Matampu Loves Plays
The Mathrubhumi, December 2, 2008
From the conversation Prasanth Kanathoor had with author
Matampu Kunhukuttan at Chennai
“I wrote screen plays for many films. But, even now my desire is to see my works as plays. I believe that a theatre piece has a greater wonderful life to it than film.’ Says the great literary master, Matampu Kunhukuttan who recently came to see his famous novel “Brushtu” presented as an English play.
Even when theatre is on its decline, why are you attracted to this art form?
A theatre piece is an art form which lives longer than time and place. It can be translated into many languages. The plays can be published as texts in various languages. But it is not easily possible in the case of a screen play for a cinema. Take the case of “Brushtu”. I receive a remuneration for this novel even today. Now it has been staged in Chennai in the form of an English play. No one from Kerala, a place where people are called rich in the form of theatre has approached me with a request to make “Brushtu” into a play.
The directors of this play, Vasanthi Sankaranarayanan and Nirmala Seshadri claim that they have made “Brushtu” into a play because they love the style of depiction of the women’s point of view in the novel?
How can you write “Brushtu” without a woman’s point of view? I have not willfully chosen a style depicting the women’s point of view. I have depicted in “Brushtu” the odd customs and traditions that prevailed in the Namboodiri community of Kerala more than one hundred years back. Even today the condition of not having equal rights for women continues. Because of that, this theme is relevant even today.
Does “Feminism” exist even today with all its wider meanings?
The word “Feminism” is being misunderstood today. There are some people who believe that Feminism is free sex. Truly what this ideology puts forward is the idea that women should have equality with men. Seeing women as Goddesses based on religious beliefs is peculiar to India. Those people whose understanding of Feminism is based on wrong notions can be deemed as self willed and arrogant.
In these days, how relevant are Tatrikutty and Smarthavicharam as themes?
We can say that in the Namboodiri community, subjugation has waned and almost become non-existent. But, take the condition of the Muslim community. Muslim women can be rejected by their partners in marriage at any time. Truly today the situation is such that a Tatrikutty should emerge from the Muslim community.
In all your creations, women characters have a prominent place?
That has not been done through a conscious effort. It just turns out that way. In my latest book “Chakkarakutty Paru” I have imagined the woman as a tree.
Is it not difficult to structure a work such as “Brushtu” in the form of a play and make it a success? Especially because it is describing a story which has taken place in an era that existed many years ago?
It is at a time when even people from Kerala find it difficult to fully understand Tatrikutty and Smarthavicharam these two people (Vasanthi Sankaranarayanan and Nirmala Seshadri) have made it into a play titled “Outcaste Eternal”. Ten years ago they had made the same effort. They have once again given it a touch of sophistication. They have presented this play in a way which can be understood by everyone. The directors of this play must have worked hard on this project. Whatever it is, the play has given me complete satisfaction.
Hasn’t the play become somewhat cinematic?
I too felt that way. But, it has added strength to the play. In “Brushtu” the trial of Paptikutty comes as the very last episode. But, these people have brought that scene to the beginning. Afterwards the story is being told through flashback. I felt that this helped to keep the conflict alive in the minds of the viewer. In the 1970’s Triprayar Sukumaran had made “Brushtu” into a film. But the film was a great failure.
Did you feel that these people could have made the play a great deal better?
If I wrote “Brushtu” once again probably it would not be as good as the first time. Even if they felt that they could have made the play better, some times it might turn out to be harmful.
IN DISCUSSION...
Vasanthi & Nirmala
Photograph courtesy Yann Pitchal
Vasanthi Sankaranarayanan is a writer and translator. She translates from Malayalam to English and vice versa. She has a doctorate in film studies from Madras University. She is a freelance journalist, critic of cinema, theatre, dance and painting. Her other interests are women and their empowerment and improvements in education. She lives and works in Chennai.
Nirmala Seshadri is a performer, choreographer, arts educator, researcher and writer. A recipient of the Singapore National Arts Council’s “Young Artist Award”, Nirmala has recently joined the Board of the Council. Her choreographic work is experimental in nature; she seeks contemporary expression through her classical form Bharatanatyam.
OUTCASTE – THE NOVEL
The production is based on the Malayalam novel “Brushtu” by Matampu Kunhukuttan, translated into English by Dr. Vasanthi Sankaranarayanan. It depicts the true-life story of the sexual revenge a lone woman, Paptikutty, wreaks on a whole community which is rigid, oppressive and anti-women.
The setting of the tale is Kerala, South India and the community in question is the orthodox upper caste Namboodiri Brahmins.
While the men in this community enjoyed a superior status in society, for the women it was a life of oppression and injustice. Referred to as ‘asooryampasyakal’ which means ‘unseen by the sun’s rays’, they were confined to the four walls of the inner quarters from the time they came of age. The only place they were permitted to visit was the local temple and even then, they had to completely cover themselves with a shawl, carry an umbrella and be accompanied by a servant girl. In effect, they left their homes in freedom only as corpses.
There was another custom which worsened their plight. This was the practice whereby only the eldest brother in the household was allowed to marry a Namboodiri woman. The younger brothers were forced to enter into liaisons with women of other castes such as the Nairs. Thus the ratio of marriageable women to men was very high and so it was the norm for the eldest Namboodiri to have three to four wives.
In this kind of scenario there was yet another restriction on the women. Looking, speaking and entering into a sexual association with men of any caste was considered a sin and any woman caught doing so was dealt with very severely. There existed at that time in Kerala a system of trial in which the accused was made to face a jury of investigators and, if convicted, faced total excommunication from the entire community. This trial was conducted according to the Vedic customs prescribed in the Smritis and was therefore known as the "Smartha Vichara". The King representing the secular power and the Namboodiri Brahmin priests from special families representing the religious power constituted the committee of jurors. One of the canonical investigators in this trial was the author Matampu Kunhukuttan’s grandfather.
Not only was the outcaste rejected completely by society but so too were the descendants of the woman. Sexual adventures usually ended in the pregnant woman’s trial; the men went scot-free. It is into this Namboodiri community that Paptikutty was born.
On the night of her wedding, she is raped by her brother-in-law while her husband stands guard at the door. She is only 14 at the time. She then decides to take revenge on the entire community by seducing 64 prominent upper caste men and maintaining proofs of these sexual liaisons.
When she is called to trial she argues her case and proves that if she is to face excommunication, so too should the 64 men who have slept with her. For the first time in Kerala 64 eminent men were outcasted resulting in the break up of numerous families. There was total chaos.
This year marks the 101st year since Paptikutty’s trial which was a landmark in the history of Kerala as it led to many social reforms.
The setting of the tale is Kerala, South India and the community in question is the orthodox upper caste Namboodiri Brahmins.
While the men in this community enjoyed a superior status in society, for the women it was a life of oppression and injustice. Referred to as ‘asooryampasyakal’ which means ‘unseen by the sun’s rays’, they were confined to the four walls of the inner quarters from the time they came of age. The only place they were permitted to visit was the local temple and even then, they had to completely cover themselves with a shawl, carry an umbrella and be accompanied by a servant girl. In effect, they left their homes in freedom only as corpses.
There was another custom which worsened their plight. This was the practice whereby only the eldest brother in the household was allowed to marry a Namboodiri woman. The younger brothers were forced to enter into liaisons with women of other castes such as the Nairs. Thus the ratio of marriageable women to men was very high and so it was the norm for the eldest Namboodiri to have three to four wives.
In this kind of scenario there was yet another restriction on the women. Looking, speaking and entering into a sexual association with men of any caste was considered a sin and any woman caught doing so was dealt with very severely. There existed at that time in Kerala a system of trial in which the accused was made to face a jury of investigators and, if convicted, faced total excommunication from the entire community. This trial was conducted according to the Vedic customs prescribed in the Smritis and was therefore known as the "Smartha Vichara". The King representing the secular power and the Namboodiri Brahmin priests from special families representing the religious power constituted the committee of jurors. One of the canonical investigators in this trial was the author Matampu Kunhukuttan’s grandfather.
Not only was the outcaste rejected completely by society but so too were the descendants of the woman. Sexual adventures usually ended in the pregnant woman’s trial; the men went scot-free. It is into this Namboodiri community that Paptikutty was born.
On the night of her wedding, she is raped by her brother-in-law while her husband stands guard at the door. She is only 14 at the time. She then decides to take revenge on the entire community by seducing 64 prominent upper caste men and maintaining proofs of these sexual liaisons.
When she is called to trial she argues her case and proves that if she is to face excommunication, so too should the 64 men who have slept with her. For the first time in Kerala 64 eminent men were outcasted resulting in the break up of numerous families. There was total chaos.
This year marks the 101st year since Paptikutty’s trial which was a landmark in the history of Kerala as it led to many social reforms.
OUTCASTE ETERNAL – THE PRODUCTION
"Outcaste Eternal" is the first ever stage dramatisation of this significant yet controversial event in Kerala's history. Scripted and directed by Vasanthi Sankaranarayanan and Nirmala Seshadri, the music has been specially composed by late L.Vaidyanathan.
The production was first staged ten years ago in Singapore with a multi ethnic Singaporean cast. Now, nine years later, the work is being resurrected and restaged with a Chennai cast - in memory of L. Vaidyanathan.
The predominant style of dance used is the South Indian classical form Bharatanatyam. Kerala folk dance forms and Malay dance movements have also been used. The style of theatre which has been adopted is the Theatre of Transformation, a system of theatre prevalent in Kerala seen in the ritualistic dance Theyyam in which the actor becomes the character. The principles of trance and possession are also explored in the process.
The play has been divided into 3 Acts.
Act 1: This is the trial scene. In the book the trial scene is at the end but for dramatic impact, this scene has been brought to the very beginning. Hence while Paptikutty argues her case, flashbacks are brought in reflecting the events that happened in her life. In this act, the present, ie the actual trial is shown in theatre format. The flashbacks are shown in stylized fragments of Indian classical dance.
Act 2: Takes the audience back in time to the birth of Paptikutty and her early childhood years.
Act 3: Takes a look at the kind of society in which she lived – the social system which pushed her into doing what she did. This Act culminates where the play began, with trial leading to her excommunication and exile from Kerala, the land of her birth.
The production was first staged ten years ago in Singapore with a multi ethnic Singaporean cast. Now, nine years later, the work is being resurrected and restaged with a Chennai cast - in memory of L. Vaidyanathan.
The predominant style of dance used is the South Indian classical form Bharatanatyam. Kerala folk dance forms and Malay dance movements have also been used. The style of theatre which has been adopted is the Theatre of Transformation, a system of theatre prevalent in Kerala seen in the ritualistic dance Theyyam in which the actor becomes the character. The principles of trance and possession are also explored in the process.
