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In a grand sweep
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A Kathakali performance in the city was awe-inspiring for even the uninitiated
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PHOTO: V. SREENIVASA MURTHY
MAJESTIC SPECTACLE Kathakali is an art form that demands much of the artistes as well as the audiences
To "hyperbolise" is the very essence of Kathakali, says the late D. Appukuttan Nair, an expert on the ancient Kerala art, in his article Kathakali, a Fantasy in Ultimate Poetry. The expansive skirt amplifies the slightest tilt of the feet. The bell-shaped ends of the length of cloth suspended from the neck maximises the swing of the body. The silver nail extensions accentuate the quiver of a lotus in a romantic mood even as they turn into deadly claws in a battle scene. The red eyes convey intense passion or ferocity.
But the mood seems to be overwhelmingly one of quiet reticence when I go backstage in Ambedkar Bhavan to meet the artistes of Margi Kathakali Centre. Invited by the Indo-German Cultural Society and Bosch Cultural Events for a performance, they are busy applying chutti (makeup) and it's clearly a job that demands undivided attention, lasting over three hours. Inchakkattu Ramachandran Pillai, the principal of the centre and a revered artiste with half a century of experience, seems to be fast asleep (or meditating) as a younger member of the troupe paints white ridges around the face.
Sweeping changes
S. Sasikumar, the treasurer of the group, politely leads me out of the room and starts talking to me about Margi. The centre was founded in Thiruvananthapuram in the early '70s by Appukuttan Nair and other like-minded people to promote the classical arts of Kerala. Down the decades, it has been both a training and research centre and a performing group. "We no longer operate as a gurukula but more as a post-graduation centre."
Margi has been striving "not to dilute the art in order to popularise it". Yes, it does have abridged performances for the uninitiated both in India and abroad. But also full-length, all-night performances that are serialised over months back in the centre.
Bollywood-style dances have their allure, but that hasn't entirely weaned the young off Kathakali, says Sasikumar. "There are now even Kathakali clubs in district centres which hold regular performances." Many without a traditional Kathakali background are eager to learn the form even as they are perfectly aware that mastering it entails eight to 10 years of hard work.
Sasikumar points to Hari Valsan who is getting ready for his role of Panchali in the evening performance of the Kalyanasougandhikam episode from the Mahabharata. "He is the son of an ex-serviceman."
Valsan, at this point of time, is placing inside his lower eyelids seeds that make the eyes turn red. How does one perform with burning eyes, I ask Sasikumar. An article I have read on the Net says it's a pepper-like seed that makes the eyes red. "No, no!" says a horrified Sasikumar. "In fact it's the seed of a flower called chundapoo that has a cooling effect!"
Convinced I need a spot of education, he takes me into the green room and allows me a closer look at the tiny, black seeds which look a lot like kalaunji. "They are used in Ayurvedic medicine too," he says.
Pillai, who is to play Hanuman, is awake by now. His chutti is done and he is waiting for people to ready his expansive skirt. Lots of plastic gunny bags are pleated and wound around the waist to make the skirt stand away from the body. "They earlier used starched cotton cloth," says Sasikumar. Clearly, plastic gunny bags are easier and lighter to handle.
There have also been many changes in the way Kathakali is taught, says Pillai, looking steadily at my friendly interpreter Sasikumar. He left home to learn the art from a great master when he was barely 10. He lived in his guru's house and learnt whenever he chose to teach him. "Now there is a syllabus and there are specific hours of class." But Pillai wouldn't call it a great fall. "Because some Kathakali episodes are studied by students of Malayalam, you have a lot of young people falling in love with the form because of the beauty of its literature."
Unlike Valsan and Pillai, Attingal Peetambaran, who is to play Bhima in the show, comes from a family of renowned Kathakali artistes. Was Peetambaran ever tempted to leave the fold? He simply rolls his eyes up and folds his hands. I have no way of figuring out if he means it's his destiny or his calling.
Minutes later, the performance begins with the lighting of the ceremonial lamp, accompanied by the blowing of the conch.
Informed audience
I realise that a lot of things can work against this grand form when performed on a huge proscenium stage. Even as it hyperbolises, Kathakali is an art that trusts an audience's ability to catch the subtlest of suggestions. It is traditionally performed for an intimate audience who are close enough to read every mudra and the slightest movement of the eye. They are connoisseurs who are completely with the flow even in the ilakiyattam parts at the end of each act where the artistes mime the story without narrative music. They have patience for an extremely slow pathinjattam where mudras are performed to academic perfection.
Calling it a high art that demands an artiste to be a musician, poet and a refined dancer-actor, Appukuttan Nair sets high standards for those watching the performance too: "He should make his own contribution to the creation of rasam and thus be a poet himself — a poet who is a sahrudayan."
Not many answer to that description at Ambedkar Bhavan. But their eyes are riveted on the spectacle on stage. Maybe there's something in the grandeur of this exotic form that leaves even an SMS-obsessed philistine awestruck.
BAGESHREE S.
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