Vyasar Ganesan

I don’t much care for Shakespeare, but I wonder what my father thinks of King Lear. There was a magnificent (and free) production of the tragedy in Central Park in summer 2014, casting a white-bearded John Lithgow as the mad king. On a stark, distressed wooden platform, the geezer spat fire and lightning at his […]

  Vyasar Ganesan

There is a tent set up in Brooklyn, in an empty lot between the water and downtown. It is accessible only by rusty chain-link gates, guarded by men in black shirts with plastic wires coming out of their ears. We arrive in a bus with poor legroom, packed with close to a hundred Indians, Palestinians, […]