anything, to transform, for the audience to be anywhere and the performance to have full flexibility. A cloud of silver foil mounted to the wall, the only set piece, its irregular form and DIY ethos already adding sparkle to the darkness of the theater. The hiss of the fog machine – on and off and on and off, like any good drag show. Surprise reunions – I thought you moved away! – and hugs given over seats and other audience members, our bodies meeting (as they have met many times, sweat-ridden, wet, drunk, thrumming on the dance floor of Hydrate). We screech at each other, and my smart watch warns me that being in this loud of an environment for over 30 minutes can damage my hearing. It chirps this reminder every time I’m at the club, too, and often when I’m with my family. We are a loud people. I need a culturally competent smart watch.
Our generation of Indian-American diaspora, we are so deeply conditioned by these Bollywood moments – our most direct connection to “home,” or, at least, what our parents called home. So we learned how to be Indian, or woman, or whatever, from these movies – sexist, classist, Islamophobic as they were. These are films we have teethed on, gender identities that we have been shaped by. I want to learn about gender from the trans femmes of our community. I want to learn that we all have been worshipping at the altar of movie stars. I want to learn about our deities, broken as they are.
After the show, we embraced each other – the Dream Devis themselves, sweating in their grand final costumes, the kings, the friends that I haven’t seen since the Item Girl Competition, the new friends who I follow immediately on Instagram. We touch each others’ outfits in careful reverence and scream in hyperbole about how much we love each other. We promise to create together. We promise to go to each other’s gigs, to take dance classes together. Most likely, we will – like we have for years – just meet on the dance floor.
Image captured by Ty Yamamoto
A Journey Into Magic by Radia Ali
On April 11th I went to see Dream Devis and from beginning to end, I was glued to my seat. I laughed, cried, fought inner demons, slayed the patriarchy, triumphed through societal norms and made it to the end like a heroine emerging from a successful quest.
Yes, that was my journey through this rich tapestry of storytelling, poetry, dance, comedy and love.
Ushered in by warm and friendly theatre staff, we were seated in the cozy 1700 Theatre. Once seated, I noticed a silver TV-like prop embedded in the backdrop. When I took a good look my heart warmed up. It was a window in which there were clips of Bollywood movie songs playing in a loop. The sound was muted, so it was more of background entertainment.
As someone who grew up with the mesmerizing influence of Bollywood movies, I was immediately locked in. The movie clips on the screen all featured famous Indian actresses, who not only have huge fan followings, but who have defined beauty and grace for generations of Asian cinema lovers.
As the show began we were introduced to our narrator, Leha. I truly enjoyed Leha, how she wove the evening together with poetry, cultural references, and clever and witty jokes. This created a golden thread that united all the characters and smaller stories within the show.
Dream Devis might have some of the elements of a variety show, but the difference is in its interconnectedness. Each act shared a common theme - that our dreams can be wild yet attainable. From the Ingenue who glides through cinema and society alike, to the Rulebreaker who demands her worth, to the little queer boy who dreams of silks and sarees. Everyone has an act, everyone is unique, and everyone belongs. One cannot help but feel that all the ideas about self that we have pushed deep within us, have free reign in this plot. I felt that the characters were both telling their own stories and also ours.
Other flights of fancy were the beauty queen goddess (Gulabi Sapphire) who ruled over hearts, a poignant and powerful songstress (Shruthi Kanaan) who mesmerized with her voice, the roguish heartthrobs who made us chuckle at their antics. Oh yes, the demure yet hilarious Mother (Masala Sapphire) slayed with wits and charm. And how can we ever forget the many characters of Bon Abhijeet. The glamorous swirl of colors, dresses, vivid expressions and nonstop energy!
Every element on stage was intentional and helped tell the story. When telling stories unique to a certain culture, at times it can be a challenge to make the set relatable to mixed audiences. But here that was not the case - the stage art and props definitely enhanced the storytelling experience.
I believe Dream Devis appeals to all communities and individuals for a variety of reasons. For myself, a queer South Asian raised on two continents and in four countries, it was magical and revolutionary. Growing up I could only imagine a production like this in my wildest dreams.
Queer visibility in many cultures is a difficult and treacherous journey, so it made my heart soar to see all these versions of Devis (goddesses) manifested on stage.
This show makes us realize that concerns of identity, sexuality, creativity, societal and patriarchal pressures, and self-actualization are universal. Anyone who has ever had a longing to be seen, to be heard, to be held and understood has a place in that audience.
Image captured by Ty Yamamoto
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Devika Ranjan is a writer, ethnographer, theater-maker, and educator who tells stories about migration and technology. Devika infuses joy and justice in community-based work, using performance to cultivate communities of care. She specializes in devised immersive performance and has facilitated workshops with refugees and migrants internationally. Her work has been commended by the Duchess of Sussex, Meghan Markle, for critical storytelling about immigrants worldwide. Devika also teaches at the intersection of migration, performance studies, and cross-cultural practice. Devika studies the goddess, fitness culture, and urban farming at the Performance Studies PhD at Northwestern University, as a 2025 Paul and Daisy Soros Fellow for New Americans.
Radia Ali, also known as Noori, is a multi-disciplinary performing artist, poet, and fire dancer. She performs an array of styles from South Asian classical & folk, belly dance, flamenco, samba to bachata, salsa, and burlesque. She uses props such as silk veils, Fire fans and swords to tell stories across cultures with her movements. Radia is currently an organizer at the Chicago Full Moon Jam, performs with Egyptian indie artist NAXÖ, and other live music acts. She teaches fire performance, as well as fusion movement classes.