The play has been divided into 3 Acts.
Act 1: This is the trial scene. In the book the trial scene is at the end but for dramatic impact, this scene has been brought to the very beginning. Hence while Paptikutty argues her case, flashbacks are brought in reflecting the events that happened in her life. In this act, the present, ie the actual trial is shown in theatre format. The flashbacks are shown in stylized fragments of Indian classical dance.
Act 2: Takes the audience back in time to the birth of Paptikutty and her early childhood years.
Act 3: Takes a look at the kind of society in which she lived – the social system which pushed her into doing what she did. This Act culminates where the play began, with trial leading to her excommunication and exile from Kerala, the land of her birth.
OUTCASTE ETERNAL - CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY
The Namboodiri men:
PAPTIKUTTY’S FATHER: Thazath Moose, an ordinary Namboodiri, fond of his daughter but not able to give the support that she needed.
CHEMATIRI OTIKKAN: Paptikutty’s teacher. Wise, learned and compassionate Brahmin of a high rank, who after performing several yagas (sacrifices), has earned the title “Otikkan” (teacher of the Vedas).
AKKITHAR: Chematiri’s father, a saintly Namboodiri who spent his time in prayer and meditation and is prophetic in his vision.
YOUNG OTIKKAN: Son of Chematiri, non-conformist infused with revolutionary zeal. Paptikutty’s classmate and friend.
PACHU OTIKKAN: Chematiri’s brother and the first victim of Paptikutty.
YOUNG NAMBOODIRI: A young Namboodiri, conscious of the ills that beset his community. A reformer and activist.
THAZHAMANGALAM ACHAN NAMBOODIRI: Head of a powerful Namboodiri household. Materialistic, shrewd, cunning, domineering, hedonistic and fascist by nature. He indulged in physical pleasures and ruthlessly terminated anyone who crossed swords with him.
NAMBYATTAN: Achan’s younger brother who had to remain unmarried because of a prevailing custom among Namboodiris. Led a life of leisure and carnal pleasure till a woman, Mathukutty, entered his life and changed it completely.
TUNDAN: Infamous, ugly, deformed brother-in-law of Paptikutty who raped her.
NEELAN: Paptikutty’s husband.
The representatives of other castes:
KING: Ruler of a native state, Cochin, in Kerala
KESAVAN: A slavish, subservient Nair assistant, sycophant of Achan Namboodiri.
CHAMI: The lower caste disciple of Chematiri.
The women in the play are:
PAPTIKUTTY: the protagonist
MOTHER OF THAZHAMANGALAM: Mother of Achan Namboodiri and Nambyattan. Widow, matriarch.
ITTINGAYYA: First wife of Achan Namboodiri. Becomes mad after Achan rapes and murders a poor relative, Unnikali.
UNNIKALI: Child widow, poor Namboodiri relative appointed to look after the needs of Mother of Thazhamangalam. Raped and killed by Achan.
MATHUKUTTY: Nair woman, high class prostitute who falls in love with Nambyattan and remains devoted to him.
RAMAN’S NIECE: Lower class woman, seduced and made pregnant by Nambyattan and ultimately killed by him.
PAPTIKUTTY’S FATHER: Thazath Moose, an ordinary Namboodiri, fond of his daughter but not able to give the support that she needed.
CHEMATIRI OTIKKAN: Paptikutty’s teacher. Wise, learned and compassionate Brahmin of a high rank, who after performing several yagas (sacrifices), has earned the title “Otikkan” (teacher of the Vedas).
AKKITHAR: Chematiri’s father, a saintly Namboodiri who spent his time in prayer and meditation and is prophetic in his vision.
YOUNG OTIKKAN: Son of Chematiri, non-conformist infused with revolutionary zeal. Paptikutty’s classmate and friend.
PACHU OTIKKAN: Chematiri’s brother and the first victim of Paptikutty.
YOUNG NAMBOODIRI: A young Namboodiri, conscious of the ills that beset his community. A reformer and activist.
THAZHAMANGALAM ACHAN NAMBOODIRI: Head of a powerful Namboodiri household. Materialistic, shrewd, cunning, domineering, hedonistic and fascist by nature. He indulged in physical pleasures and ruthlessly terminated anyone who crossed swords with him.
NAMBYATTAN: Achan’s younger brother who had to remain unmarried because of a prevailing custom among Namboodiris. Led a life of leisure and carnal pleasure till a woman, Mathukutty, entered his life and changed it completely.
TUNDAN: Infamous, ugly, deformed brother-in-law of Paptikutty who raped her.
NEELAN: Paptikutty’s husband.
The representatives of other castes:
KING: Ruler of a native state, Cochin, in Kerala
KESAVAN: A slavish, subservient Nair assistant, sycophant of Achan Namboodiri.
CHAMI: The lower caste disciple of Chematiri.
The women in the play are:
PAPTIKUTTY: the protagonist
MOTHER OF THAZHAMANGALAM: Mother of Achan Namboodiri and Nambyattan. Widow, matriarch.
ITTINGAYYA: First wife of Achan Namboodiri. Becomes mad after Achan rapes and murders a poor relative, Unnikali.
UNNIKALI: Child widow, poor Namboodiri relative appointed to look after the needs of Mother of Thazhamangalam. Raped and killed by Achan.
MATHUKUTTY: Nair woman, high class prostitute who falls in love with Nambyattan and remains devoted to him.
RAMAN’S NIECE: Lower class woman, seduced and made pregnant by Nambyattan and ultimately killed by him.
FINALLY A STATE –OF- THE- ART AUDITORIUM
It took a school to offer it to artists and art lovers of the cultural capital. As I drove into the compound of the Lady Andal School for the opening performance of the Hindu Theatre Fest, I looked to the right and saw the building I had heard so much about. Huge pillars, the steps so aesthetically decorated with colourful lamps. There certainly was a festive air about it.
This time, unlike in previous years when this festival was held at the Music Academy, parking was a breeze. In a relaxed frame of mind, I walked towards the venue. Music wafted through the air. A mellifluous voice which I would later realize belonged to Vedanth. As I approached it all, a great sense of pride surged within me. Finally, the city has an auditorium. Believe me this is cause for celebration.
As a dancer I shifted from Singapore to Chennai ten years ago. The reasons for shifting and those for continuing to stay are very different. Shifting had something to do with the sabhas, if I remember right. It is so long ago and so much has happened in between. But yes, I did believe the sabhas to be the ideal platforms for dance and music. What was I thinking?
One of my early performances was for the opening of the Vani Mahal festivals. There wasn’t much of a stage there (I am told it has been revamped but I’ll have to see it to believe it). And the lack of aesthetics was horrifying. On a blue backdrop, shiny long pink and silver streamers hanging from top to bottom. And of course, the Banner. In front of all this, I danced. What was I thinking? Obviously I wasn’t!
And I continued to put my brain on hold for quite a few years after that, dancing in various sabhas in the most dismal of conditions – depressing dressing rooms, stages with flooring totally unsuitable for dance, lack of adequate lights, terrible audio systems, banners etc etc etc.
Until one day it got to me. Either my work or I had transcended these spaces, or both. I am not speaking of the organization of these festivals. That is another story. I am restricting myself here only to infrastructure. More precisely the lack of it. And everytime I asked for something more that my work required I would be told that so and so had managed with this much, why not me.
Why have artists just settled for what there is without pushing for more? Why do we dance and sing on stages that do not serve the needs of our art completely? Why haven’t we protested and taken our art back to the temples or other intimate spaces? Why this great desperation to perform even in the shoddiest of spaces? It is this desperation which the organizers have been exploiting season after season. Imagine what would happen if senior artists thought beyond themselves but in terms of art and future generations. Imagine if for two December seasons, no artist performed. But that is hard to imagine and that is why after so many decades, it is only now that we have a state-of- the-art auditorium provided not by the cultural organizations, arts fraternity or government, but by a school.
And truly, what a theatre experience. It began outside – the imposing architecture, sense of space, greenery. The Hindu embellished it with beautiful decoration and music. And then you walk into this large hall, take your seat and for a moment you forget where you are until you notice the name of the hall at the top of the stage. This one vestige has unfortunately crept in here. But then because of the sheer size of the hall and stage, it does not interfere with my vision and I decide it is worth overlooking a minor glitch.
For soon, the festival begins – no sponsor videos this time. In more ways than one, we have arrived. As the Korean actors take over with their brilliant acting and movement technique, supported by splendid acoustics and lighting, I sit back ready to watch Yohangsa Theatre Company perform A Midsummer Night’s Dream in the cultural capital of India.
PS: I wrote this piece after watching The Koreans perform. Last night I attended the Indo-German work and unfortunately saw and heard more glitches. Considering the money spent on constructing this space and the rental charged, I have to say there is something garish about the wooden paneling on the side walls of the auditorium. Sadly the same paneling extends up to the stage. Perhaps this is alright for music concerts but in the case of the visual performing arts, something more dark and sedate would have been more appropriate. Also during last night’s performance we could here the loud sound of the rain outside. A disturbing oversight.
But then, when Korea performed the actors took over; the glitches paled into insignificance.
NIRMALA SESHADRI
This time, unlike in previous years when this festival was held at the Music Academy, parking was a breeze. In a relaxed frame of mind, I walked towards the venue. Music wafted through the air. A mellifluous voice which I would later realize belonged to Vedanth. As I approached it all, a great sense of pride surged within me. Finally, the city has an auditorium. Believe me this is cause for celebration.
As a dancer I shifted from Singapore to Chennai ten years ago. The reasons for shifting and those for continuing to stay are very different. Shifting had something to do with the sabhas, if I remember right. It is so long ago and so much has happened in between. But yes, I did believe the sabhas to be the ideal platforms for dance and music. What was I thinking?
One of my early performances was for the opening of the Vani Mahal festivals. There wasn’t much of a stage there (I am told it has been revamped but I’ll have to see it to believe it). And the lack of aesthetics was horrifying. On a blue backdrop, shiny long pink and silver streamers hanging from top to bottom. And of course, the Banner. In front of all this, I danced. What was I thinking? Obviously I wasn’t!
And I continued to put my brain on hold for quite a few years after that, dancing in various sabhas in the most dismal of conditions – depressing dressing rooms, stages with flooring totally unsuitable for dance, lack of adequate lights, terrible audio systems, banners etc etc etc.
Until one day it got to me. Either my work or I had transcended these spaces, or both. I am not speaking of the organization of these festivals. That is another story. I am restricting myself here only to infrastructure. More precisely the lack of it. And everytime I asked for something more that my work required I would be told that so and so had managed with this much, why not me.
