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“I want to make the moon disappear on a full moon night”

New Delhi: “I want to make the moon disappear on a full moon night,” says magician and master illusionist Gopinath Muthukad, who has made cars disappear, actors come out of movie screens and a statue of Mahatma Gandhi come alive. “A magician's role is to create an illusion, much like a dancer who not only dances for passion and adulation but also to entertain; it is at that stage that people temporarily forget that we are ordinary mortals — human beings with an agenda,” he adds.

Muthukad, whose 35-year-old love affair with magic is still going strong, was in Delhi this past week to collect the International Merlin Award, conferred by the International Magicians' Society.

“When I was growing up, I was seduced by my father's stories of Vazhakunnam Namboothiri [called the father of magic in Kerala],” he says, recalling the first time he started to believe in magic.

“I was about five, the youngest son of my farmer father. He adored me. He never left for the fields without leaving something on his breakfast plate for me to eat — from payasam to a lump of sugar. It was a token of his love.” One day, however, his father, forgot to leave something.

“I remember that day like it happened yesterday — I came as usual anticipating my morning treat, only to find the plate empty.” He remembers trying to control his tears before giving in to loud sobs that brought his mother running from the kitchen. Instead of coming forward to comfort Muthukad, she went into the kitchen and emerged with a banana leaf. “She placed the empty banana leaf on the empty plate, looked up at me and smiled before lifting the leaf to reveal a lump of sugar — it was sheer magic.”

“I believe there are several moments in one's life which can only be regarded as sheer magic; for me this is the strongest of them all ...It compels me to believe in real magic.” His father, unfortunately, could not witness his son's success.

Growing up, his father was willing to indulge his son's fascination with magic. But any talk of becoming a professional magician was swiftly dismissed. After graduating in mathematics, an unwilling Muthukad was forced to enrol at a law college in Bangalore. He lasted a year before walking out — from the college and his father's house.

“Dropping out of college was the worst thing I could do in the eyes of my father,” says he.

The following years were full of struggle. Muthukad's father refused to lend him any money and he was forced to rely on private moneylenders to finance his ventures. There were no takers for his magic performances and his fortunes quickly spiralled downward. Muthukad found failure unbearable and decided to hang himself. A friend found him and reunited him with his father, who, thereafter, supported him wholeheartedly. He recalls his second tryst with the God of death — in front of an audience and at the height of his success in Calicut: “It is the water torture escape act that involved me being handcuffed, put in a plastic bag and lowered into a glass box filled with water. The water had electricity passing through it, and I had to escape within a minute, after which a sharp rod would enter the box. I had a hidden key to free myself and a bulb near the audience would signal that the electricity had been secretly turned off. I would then emerge from the plastic bag that protected me from the electricity — we had practised the routine for almost two years.”

Muthukad first realised something was horribly wrong when almost half-a-minute had passed, but the bulb remained switched off.

“The assistant had forgotten to turn off the electricity. A minute was almost up when my uncle realised something was amiss and pulled the wires from the socket. I barely escaped.”

He could smell burnt flesh. “Later, I looked at my face, which was red but not burnt. I have never felt such relief.”

Muthukad has seen a lot of tricks from a lot of magicians, but is awestruck whenever he sees a street magician performing. “They are surrounded from all sides, yet the magic is handled with such finesse.”

The legendry Indian rope trick is the only act that magicians worldwide have not been able to figure out and he is no different. “I have perfected 80 per cent of it, but the complete trick still eludes me.”

The trick involves a snake charmer charming a rope into uncoiling itself like a snake. The rope is then made to stand straight. The charmer then persuades his assistant, a small boy, to climb up the rope; the boy climbs unwillingly, reaches the edge and then disappears. Legend has it the trick was performed surrounded by spectators in broad daylight — it was like the boy actually disappeared into thin air.

“I can uncoil the rope and have the boy climb it, but I can't make him disappear. This reaffirms my belief in the superiority of the Indian street magicians and the rich heritage of Indian magic,” he says.

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