DATTANI: Kannada is the state language in Bangalore where I live, but my family comes from Gujarat state. We speak Gujarati–a totally different language. I was educated in English. I prefer it because you’re not giving up the culture of one Indian region for that of another.

Starting out as an actor and dancer [ballet and Indian classical], I was naturally interested in theater. I became a writer because there were no plays in English on contemporary Indian issues.

My father was concerned: could I support myself? He’d known poverty, but after years of struggle, he was successful. He wanted me to have a middle-class life. I joined his packaging business and worked with him for 10 years. But I’m not cut out to be competitive. Business made me uncomfortable. Early on, I also knew I didn’t want to marry and have children.

My plays are drawn from personal experience, but they’re not autobiographical. Gender issues interest me. In India, there’s a growing awareness of sexuality, but alternative sexuality is still an invisible issue. Up to 10 percent of any population is homosexual–even the “Kama Sutra” has a chapter on homosexuality. Still, it’s not something people talk about. It was time to write a play about the emerging gay identity.

There’s no condemnation, no violence. But because of ignorance, homophobia in India translates into pity: gays are “victims,” they’re not “normal,” they can’t have family life. Most gays in India marry to avoid being pitied–that’s the conflict my character Ed faces in “A Muggy Night.”

They’re visible but not accepted. Many marry to protect themselves. Everyone knows: it’s not something you can hide. But there’s a contract of silence. Everyone agrees–without saying a word–not to speak about it. It’s a great strain on a closeted man’s wife.

It’s a mainstream movie [aimed] at starting an AIDS dialogue, to overcome people’s fears. HIV transmission is explained, but AIDS is not a gay issue in the film. The focus is on the human story and love interest. I shift the emphasis from high-risk categories [in India, truck drivers, migrant laborers and prostitutes, not gays] to high-risk behavior [unprotected sex]. In Indian marriages, sex is for procreation so there’s no emphasis on protected sex. My heroine gets HIV from her husband.

My father gave me some land on which I’ve built a studio and a small amphitheater. The focus is on developing new voices in theater, on helping aspiring playwrights to workshop their plays, on training actors to explore new scripts and present them to audiences. It defrays my expenses; I invite others to work there.

Two [related] plays were commissioned by the BBC. My protagonist, Uma Rao, is a self-assured young female detective, married to a macho superintendent of police who sees her work as an indulgence. I’m working on the third play of the series. I’ve also been invited to write a Chaucerian tale to mark the 600th anniversary of the death of Geoffrey Chaucer. The scenario is: there’s a disaster in London, highways are blocked, people are forced into an inn, there’s no electricity, even cell phones don’t work. So, each person tells a story to pass time.

I’d invited Michael Walling, director of the English National Opera, whom I’d met in Portland, to Bangalore. Together, we staged an Indian “Tempest”: Ariel was Krishna, Prospero a Brahmin, Caliban a slum dweller. Then Walling invited me to work with his company. It was a great learning experience for me to codirect with him.

I’d love to direct in America, to develop a new play and stage it in New York.