Why have artists just settled for what there is without pushing for more? Why do we dance and sing on stages that do not serve the needs of our art completely? Why haven’t we protested and taken our art back to the temples or other intimate spaces? Why this great desperation to perform even in the shoddiest of spaces? It is this desperation which the organizers have been exploiting season after season. Imagine what would happen if senior artists thought beyond themselves but in terms of art and future generations. Imagine if for two December seasons, no artist performed. But that is hard to imagine and that is why after so many decades, it is only now that we have a state-of- the-art auditorium provided not by the cultural organizations, arts fraternity or government, but by a school.
And truly, what a theatre experience. It began outside – the imposing architecture, sense of space, greenery. The Hindu embellished it with beautiful decoration and music. And then you walk into this large hall, take your seat and for a moment you forget where you are until you notice the name of the hall at the top of the stage. This one vestige has unfortunately crept in here. But then because of the sheer size of the hall and stage, it does not interfere with my vision and I decide it is worth overlooking a minor glitch.
For soon, the festival begins – no sponsor videos this time. In more ways than one, we have arrived. As the Korean actors take over with their brilliant acting and movement technique, supported by splendid acoustics and lighting, I sit back ready to watch Yohangsa Theatre Company perform A Midsummer Night’s Dream in the cultural capital of India.
PS: I wrote this piece after watching The Koreans perform. Last night I attended the Indo-German work and unfortunately saw and heard more glitches. Considering the money spent on constructing this space and the rental charged, I have to say there is something garish about the wooden paneling on the side walls of the auditorium. Sadly the same paneling extends up to the stage. Perhaps this is alright for music concerts but in the case of the visual performing arts, something more dark and sedate would have been more appropriate. Also during last night’s performance we could here the loud sound of the rain outside. A disturbing oversight.
But then, when Korea performed the actors took over; the glitches paled into insignificance.
NIRMALA SESHADRI
An experiment in transcending boundaries
By JOANNE CHIEW
CROSSROADS is a reinterpretation and reworking of the traditional Bharatanatyam dance form, moving through the themes of love, separation, yearning, meetings and partings as an eternal journey.
First performed in 2003, it was conceived and choreographed by Nirmala Seshadri and Neewin Hershall.
Speaking from Chennai, India before its staging in Singapore on April 19, Nirmala explains that it began in 2003 as a celebration of their bond at the point when Neewin was leaving Chennai.
“Slowly we found we were exploring not only the meeting of two artists, but also the meeting of genders – the differences and yet the over-riding similarities.”
Winner of the Singapore National Arts Council’s “Young Artist Award”, Nirmala studied Bharatanatyam from young and constantly pushes the boundaries of traditional dance with her experimentation.
Her earlier work Outcaste Eternal was made with a multi-ethnic cast in Singapore. Her dance to the poem The Celestial Web by Tan Swie Hian incorporated yoga.
She explains that Crossroads is about “a crossroads of practice and performance and of Bharatanatyam with other art forms – music, poetry, film and visual art.”
Revealing that the musical film Chicago inspired the unpredictability in Crossroads, Nirmala says, “I knew I had to bring the unpredictability into the traditional repertoire by not taking any part of the form for granted.”
The coming rendition of Crossroads will differ from the original in many ways – for example, more abstraction and usage of the physicality of the entire body for emotional expression.
“There is more courage, conviction and confidence in terms of the path that I am treading and this percolates into each work,” Nirmala says.
She explains that for her, dance is a means of self-exploration and communication that transcends boundaries.
It has helped her address many issues that she could not openly discuss – relationship issues, marriage, gender inequality, caste and patriarchy.
It is a way of personal expression for her, too. “The pluralistic identity is what I find my dance form allows me to explore – be it my identity as an Indian, Indian-Singaporean, woman, mother, feminist, etc etc etc.”
A recurring theme for her is the patriarchal nature of Bharatanatyam. Starting out as a temple dance, it existed predominantly for men.
“The male gaze has always existed to objectify the woman,” she says. “And now that I approach the form as a modern woman with a modern mind I feel it is my responsibility to protest and to be an agent of change.”
Speaking about her move to Chennai nine years ago, she explains that she wanted to surround herself with people who know the form well enough to really understand what she aims to achieve by deviating from it.
“I feel it will take some time before my work will be really received here,” she says, while acknowledging Singapore’s eclectic arts community. So, does she plan to return in the future?
“Strangely enough I’ve never felt that I’ve left Singapore,” she says, although she is open to new places.
The Business Times, Singapore
Friday, April 18, 2008
CROSSROADS is a reinterpretation and reworking of the traditional Bharatanatyam dance form, moving through the themes of love, separation, yearning, meetings and partings as an eternal journey.
First performed in 2003, it was conceived and choreographed by Nirmala Seshadri and Neewin Hershall.
Speaking from Chennai, India before its staging in Singapore on April 19, Nirmala explains that it began in 2003 as a celebration of their bond at the point when Neewin was leaving Chennai.
“Slowly we found we were exploring not only the meeting of two artists, but also the meeting of genders – the differences and yet the over-riding similarities.”
Winner of the Singapore National Arts Council’s “Young Artist Award”, Nirmala studied Bharatanatyam from young and constantly pushes the boundaries of traditional dance with her experimentation.
Her earlier work Outcaste Eternal was made with a multi-ethnic cast in Singapore. Her dance to the poem The Celestial Web by Tan Swie Hian incorporated yoga.
She explains that Crossroads is about “a crossroads of practice and performance and of Bharatanatyam with other art forms – music, poetry, film and visual art.”
Revealing that the musical film Chicago inspired the unpredictability in Crossroads, Nirmala says, “I knew I had to bring the unpredictability into the traditional repertoire by not taking any part of the form for granted.”
The coming rendition of Crossroads will differ from the original in many ways – for example, more abstraction and usage of the physicality of the entire body for emotional expression.
“There is more courage, conviction and confidence in terms of the path that I am treading and this percolates into each work,” Nirmala says.
She explains that for her, dance is a means of self-exploration and communication that transcends boundaries.
It has helped her address many issues that she could not openly discuss – relationship issues, marriage, gender inequality, caste and patriarchy.
It is a way of personal expression for her, too. “The pluralistic identity is what I find my dance form allows me to explore – be it my identity as an Indian, Indian-Singaporean, woman, mother, feminist, etc etc etc.”
A recurring theme for her is the patriarchal nature of Bharatanatyam. Starting out as a temple dance, it existed predominantly for men.
“The male gaze has always existed to objectify the woman,” she says. “And now that I approach the form as a modern woman with a modern mind I feel it is my responsibility to protest and to be an agent of change.”
Speaking about her move to Chennai nine years ago, she explains that she wanted to surround herself with people who know the form well enough to really understand what she aims to achieve by deviating from it.
“I feel it will take some time before my work will be really received here,” she says, while acknowledging Singapore’s eclectic arts community. So, does she plan to return in the future?
“Strangely enough I’ve never felt that I’ve left Singapore,” she says, although she is open to new places.
The Business Times, Singapore
Friday, April 18, 2008
CROSSROADS CAPTURED AT ADISHAKTI!
Photographs courtesy and copyright Yann Pitchal, Pondicherry (April 13th 2008)
CROSSROADS IN AUROVILLE - APRIL 13TH 2008
ADISHAKTI
Laboratory for Theatre Arts Research
presents
CROSSROADS
JOURNEYS AND TRANSFORMATIONS THROUGH LIFE AND DANCE
By Nirmala Seshadri & Neewin Hershall
At Adishakti, Sir Ratan Tata Koothu Kovil
(Auroville – On the Edayanchavadi Road, Opposite Hope Auroville)
6.30pm, Sunday 13th April 2008
An experiment in which the traditional dance repertoire is viewed through a different contextual lens; where the parts of the repertoire connect into a larger conceptual framework, allowing for other forms such as film and visual art to enter. Also an exploration of the gender equation; human emotions and angst through mathematical forms.
The coming together of two dancers. From Singapore, from Kerala. The synergy. The blending of their artistic thoughts and energies. The eternal journey of differences, joinings. Of meetings and partings.
From an undistinguishable point emerges man and woman, two aspects of Humanity. In form and shape they are different; they take different paths, have different emotional and intellectual hues, yet they meet, or rather they have to meet. Is there a possibility for a better understanding by exploring and analysing the intrinsic nature of men and women? To know the differences at a deeper level and to join together with understanding and love. To understand is to change, to change is to move forward, to move forward is to move away from stagnation and regression.
This work has been conceived and choreographed by Nirmala Seshadri (recipient of the Singapore National Arts Council’s Young Artist Award) and Neewin Hershall a graduate of Kalakshetra.
For more details call 91 0413 262 2287/ 262 2402
CROSSROADS IN SINGAPORE... April 19th 2008
Click on the image to view:
Bhaskars Arts Academy
presents
CROSSROADS
JOURNEYS AND TRANSFORMATIONS THROUGH LIFE AND DANCE
By Nirmala Seshadri & Neewin Hershall
8pm, Saturday 19th April 2008
NAFA Lee Foundation Theatre
151 Bencoolen Street
The coming together of two dancers. From Singapore, from Kerala. The synergy. The blending of their artistic thoughts and energies. The eternal journey of differences, joinings. Of meetings and partings.
An experiment in which the traditional dance repertoire is viewed through a different contextual lens; where the parts of the repertoire connect into a larger conceptual framework, allowing for other forms such as film and visual art to enter. Also an exploration of the gender equation; human emotions and angst through mathematical forms.
This work has been conceived and choreographed by Nirmala Seshadri (recipient of the Singapore National Arts Council’s Young Artist Award) and Neewin Hershall a graduate of Kalakshetra.
Tickets at $20 & $30 ($5 concession for all students)
Available at Nrityalaya Aesthetics Society Tel: (65) 6336 6537 / 6336 7994
OR Bhaskars Arts Academy Ltd Tel: (65) 63366537 / 6396 4523
Bhaskars Arts Academy
presents
CROSSROADS
JOURNEYS AND TRANSFORMATIONS THROUGH LIFE AND DANCE
By Nirmala Seshadri & Neewin Hershall
8pm, Saturday 19th April 2008
NAFA Lee Foundation Theatre
151 Bencoolen Street
The coming together of two dancers. From Singapore, from Kerala. The synergy. The blending of their artistic thoughts and energies. The eternal journey of differences, joinings. Of meetings and partings.
An experiment in which the traditional dance repertoire is viewed through a different contextual lens; where the parts of the repertoire connect into a larger conceptual framework, allowing for other forms such as film and visual art to enter. Also an exploration of the gender equation; human emotions and angst through mathematical forms.
This work has been conceived and choreographed by Nirmala Seshadri (recipient of the Singapore National Arts Council’s Young Artist Award) and Neewin Hershall a graduate of Kalakshetra.
Tickets at $20 & $30 ($5 concession for all students)
Available at Nrityalaya Aesthetics Society Tel: (65) 6336 6537 / 6336 7994
OR Bhaskars Arts Academy Ltd Tel: (65) 63366537 / 6396 4523
Cathy Spagnoli provides...
A GLIMPSE OF KOREA THROUGH STORIES
Nirmala Seshadri
February 17th 2008
What do you do when your daughter who's working towards her Class 12 final exams needs that small break in her study routine? Often we find that apart from stepping out for a meal and getting back to the grind, there isn't much else to do. Plays and movies tend to take up too much time. Having to jostle through a crowd hardly makes for a relaxed evening.
But two days ago, Friday the 15th to be precise, we enjoyed the perfect little outing. The Indo Korean Centre organised an evening of storytelling by Cathy Spagnoli, who has done a great deal of research in this field in Korea. The session was held at Chamiers- a short and sweet drive from our home. The other option was to listen to Paul Theroux to Landmark which would have meant battling through evening traffic, getting all stressed out about parking and then being at the mercy of the question askers at such sessions. This, on the other hand, was going to be a performance moment of sorts.
To be honest this was the first storytelling moment I would be experiencing and I didn't know quite what to expect. The space, tastefully done up, was intimate and inviting. It was a refreshingly small group of people who were obviously there not to be seen, but to listen. And to the credit of Rathi Jaffer and her team at InKo Centre they seem to have a way of organising these informal, intimate and insightful sessions with simplicity, yet panache.
Now over to Cathy Spagnoli who has shared hundreds of stories in a variety of settings across Asia, USA and Canada, with audiences of all ages. Her visit to Chennai this time is aimed at bringing alive Korea through stories. She says, "Korea holds an important place in Asian history. Yet because of its physical location, Korea has often and wrongly, been viewed as a 'shrimp between two whales.' Yet despite its small size, its challenging location and its turbulent history, Korea has a very rich and unique culture. As a storyteller and writer who has collected and shared Korean stories for many years, I have been blessed by the kindness of Koreans and amazed at their energy and will. I am eager to share, in my 'adopted' city of Chennai, some of the stories that Koreans have told me as important pieces of their cultures."
It is perhaps relevant to mention at this point that Cathy has been married for the last 30 years to the Chennai sculptor, Paramasivam. They live with their 28 year old son, Manu, on Vashon Island, which is a 20-minute ferry ride from Seattle. They also spend time in their second home, Cholamandal.
"In my search for stories, I've slid through Indonesian rice fields, sipped sake with Japanese epic singers, met Korean monks in high mountain temples, hiked the Himalayas with Tibetan dancers, marvelled at Kamishibai Festivals, and shared tea with warmhearted Southeast Asian refugees." That evening she also shared how she broke her wrist while coming down a mountain in Korea and was carefully brought to safety by a Korean couple. And then her experience with both Western and traditional Korean medical treatment there.
During the spellbinding session that lasted just over an hour, Cathy subtly interwove actual stories, with tales of how she arrived at these tales, with insights into Korean culture and into the history and art of storytelling in Korea. All this was done very seamlessly. I found myself not being fully aware of where one ended, where the other began. I just let Cathy carry me through it all with the one device that she used in a way that only a master storyteller can- Voice.
I have never been one for stories. I often find myself losing threads and getting distracted. Even when it comes to jokes, I am usually the one who laughs last, and that too after the joke has been explained to me. I can never ever repeat a joke.
But that evening I sat wide-eyed receiving all that Cathy had to share. After a long time I felt like a child in the way that I listened with fascination. And yet it was the adult in me that related to the little moral at the end of each story. And so in my own way I was moving seamlessly in and out of the child and the adult. It was a delightful experience and a new one too. The session had an interactive element to it too. Cathy narrated one of the stories through sign language in addition to voice, which had the entire audience shouting out words to fill in the blanks.
Cathy's decision to end with the ghost story was a brilliant one. It was indeed the high point in the evening. All lights were dimmed and she began frightening even the adult in me. With that powerful and versatile voice, she carried us through fear, pathos.
Frankly I feel the evening should have ended on that note, as Cathy had planned. The ending, that could have been a dramatic one, became an anticlimax of sorts when, at the request of an audience member, Cathy went into the telling of a Native American tale. The focus was shifted and somehow diffused. In spite of the tangential ending it was a delightful, insightful and refreshingly unpretentious evening.
As a fitting conclusion, the authors on the blog spent the rest of the evening eating, chatting and communing with Nature at Chamiers.
Some of the information in this piece has been obtained from InKo Centre's magazine "FOCUS" (Issue No. 4).
Photograph of Cathy Spagnoli is from www.cathyspagnoli.com
Vasanthi on: "Sangati Arinja" and "Moonshine and Skytoffee"- Two Plays
A Review
by Vasanthi Sankaranarayanan
February 4th 2008
Transformation is one of the most difficult processes – from ape to man from man to superman, or from one literary form to another – such as short story or poem to a play or a play to a film. Only a person who can get the essence of two forms and transfer that essence from one form to another can attempt this. And yet this is what Paul Mathew from Perch did as he prepared a playscript for Rajiv Krishnan and team from the stories of Vaikom Mohammed Basheer, a literary author who transformed the Malayalam language itself and put his own individual stamp on it. Of course, another transformation had already taken place, when the short stories written in Malayalam was translated into English by V. Abdullah and R.A. Asher.
The task was an onerous one – Paul did it four years back when Rajiv’s group did the play “Moonshine and Skytoffee”. At that time he had combined only two short stories, “Premalekhanam”(A Love Letter) and “Mucheettu Kalikkarante Makal” (Cardsharper’s Daughter). Yet, even then the ingenuity of combining these stories and making them into a cogent and meaningful play script was evident in the treatment. A familiarity with the village background where both the stories are located must have helped. The village tea shop as a meeting place must have also suggested as to how the play could proceed. Yet, on the whole it was plausible and therefore held together as a play. But, this time the task was not so simple. Seven short stories have been used as background material for the play script and a narrative has been woven out of them. The stories do not have the same background. They are not all located in the village itself. How would one combine these seemingly different and strange stories and make into a workable script? What is the common thread that can unite these seemingly different stories? Paul has very cleverly hit upon a device – introduce the author as a character of the plays. Then it could be shown as a part of his experiences, memories, dreams or imaginary wanderings. Basheer the author himself is there either as a character, a narrator, a commentator or an observer. This solves the problem effectively. The audience are at no time sure when the characters on stage are actual characters from the short stories, or the figments of the author’s imagination or recollections from his experiences. So, having introduced the author as a character, the texture of the play changes, it is no more the experiences of a group of village people, but even a part of the dreams and experiences that the author had during his life and travels. The spectrum grows much bigger, the perspective becomes more universal. It gives greater scope for the director to use theatrical devices, music, dance, masks, props. It becomes a saga, not the story of one person, one family or even one region. It becomes a travelogue, a peep into the author’s inner thoughts and soul and thereby richer and more fulfilling as a visual experience. And what is the title that was given for this saga? “Sangati Arinja?” means “Have you heard?” Can you have a better title for the stories related by a clever story teller? The communication between the author and the audience of the play becomes more intense and telling.
If Paul’s job was onerous, Rajiv’s job as the director of the play was even more onerous. He had to have a group of actors who are so fluid and flexible that they can transform themselves to different characters – from men to women, from women to men, from a village idiot to a transvestite and then to a mystic. From a roadside Romeo to young Basheer, from a mere villager to a doctor, from a villager to a tragic soldier and then to an unfortunate lover. From a one eyed card sharper to a shapely secretary. The shifts were mercurial and instantaneous. Yet, the group of young actors managed these acts of transformation effectively. Was that all the transformation there was? A young girl takes the role of a fat villager with a body as twisted as a spider. All of them turned into masked beings, maybe destitutes and drunkards who surround a village brothel madame. Were these done only through costume changes and movement changes? Not exactly. They became whatever role they took on and gave each role their individual touch. Not an easy task. The director must have guided them and at the same time given free reign to their imaginations. Also, they are young, passionate actors – they do not care how long they are on stage or what kind of roles are given to them. They are actors, their job is to act, whatever the role demanded they would try and achieve. To infuse such a spirit in a group of actors is no mean job. Rajiv has achieved that and deserves praise. His own deep interest in theatre, his passion for perfection, his imagination and far-sightedness in seeing pure theatre in Basheer’s stories ( one does not know where reality ends and drama takes over), all these are commendable. It was his research that woke other people to the fact that two thousand and eight is Basheer Centenary year and should be celebrated capturing the many-faceted nature of this unusual writer and human being.
He had a team of able assistants – foremost among them are Kaveri under whose initiative a new organization has evolved – Perch (Performers of Chennai); there is an irony to this title. This group does not claim that they are amateur or professional actors; they are performers; performers is a word which can be applied not to actors alone, but to musicians, gypsies, circus troupes, magicians, story tellers, dancers and even human beings in general (Remember, Shakespeare, all the world is a stage and all men and women actors!); Salaam, Kaveri for choosing such a name; and Natesh who assisted him with his earlier research on Basheer, his surroundings, his family, the people among whom he lived and who created a minimalistic stage, where ordinary props became unusual objects – a vessel, a table, a rod and a needle became a gramaphone, the eating plates gramaphone records, a cane stand with umbrellas hanging around, the mangosteen tree , a set of shelves the wall of a prison, three car tyres a well, some red blobs a rose garden, a water hose pipe a long nose. Here is a case where a whole village, interior and exterior of buildings such as walls or a haunted house were created out of these objects. Just a nudge to the imagination of a discerning viewer, no elaborate sets, the hand of a master art director could be seen in those. The lighting was very unusual, the soft, and yet radiant light of a Kerala village was effectively captured. Sound was also one of the major assets of this play. The songs that Basheer liked were woven into the play as mood creators and they tugged at your heartstrings, reminding the audience of lost worlds and lost innocence. If Basheer saw this play he would have wept and said “Not a dull moment” as he did when he watched veteran Adoor Gopalakrishnan’s film, “Mathilukal” based on Basheer’s novel.
All the actors did their roles well. Yet, some stood out, Paul Mathew as Basheer, Ishwar as young Basheer and Kader, Aparna as Jameela and many other women, Prakash as the Namboodiri, Dayal as the soldier and the lover, Jagan as the village idiot, the transvestite and the mystic. The play was two hours long and yet, one never felt the passage of time, because there were no set changes, no delays in costume changes, why, hardly any break in the flow of the play. The use of Malayalam, Tamil and Hindi suitably interspersed with the English script was also another remarkable feature of this play. Starting with a regional base it grew like a banyan tree, all encompassing, universal and touching the hearts of all kinds of audiences. The range of emotions which were shown were stunning. Simplicity, humour, pathos, tragedy, love, cruelty, it touched all aspects of emotional acting. At no time was it stagey or artificial. It retained its naturalness and spontaneity with amazing ease. And yet, it did not slip into caricaturing or undisciplined exhibition of excess or obvious acting.
The greatest success of this play is that it captured Basheer, the man, the writer, the mystic and the agonizing soul of an eternal wanderer. It offered a glimpse of this many-faceted genius with alarming simplicity. At no stage did it distort or spoil the vision of the author. “From a story teller, he became the story itself”, M.T. Vasudevan Nair, the great writer of Malayalam described Basheer thus. Rajiv, Paul Mathew, Natesh and Kaveri and their team unraveled this story to the audience of Chennai effectively.
by Vasanthi Sankaranarayanan
February 4th 2008
Transformation is one of the most difficult processes – from ape to man from man to superman, or from one literary form to another – such as short story or poem to a play or a play to a film. Only a person who can get the essence of two forms and transfer that essence from one form to another can attempt this. And yet this is what Paul Mathew from Perch did as he prepared a playscript for Rajiv Krishnan and team from the stories of Vaikom Mohammed Basheer, a literary author who transformed the Malayalam language itself and put his own individual stamp on it. Of course, another transformation had already taken place, when the short stories written in Malayalam was translated into English by V. Abdullah and R.A. Asher.
The task was an onerous one – Paul did it four years back when Rajiv’s group did the play “Moonshine and Skytoffee”. At that time he had combined only two short stories, “Premalekhanam”(A Love Letter) and “Mucheettu Kalikkarante Makal” (Cardsharper’s Daughter). Yet, even then the ingenuity of combining these stories and making them into a cogent and meaningful play script was evident in the treatment. A familiarity with the village background where both the stories are located must have helped. The village tea shop as a meeting place must have also suggested as to how the play could proceed. Yet, on the whole it was plausible and therefore held together as a play. But, this time the task was not so simple. Seven short stories have been used as background material for the play script and a narrative has been woven out of them. The stories do not have the same background. They are not all located in the village itself. How would one combine these seemingly different and strange stories and make into a workable script? What is the common thread that can unite these seemingly different stories? Paul has very cleverly hit upon a device – introduce the author as a character of the plays. Then it could be shown as a part of his experiences, memories, dreams or imaginary wanderings. Basheer the author himself is there either as a character, a narrator, a commentator or an observer. This solves the problem effectively. The audience are at no time sure when the characters on stage are actual characters from the short stories, or the figments of the author’s imagination or recollections from his experiences. So, having introduced the author as a character, the texture of the play changes, it is no more the experiences of a group of village people, but even a part of the dreams and experiences that the author had during his life and travels. The spectrum grows much bigger, the perspective becomes more universal. It gives greater scope for the director to use theatrical devices, music, dance, masks, props. It becomes a saga, not the story of one person, one family or even one region. It becomes a travelogue, a peep into the author’s inner thoughts and soul and thereby richer and more fulfilling as a visual experience. And what is the title that was given for this saga? “Sangati Arinja?” means “Have you heard?” Can you have a better title for the stories related by a clever story teller? The communication between the author and the audience of the play becomes more intense and telling.
If Paul’s job was onerous, Rajiv’s job as the director of the play was even more onerous. He had to have a group of actors who are so fluid and flexible that they can transform themselves to different characters – from men to women, from women to men, from a village idiot to a transvestite and then to a mystic. From a roadside Romeo to young Basheer, from a mere villager to a doctor, from a villager to a tragic soldier and then to an unfortunate lover. From a one eyed card sharper to a shapely secretary. The shifts were mercurial and instantaneous. Yet, the group of young actors managed these acts of transformation effectively. Was that all the transformation there was? A young girl takes the role of a fat villager with a body as twisted as a spider. All of them turned into masked beings, maybe destitutes and drunkards who surround a village brothel madame. Were these done only through costume changes and movement changes? Not exactly. They became whatever role they took on and gave each role their individual touch. Not an easy task. The director must have guided them and at the same time given free reign to their imaginations. Also, they are young, passionate actors – they do not care how long they are on stage or what kind of roles are given to them. They are actors, their job is to act, whatever the role demanded they would try and achieve. To infuse such a spirit in a group of actors is no mean job. Rajiv has achieved that and deserves praise. His own deep interest in theatre, his passion for perfection, his imagination and far-sightedness in seeing pure theatre in Basheer’s stories ( one does not know where reality ends and drama takes over), all these are commendable. It was his research that woke other people to the fact that two thousand and eight is Basheer Centenary year and should be celebrated capturing the many-faceted nature of this unusual writer and human being.
He had a team of able assistants – foremost among them are Kaveri under whose initiative a new organization has evolved – Perch (Performers of Chennai); there is an irony to this title. This group does not claim that they are amateur or professional actors; they are performers; performers is a word which can be applied not to actors alone, but to musicians, gypsies, circus troupes, magicians, story tellers, dancers and even human beings in general (Remember, Shakespeare, all the world is a stage and all men and women actors!); Salaam, Kaveri for choosing such a name; and Natesh who assisted him with his earlier research on Basheer, his surroundings, his family, the people among whom he lived and who created a minimalistic stage, where ordinary props became unusual objects – a vessel, a table, a rod and a needle became a gramaphone, the eating plates gramaphone records, a cane stand with umbrellas hanging around, the mangosteen tree , a set of shelves the wall of a prison, three car tyres a well, some red blobs a rose garden, a water hose pipe a long nose. Here is a case where a whole village, interior and exterior of buildings such as walls or a haunted house were created out of these objects. Just a nudge to the imagination of a discerning viewer, no elaborate sets, the hand of a master art director could be seen in those. The lighting was very unusual, the soft, and yet radiant light of a Kerala village was effectively captured. Sound was also one of the major assets of this play. The songs that Basheer liked were woven into the play as mood creators and they tugged at your heartstrings, reminding the audience of lost worlds and lost innocence. If Basheer saw this play he would have wept and said “Not a dull moment” as he did when he watched veteran Adoor Gopalakrishnan’s film, “Mathilukal” based on Basheer’s novel.
All the actors did their roles well. Yet, some stood out, Paul Mathew as Basheer, Ishwar as young Basheer and Kader, Aparna as Jameela and many other women, Prakash as the Namboodiri, Dayal as the soldier and the lover, Jagan as the village idiot, the transvestite and the mystic. The play was two hours long and yet, one never felt the passage of time, because there were no set changes, no delays in costume changes, why, hardly any break in the flow of the play. The use of Malayalam, Tamil and Hindi suitably interspersed with the English script was also another remarkable feature of this play. Starting with a regional base it grew like a banyan tree, all encompassing, universal and touching the hearts of all kinds of audiences. The range of emotions which were shown were stunning. Simplicity, humour, pathos, tragedy, love, cruelty, it touched all aspects of emotional acting. At no time was it stagey or artificial. It retained its naturalness and spontaneity with amazing ease. And yet, it did not slip into caricaturing or undisciplined exhibition of excess or obvious acting.
The greatest success of this play is that it captured Basheer, the man, the writer, the mystic and the agonizing soul of an eternal wanderer. It offered a glimpse of this many-faceted genius with alarming simplicity. At no stage did it distort or spoil the vision of the author. “From a story teller, he became the story itself”, M.T. Vasudevan Nair, the great writer of Malayalam described Basheer thus. Rajiv, Paul Mathew, Natesh and Kaveri and their team unraveled this story to the audience of Chennai effectively.
Nostalgia
MAGGIE THOMAS
January 22nd 2008
Thank you for a lovely evening with Sangati Arinhya. Just seeing
those two words made me very nostalgic. I could almost hear them, the
intonation, which took me back to my youth in Calicut.
I must confess that I was somewhat relieved that the script was in
English and "ordinary" Malayalam. Moplah Malayalam is very
distinctive, attractive, but not always easy to comprehend, especially
if you have been away from it for a long time.
I thought the play was very well done. Amusing, yes, but the
underlying sorrow made it poignant.
After the interval the scene that was set described a place/space that was very different from that of Bhargavi Nilayam. The Afghanistan(?) vignette where Basheer got robbed was fearful,made almost sinister by the bright, beautiful and glittering materials that were draped at the back of the stage and the costume of the dancer which contrasted with the squalour of the surroundings. The fearfulness of what happened to Basheer was leavened by the unexplained generosity of the Chief.
I could have sat through another two hours without fatigue -- which is
something, considering how ancient I am.
I thought the sets were clever. They didnt distract from what was
happening and yet played an important role in the scheme of things.
January 22nd 2008
Thank you for a lovely evening with Sangati Arinhya. Just seeing
those two words made me very nostalgic. I could almost hear them, the
intonation, which took me back to my youth in Calicut.
I must confess that I was somewhat relieved that the script was in
English and "ordinary" Malayalam. Moplah Malayalam is very
distinctive, attractive, but not always easy to comprehend, especially
if you have been away from it for a long time.
I thought the play was very well done. Amusing, yes, but the
underlying sorrow made it poignant.
After the interval the scene that was set described a place/space that was very different from that of Bhargavi Nilayam. The Afghanistan(?) vignette where Basheer got robbed was fearful,made almost sinister by the bright, beautiful and glittering materials that were draped at the back of the stage and the costume of the dancer which contrasted with the squalour of the surroundings. The fearfulness of what happened to Basheer was leavened by the unexplained generosity of the Chief.
I could have sat through another two hours without fatigue -- which is
something, considering how ancient I am.
I thought the sets were clever. They didnt distract from what was
happening and yet played an important role in the scheme of things.
SANGATHI ARINHYA? (HAVE YOU HEARD?)
I THINK I’VE LOST IT!!
NIRMALA SESHADRI
January 21st 2008
I must be a tad mad. I went to see the play “Sangathi Arinhya (Have You Heard?)” for the first time on Saturday. Attended the matinee show. The play went on for two hours and ten minutes, which is considered ‘l-o-o-o-o—ng’ by urban Indian standards. I don’t even know that I can say I enjoyed it thoroughly or understood it well enough. All I could say was that I liked what I had just been through. Somewhere deep down I knew it was good theatre. And that I wanted to see it again.
And so I went again, on Sunday. This time it was for the evening show. (I’m convinced now that except for the traffic consideration, plays should not be watched in the afternoon). And now, I want to see it again! Is something wrong with me? Am I getting old? Or am I going through one of my insecure phases when I need to keep engaging in the familiar? No, I don’t think it’s either. Not this time anyway. After watching it for the second time I know that what the group Perch has shown is not just good theatre. It’s a brilliant work of art. Indian art.
In my last eight years as a resident of Chennai I have often wondered why English theatre here is so preoccupied with the West when there is so much to explore right here. Often the only Indian factors are that the actors and audience are Indian and that the plays are being staged in India. Almost always I come away feeling dissatisfied and always the question in my mind “Why?”
And so when Rajiv Krishnan and his group presented Basheer’s “Moonshine and Skytoffee” a few years ago I sat up. That was also the first time that I watched Aparna Gopinath in action. She was effective then; now she has blossomed into a mature and complete actor. It was a long time ago but I remember the play was sensitively handled and engaging. Also, here the actors were not confused when it came to accent. There was nothing put on or stilted in the way they handled English on stage. Then a couple of years ago I watched Rajiv’s play, 'And Sunshine Follows The Rain', an adaptation of Tennessee William’s play, 'The Glass Menagerie'. The play provided an insight into the history and lives of a section of our society- the Anglo-Indian community. I was spellbound. It was magic- the way in which the script, acting, sets, lighting came together. The work left me on a prolonged high but there is a flip side to this. Nothing else seems to match up.
So what is it? What is it that makes me look forward to a play from Rajiv Krishnan and what is it, as in the case of this most recent work, that makes me think I just might watch it for a third time? Mind you, this is totally out of character as far as I am concerned!
All I can say is that it is a combination of factors which obviously come together to render it an exceptional work of art. For there is art and there is Art and in a city which has to live up to its label “cultural capital”, often too much is happening and passed off in the name of art. Life gets chaotic and futile. People are running around mindlessly to view art for various reasons, PR and Back-scratching exercises included, and so sometimes Brilliance may come and it may go-
unnoticed.
Back to Perch. The group dynamics. For some reason it seems to work well. It is evident in the performance that the actors have been at it for months and that there is strong rapport. Commitment. I know from experience that it is not easy to keep actors focused on a project for an extended period of time. There are other projects that come in the way and sometimes ennui sets in. But here is a group of individuals who are not just completely dedicated to theatre but to the themes that their director places before them. It is clear that ultimately the production is placed above all else. And even the production is part of a larger whole. With Perch, 'Festival' takes on a whole new inflection. Research. To present works such as these requires deep and sustained interest as well as stamina to delve into the subject and to do whatever it takes to arrive at the largest picture possible. Again, this group seems to have got this right with all of them having traveled to Kerala to do their research in various areas of the topic. And subsequently to bring it all together. Talent. There is no one in the play lacking in this department and there is tremendous energy that each actor brings to the stage space. They were stunning in their roles, transforming themselves constantly.
The length of the play. After my first viewing the one misgiving I had was that it was a bit too long. That perhaps it could have been edited. But interestingly the second time I didn’t feel the length at all. In fact the space, the gaps helped evoke a reciprocal emotion in me. I found that I needed the time. And then I wonder- what is tooooo long? Don’t people in this country watch movies (inane ones at that) that are at least three hours long? How then does a two-hour play become ‘too long’? Is there an ideal length for a performance art work? Doesn’t it depend on the content and quality of the performance? After watching it a second time I think if it is edited something at a very subtle level will be lost. After all, it is a weaving of seven short stories along with episodes from the life of the author. What a brilliant script!
And the range of emotions that it contained. The play moved from a rural sort of a humour, to pathos, loneliness, yearning, satire. And the devices used to bring out the stories. Who would ever have thought that three tyres could make one well. Or that a steel tub could make a gramophone player or that the plastic plates that we eat on could turn into long playing records? That a long pipe could become a nose and a garland and a rope. That men could play women, women could play men. That virtually anything is possible when the play is in the hands of an imaginative director and such talented actors!
Poetry and magic unfolded before my eyes. Even on the second day I was sitting there in anticipated excitement. I was laughing again, and this time even louder, at the same jokes. But also on the second day the pathos hit me. The script became clearer. The place of each scene in the entire whole was clear to me. If there is anything even remotely critical I have to say about the second day, it is that just as I, who had seen the play anticipated the moves, so seemed the actors. And that I felt at times took away from the naturalness of their actions and responses. Having said that, on the second day I noticed that here and there changes had been made, perhaps some of it planned and some spontaneous. On the second day I understood so much more and felt closer to what I was watching. The significance of the sound track for instance-they were not using music just for the sake of it. And that it is a many-layered play.
Basheer’s mind and his characters were brought to life by the team of actors. And when they all sat there at the end fanning Basheer who sat in his easy chair listening to MS Subbalakshni’s ‘Kattrinile Varum Geetham’ one could not help feel one in spirit with the actors, with Basheer. I felt a pride surge within me and a sense of belonging. A great high. These people had taken me to another world- Basheer's world.
What pulled me back were the baby in the audience that kept making awful distracting noises as well as the woman next to me who just wouldn’t let me enjoy a quiet moment with myself when it was over. She yanked me by the arm saying, “Come let’s stand up for them.” I’ve never been forced into a standing ovation.
I wasn’t forced into seeing the play a second time. And even the third time, if there is one, will be of my own volition. When good art beckons, like a long desired love, how can I not respond to it?
Basheer Centenary in Chennai-
an event that signifies brotherhood, friendliness, and Peace
Vasanthi Sankaranarayanan
January 17th 2008
Sometimes a group of people are enthused to do something extraordinary that fills old, tired souls like me with happiness and hope. For me, that was what happened when I watched the inaugural function of the three week long Basheer Centenary in Chennai, organized by a comparatively new organization, PERCH (Performers of Chennai) formed by two enterprising young people, Kaveri Lalchand and Rajiv Krishnan. I think this was their first event.
A Three week long celebrations to mark the hundredth year of Basheer’s birth (January 21, 1908). Who was Basheer? You ask that question in Kozhicode or anywhere in Kerala, everyone knows about him. He was a writer, a writer with a special brand of humour, a writer who wrote in Malayalam that could be understood even by the commonest of common people of Kerala and yet had strains of profound mysticism, difficult to translate into any other language or even paraphrase into any other regional dialect of Malayalam. As Paul Mathew of Perch put it, Basheer was not just a writer, he was a mystic and a mad man too. He had traveled all over India, done all kinds of jobs for survival. But, to me Basheer was first and foremost a humanist, a man of peace, celebrating whose life and works is the need of the hour. His philosophy of life was so simple and yet so profound; love human beings and this universe itself; feel the sweetness, joy and pathos of life; live in harmony with nature and all beings. He lived such a life in a small town, Beypore near Kozhicode. He was known as the “Sultan of Beypore”. He was indeed a Sultan, a large-hearted person, who could absorb the agonies of the entire world and still smile and make others happy.
In Kerala, the land of his birth, year-long celebrations have been planned. But, that is only natural, isn’t it? After all, what did they or any other region or establishment do for him while he was alive. They did not give him prestigious award , The Padmasri to Bharat Ratna awards, they did not elevate him to a “gnanapeeth”. Why, did they give him at least some Sahitya Akademi awards or the great “Kalidas Samman”. No, they did not. Did the Sultan of Beypore feel dejected and despondent? No. He led a full life, surrounded by loving friends and relatives, a man whose presence is felt only when he is absent. I am reminded of the movie, “Patton” where towards the end there is a passage, “They did not honour him like the victorious Roman Generals, with gold coins, girls, horses and festivities. The Germans, the enemies, whom he tried to conquer knew him better”. I think that is the situation of all truly great people. The people around them, the people for whom they fight and sacrifice their lives and comforts of life never know their worth. Only when the outsiders, the foreigners recognize their worth and honour them, the locals also rise and make gestures of appreciation. Tagore after he won the Nobel Prize, C.V. Raman after he was awarded the same prize. Oh India, the land which is famous for ignoring the living and honouring the dead, what do you know of the agonies of neglect, humiliation and outcasting? There are many Nandanars standing in front of Chidambaram temples yearning to go in and have a glimpse of the great God. But, will the doors open for them during their life time?
This is why it is so heartening and soul-uplifting when an organization like Perch, a non-Malayali, a non-Kerala organization decided to honour and celebrate a Kerala writer. This was felt by Aneesh Basheer, Basheer’s son who was specially invited for the inaugural function. He said “I am not a speaker. I cannot speak well in Malayalam or English. I am here by virtue of the fact that I am the son of Basheer. And Vaikom Mohammed Basheer was a great man (I have never heard a simpler and more poignant tribute given by a son to a father!). All over Kerala they are holding celebrations in honour of Basheer. But, I have never felt the warmth and hospitality that was given to me here by the organizers of this function”. I have a tendency to be dramatic. And it comes out at the most unexpected times. So, I walked up to Rajiv and Kaveri and said: “Folks, when the history of Malayalam Literature with its chapter on Basheer is written, your names will be there, in golden letters. “ They felt embarrassed. But, what to do, even small people have to make big gestures, at times like this, don’t we?
I have to comment on the elegant and appropriate manner in which the inaugural was held. Characters from Basheer’s famous short stories, like Mandan Muthapa, Ettukali Mammoonju came below the stage and kick-started the events by introducing themselves and making the audience participants of the event. They cleverly connected it to the “Oppana” dance performed by the girls trained at Saradhi Academy. Then Paul Mathew gave an introduction on Basheer and the purpose of the celebrations. The meeting, speeches short and to the point by representatives of the three organizations who collaborated in the event, the Malayalee Club, The Asan Memorial Organisation , Saradhi Academy of Arts and Culture spoke. After the Meeting the lamp was lit, not the traditional kuthuvilakku with burning wicks. A Hurricane lamp, with blue frames to signify the one film script that Basheer has written, “Neela Velicham”(Blue light) which came out as “Bhargavi Nilayam” on the silver screen. Hurricane Lamp for the poor malayali writer, not the golden brass lamp lit in front of Gods! Aneesh Basheer inaugurated the photo exhibition by placing a photograph of Basheer on the easy chair kept under a cane structure, symbolizing the famous mangosteen tree under which Basheer sat and talked with his friends. A film “Antamillatha Yatra” (Endless Journery) on Basheer by the documentary film maker, M.R. Rajan was then shown. That’s it. It was clear that a great deal of research had been done by Perch on Basheer. The events organized for these three weeks touch all aspects of Basheer’s life and works. The plays are carved out of his inimitable short stories; the dance was a Muslim folk dance performed at times of marriages. The week long festival at “Ente Keralam” would showcase the delicacies of the Muslim cuisine. Two films, “Mathilukal” by Adoor Gopalakrishnan and “Bhargavi Nilayam will be shown at Satyam Theatre. Adoor himself is coming to initiate a discussion on his film. It seems he said, when he was invited for the function, ‘Oh, so you are the Basheer Lady?” Yes, indeed she is the Basheer lady who is trying to spread the fragrance of a great man in distant lands. The events will conclude on January 27 with a seminar on Basheer and a music performance including all the favourite songs of Basheer. So, the many-faceted life and times of Basheer will be effectively and unostentatiously captured in Chennai, where two enterprising people have recognized the Sultan’s worth. Rajiv had staged a play entitled “Moonshine and Sky Toffee” combining two stories of Basheer, “Prema Lekhanam” (love letter) and “Mucheetttu kalikkarante Makal” (The card-sharper’s daughter) in 2004 at which time he asked his group of actors, “Have you read Basheer?” At that time they hadn’t. He insisted that they all should read him in translation. That is the beginning of this movement, the movement to honour Basheer. All movements have simple beginnings. But, they grow and grow into events that encompass not only the region where it began, but the whole universe.
The beginning of a new year is always fraught with mixed feelings. The challenges of the year and an unknown future are there. But, along with it there is a feeling of loss, loss of something precious, something poignant. At such times there must be events encompassing these two feelings – hope for the future and nostalgia for the past. The Basheer Centenary Celebrations by Perch has done that for me. In a world, filled with war and destruction, in a world where love is lost and hatred is breeding, in a world where inertia and apathy are slowly taking hold, this kind of a celebration is rejuvenating. All I can do is hope that the enthusiasm of Kaveri, Rajiv and their young friends will spread on to everyone in Chennai and outside Chennai. Basheer, wherever he is, must be
happy.
Kathakali – An all night experience
by Vasanthi Sankaranarayanan
January 17th 2008
Twilight. Time for mellowness. It is also a time when day ends and night begins. We mourn for the dead day and welcome the new night. Twilight is a time of expectation; sadness; yearning; harbinger of night, a veil over the harshness that clarity of the day brings. Night is a time for sleep, burying all sorrows and anxieties and preparing oneself for a new day.
But, on that day, the first day of the year, the twilight that spread over Skills Theatre at Besant Nagar, where Chandralekha lived and died, and infused the very earth that she trod on with her energy had a special quality. Chandra died on December 30, 2007. A year had passed after her death. But, to those of us who knew her, loved and respected her she was still present at Skills as the breeze that played on the nameless tree (I feel like calling it Chandra tree) in front of the stage, the memories of Sadanand and Dashrath who had been her constant companions and friends, the sea shore, a silent witness to all her activities, over which she wanted to be build a stage to dance facing the natural forces that come alive at dusk and dawn. Oh, Chandra, where are you, wherever you are, be with us and fuel us with your undying energy.
Sadanand, Dashrath and Sasi had planned to celebrate Chandra’s death anniversary with performances dear to her…..Kalari in the new hall that has been built, Singing by Gundechas and an all night Kathakali from the Kalamandalam troupe from Kerala. I could not attend the first and the second event as I was away at Bombay. But, I did return the day before the Kathakali was to be held. I thanked my stars for I have not seen an all night Kathakali for a long time that evoked memories of my childhood and adolescence in Kerala, the innumerable times I had visited the Kalamandalam on Vallthol’s birthday and witnessed stalwarts like Kunchu Kurup, Krishnan Nair, Vazhenkada Kunchu Nair, Mankulam Vishnu Namboodiri Pattikamthodi Ravunni Menon and Ramankutty Nair taking on the roles for which they were famous. I have even had the benefit of detailed explanations by my Namboodiri ancestors on the “Manodharmam” done by these stalwarts sans songs and accompanying instruments such as Chenda. It would not be out of place if I said that Kathakali is in my blood even as Panchavadyam and Tayampaka are. After coming to Madras one rarely got an opportunity to see a real Kathakali, starting with the Kelikkottu and ending in Duryodhana Vadham or some such piece. Needless to say I was charged with such enthusiasm and energy to be part of such an event once again. Nostalgia. I once again became a child watching these performances. Sleep did not come to me. I was wide awake in spite of the sleepless nights I had spent at Bombay, that crazy city, the previous week.
So, when the big brass lamp was lit and the instrumentalists began to tune their instruments I was in another world, a world where we as children did not feel the absence of electricity, computers, games, channel TV or the frenzied Sabha hopping that the season in Chennai calls for. I felt very safe, anchored, sure in my capability to interpret, understand and analyse the performance. For those brief hours, I felt like a patron of Kathakali, who saw it for the pure joy of seeing it. Sadanand and Dashrath should be thanked for recreating the village atmosphere to the last detail. There was tea and coffee and small eats sold outside. There were people sitting on the ground, their eyes glued on the stage. There was an air of festivity and pure joy that happens only in a village festival or fair. Three stories were taken up for the performance – Kalyana Sowgandhikam, Keechaka Vadham and Duryodhana Vadham. Fine, my favorites Nalacharitam, 1st day and Bali Vijayam were not there, so what. Kalamandalam Gopi could not come because he fell ill, so what. There was Raman Kutty Nair and his famous Vella Thadi Hanuman. There was some other-worldly Sopana style singing by Mohana Krishan and his team. Youngsters like Kalamandalam Haridas were truly good. How can we living in Chennai hope for a better show? Such and arid and parched earth, on which fell the first drops of the monsoon rain! I realized that I was really lucky to know every single detail pertaining to this dance form. All the reading that I have done, all the research and analysis and the rare experience of having seen all these stories performed at least three or four times by consummate artists. What a good beginning for an otherwise bleak year! I praise you Sadanand, Manasa, Vacha, Karmana for this glimpse of what I consider heaven.
The singing was outstanding. What feelings, what clarity, what discipline and thoroughness and what untiring energy to sustain the tempo throughout the night. Never once did it flag or loose its flavour. And when it was Duryodhana Vadham, even the lyrics, heard and memorized took on another inflexion. The pathos of Draupadi.s “Paripalaya Mam”(protect me) and the combativeness of “ Gnyati Vatsala Bhuripujita” were poignant and thrilling. In Kathakali, music plays an important role in evoking the required emotions and giving the necessary support to the dance. It is known in popular parlance as “oomakkali” the play of the mute, but music fulfils the role of the sound and dialogue. Sopana singing is remarkable and different from the classical carnatic and Hindustani styles of singing. It is like mounting the insurmountable stairs in an invisible staircase. There were other songs too that were remarkable.
The costumes were resplendent and added to the spectacular quality of the dance. The elaborate masks and costumes heightened the quality of other-worldliness and fantasy and without any Brechtian effort reminded us of alienation and distanciation. And yet it was not just that but the theatre of transformation that prevailed, where emotions had an important part to play. They were never trivial or sentimental expressions of emotion but the elevated, universally applicable kind of emotions which made us face the inevitability of human condition without any fan fare. There was story, history and mysticism all combined in a subtle manner. There was humour too, at times piercing and at other times gentle. Repetition was used as a device in the song as well as the dance to mirror the repetitiveness of real life and the circularity of life eternal.
One thing is clear. It was not mere revivalism of the classical form. It was on the other hand, a positive and hopeful statement that authenticity does not necessarily exclude originality or innovation. It was also an assertion that there are certain art forms which if served as vitamin capsules or cocoa cola and pop corn would not have any effect at all. Everyone has to take time off and enter into the spirit of the dance. Not your abridged Bharatanatyam recital which jumps from Pushpanjali straight to Varnam and then to Tillana. Sure it is a ritualistic dance; but that does not mean it has to be reduced into a ritual. The human body which adds newness to movement and the human emotions which go deeper than skin can always rejuvenate and find its links with tradition or modernity. It is also not catering to instant Nescafe training schemes. Discipline, commitment and resilience cannot be forgotten whether you are repeating an item or you are experimenting on a new interpretation. No pleasing the audience and their routine of eating curd rice and going to sleep by 9.30 p.m. No pandering to the excuses with regard to distances and traffic jams. They were created by the system of which you, the audience are also a part. So, you have to bear the onus of it, not pass it on to the artist and the quality of his performance. The artist is not coming to you with a begging bowl, pleading with you to watch his/her performance. The artist performs. That’s it. If you want to share that artistic journey you go to him or her on their terms. It is very heartening that this Kathakali renewed the faith in the artist and his capabilities and beckoned the viewers to share in the glory of his performance.
January 17th 2008
Twilight. Time for mellowness. It is also a time when day ends and night begins. We mourn for the dead day and welcome the new night. Twilight is a time of expectation; sadness; yearning; harbinger of night, a veil over the harshness that clarity of the day brings. Night is a time for sleep, burying all sorrows and anxieties and preparing oneself for a new day.
But, on that day, the first day of the year, the twilight that spread over Skills Theatre at Besant Nagar, where Chandralekha lived and died, and infused the very earth that she trod on with her energy had a special quality. Chandra died on December 30, 2007. A year had passed after her death. But, to those of us who knew her, loved and respected her she was still present at Skills as the breeze that played on the nameless tree (I feel like calling it Chandra tree) in front of the stage, the memories of Sadanand and Dashrath who had been her constant companions and friends, the sea shore, a silent witness to all her activities, over which she wanted to be build a stage to dance facing the natural forces that come alive at dusk and dawn. Oh, Chandra, where are you, wherever you are, be with us and fuel us with your undying energy.
Sadanand, Dashrath and Sasi had planned to celebrate Chandra’s death anniversary with performances dear to her…..Kalari in the new hall that has been built, Singing by Gundechas and an all night Kathakali from the Kalamandalam troupe from Kerala. I could not attend the first and the second event as I was away at Bombay. But, I did return the day before the Kathakali was to be held. I thanked my stars for I have not seen an all night Kathakali for a long time that evoked memories of my childhood and adolescence in Kerala, the innumerable times I had visited the Kalamandalam on Vallthol’s birthday and witnessed stalwarts like Kunchu Kurup, Krishnan Nair, Vazhenkada Kunchu Nair, Mankulam Vishnu Namboodiri Pattikamthodi Ravunni Menon and Ramankutty Nair taking on the roles for which they were famous. I have even had the benefit of detailed explanations by my Namboodiri ancestors on the “Manodharmam” done by these stalwarts sans songs and accompanying instruments such as Chenda. It would not be out of place if I said that Kathakali is in my blood even as Panchavadyam and Tayampaka are. After coming to Madras one rarely got an opportunity to see a real Kathakali, starting with the Kelikkottu and ending in Duryodhana Vadham or some such piece. Needless to say I was charged with such enthusiasm and energy to be part of such an event once again. Nostalgia. I once again became a child watching these performances. Sleep did not come to me. I was wide awake in spite of the sleepless nights I had spent at Bombay, that crazy city, the previous week.
So, when the big brass lamp was lit and the instrumentalists began to tune their instruments I was in another world, a world where we as children did not feel the absence of electricity, computers, games, channel TV or the frenzied Sabha hopping that the season in Chennai calls for. I felt very safe, anchored, sure in my capability to interpret, understand and analyse the performance. For those brief hours, I felt like a patron of Kathakali, who saw it for the pure joy of seeing it. Sadanand and Dashrath should be thanked for recreating the village atmosphere to the last detail. There was tea and coffee and small eats sold outside. There were people sitting on the ground, their eyes glued on the stage. There was an air of festivity and pure joy that happens only in a village festival or fair. Three stories were taken up for the performance – Kalyana Sowgandhikam, Keechaka Vadham and Duryodhana Vadham. Fine, my favorites Nalacharitam, 1st day and Bali Vijayam were not there, so what. Kalamandalam Gopi could not come because he fell ill, so what. There was Raman Kutty Nair and his famous Vella Thadi Hanuman. There was some other-worldly Sopana style singing by Mohana Krishan and his team. Youngsters like Kalamandalam Haridas were truly good. How can we living in Chennai hope for a better show? Such and arid and parched earth, on which fell the first drops of the monsoon rain! I realized that I was really lucky to know every single detail pertaining to this dance form. All the reading that I have done, all the research and analysis and the rare experience of having seen all these stories performed at least three or four times by consummate artists. What a good beginning for an otherwise bleak year! I praise you Sadanand, Manasa, Vacha, Karmana for this glimpse of what I consider heaven.
The singing was outstanding. What feelings, what clarity, what discipline and thoroughness and what untiring energy to sustain the tempo throughout the night. Never once did it flag or loose its flavour. And when it was Duryodhana Vadham, even the lyrics, heard and memorized took on another inflexion. The pathos of Draupadi.s “Paripalaya Mam”(protect me) and the combativeness of “ Gnyati Vatsala Bhuripujita” were poignant and thrilling. In Kathakali, music plays an important role in evoking the required emotions and giving the necessary support to the dance. It is known in popular parlance as “oomakkali” the play of the mute, but music fulfils the role of the sound and dialogue. Sopana singing is remarkable and different from the classical carnatic and Hindustani styles of singing. It is like mounting the insurmountable stairs in an invisible staircase. There were other songs too that were remarkable.
The costumes were resplendent and added to the spectacular quality of the dance. The elaborate masks and costumes heightened the quality of other-worldliness and fantasy and without any Brechtian effort reminded us of alienation and distanciation. And yet it was not just that but the theatre of transformation that prevailed, where emotions had an important part to play. They were never trivial or sentimental expressions of emotion but the elevated, universally applicable kind of emotions which made us face the inevitability of human condition without any fan fare. There was story, history and mysticism all combined in a subtle manner. There was humour too, at times piercing and at other times gentle. Repetition was used as a device in the song as well as the dance to mirror the repetitiveness of real life and the circularity of life eternal.
One thing is clear. It was not mere revivalism of the classical form. It was on the other hand, a positive and hopeful statement that authenticity does not necessarily exclude originality or innovation. It was also an assertion that there are certain art forms which if served as vitamin capsules or cocoa cola and pop corn would not have any effect at all. Everyone has to take time off and enter into the spirit of the dance. Not your abridged Bharatanatyam recital which jumps from Pushpanjali straight to Varnam and then to Tillana. Sure it is a ritualistic dance; but that does not mean it has to be reduced into a ritual. The human body which adds newness to movement and the human emotions which go deeper than skin can always rejuvenate and find its links with tradition or modernity. It is also not catering to instant Nescafe training schemes. Discipline, commitment and resilience cannot be forgotten whether you are repeating an item or you are experimenting on a new interpretation. No pleasing the audience and their routine of eating curd rice and going to sleep by 9.30 p.m. No pandering to the excuses with regard to distances and traffic jams. They were created by the system of which you, the audience are also a part. So, you have to bear the onus of it, not pass it on to the artist and the quality of his performance. The artist is not coming to you with a begging bowl, pleading with you to watch his/her performance. The artist performs. That’s it. If you want to share that artistic journey you go to him or her on their terms. It is very heartening that this Kathakali renewed the faith in the artist and his capabilities and beckoned the viewers to share in the glory of his performance.
Feminism and Performing Arts in India- Some Thoughts
by Vasanthi Sankaranarayanan
January 17th 2008
Apology. Begin with an apology. That is my usual trait. For a person who is normally very assertive, I turn apologetic, the moment I start writing on subjects which are close to my heart, but do not know enough. I revel in my original thoughts; I manage to substantiate them also. However, I do not seek established theories or academic discussions or even quotable quotes to justify or prove what I have to say. Instead, I fall back on my own fund of knowledge and experience and wade through a process of argument. Sometimes, and to some extent, it succeeds. But, most of the times people, especially the academicians and theoreticians are not impressed by what they consider as my gimmicks. There was a time when I used to crave for the approval of these people. But, now, I have gone past all that. It does not matter to me that the learned crowd does not appreciate my capability for original thought. I only hope this capacity to arrive at original (maybe puerile) conclusions will never leave me. There is not enough time to master all the theories and the results of academic wisdom and prolonged research. Honestly, I get bored by the content as well as the language used in such research works. So, I desist from that and go back to what I consider original thinking.
So, with this piece of writing also I have to apologise for not being profounder. At the outset I have to state that this is not a well researched paper on the subject. It is only the outcome of lingering thoughts I have had on the subject, out of which at a future date, I may prepare a well structured and thought out research paper. Arguments in this paper will be substantiated not through quoting other documents already written or presented, but my own original and cogent ideas and thought processes.
By Feminism, I mean broadly all that pertains to women and adds value to their cause. By cause I mean the various rights – right to be free, (free thought, free expression, free emotions, free employment) and to have security and protection while exercising those rights. By Performing Arts I mean mainly dance and theatre. Again I would like to emphasise on dance or dance drama.
When we examine the performing arts scene of India, we come across art forms from which women are completely excluded such as Kathakali, Yakshagana, Bhagavatha Mela Nataka and Terukoothu. As we seek for reasons why women are prohibited from these dance forms, we get arguments such as they are very vigorous and therefore causing strain to the body of women. Again, even the body training given to artists such as Uzhichil(body massage) and training in martial arts (Kalaripayattu) are tough and considered to be harmful to the female body and its function in child birth. First of all why have movements which only men can physically perform and challenge women to put themselves through the strain of mastering them? So, excluding women from the arts in the name of strain is not acceptable. The second argument that one hears is that Kathakali training and practice involves a great deal of community living. And women, after a certain age, having their own families, will not be in a position to fully adapt to this community living. Performances in different locations will take them away from home and upset the life at home. Children will be left without anyone to take care of them. Cooking, cleaning and taking care of the house will not be done satisfactorily. Again, this is not a good argument. Times have changed and why should women alone take on the burden of family, children etc? What can’t men also chip in and share the burden and find some workable solution. There are other options such as taking children with you when you go on tours etc. What the children loose by way of monotonous school studies, they gain from experiences and association with different types of people in different places. Also, why not men and women take turns to look after children as they do in Scandinavian countries? . So, in conclusion I feel that exclusion of women from certain art forms is not based on rational or humane arguments, but patriarchal impulses and instincts.
Now, let us take another scenario where women are allowed to fully take part in the performance of art forms. The classic case is that of Bharatanatyam, where the solo woman dancer takes the centre stage most of the times. Now, of course, the situation has changed and even men have started performing Bharatanatyam. But, look at the state of the solo Bharatanatyam dancer. She is in every ways objectified and subjected to the male gaze. She is in fact, performing to please men. The emotions portrayed, the stances taken, the associative ideas are all supporting this objectification. She may seem to be a very independent operator, but, in effect, she is literally and metaphorically dancing to the tune of the Nattuvanar, the singer the accompanying instrumentalists especially the mridangist whose loud and fast tempo produces sounds which literally drown the dancers movements and distracts the audience from her dancing. She is dressed like a doll, she dances like a doll; finally she is transformed into a doll, a doll which gyrates and moves to please an audience, especially a male audience. There is no exaltation of the body or the spirit. She just moves and acts like a robot and produces loud, prolonged thumped claps which she is forced to accept as marks of appreciation. More and More her movements and expressions are becoming convoluted and contrived. She has no connection with reality; nor is she allowed any leeway to move away from the traditional structure in form or theme. It is at best a soul-killing experience.
The last section with regard to women and performing arts is the part played by the audience in promoting these stereotypical ideas and stances. The audience, not only men, but women too are oblivious by far to the implications of the roles played by women when they perform or not perform arts. They are happy to witness maintenance of status quo and aversion to experimentation. Any change or move is vociferously voted down in the name of maintaining the purity and authenticity of the classical form. So, there is no protest even from the audience at this mindless continuance of patently patriarchal practices. Unless, we can get rid of this aversion to experimentation through protest or the extreme measure of banning the presentation of the accumulated baggage there is no salvation to women in performing arts.
January 17th 2008
Apology. Begin with an apology. That is my usual trait. For a person who is normally very assertive, I turn apologetic, the moment I start writing on subjects which are close to my heart, but do not know enough. I revel in my original thoughts; I manage to substantiate them also. However, I do not seek established theories or academic discussions or even quotable quotes to justify or prove what I have to say. Instead, I fall back on my own fund of knowledge and experience and wade through a process of argument. Sometimes, and to some extent, it succeeds. But, most of the times people, especially the academicians and theoreticians are not impressed by what they consider as my gimmicks. There was a time when I used to crave for the approval of these people. But, now, I have gone past all that. It does not matter to me that the learned crowd does not appreciate my capability for original thought. I only hope this capacity to arrive at original (maybe puerile) conclusions will never leave me. There is not enough time to master all the theories and the results of academic wisdom and prolonged research. Honestly, I get bored by the content as well as the language used in such research works. So, I desist from that and go back to what I consider original thinking.
So, with this piece of writing also I have to apologise for not being profounder. At the outset I have to state that this is not a well researched paper on the subject. It is only the outcome of lingering thoughts I have had on the subject, out of which at a future date, I may prepare a well structured and thought out research paper. Arguments in this paper will be substantiated not through quoting other documents already written or presented, but my own original and cogent ideas and thought processes.
By Feminism, I mean broadly all that pertains to women and adds value to their cause. By cause I mean the various rights – right to be free, (free thought, free expression, free emotions, free employment) and to have security and protection while exercising those rights. By Performing Arts I mean mainly dance and theatre. Again I would like to emphasise on dance or dance drama.
When we examine the performing arts scene of India, we come across art forms from which women are completely excluded such as Kathakali, Yakshagana, Bhagavatha Mela Nataka and Terukoothu. As we seek for reasons why women are prohibited from these dance forms, we get arguments such as they are very vigorous and therefore causing strain to the body of women. Again, even the body training given to artists such as Uzhichil(body massage) and training in martial arts (Kalaripayattu) are tough and considered to be harmful to the female body and its function in child birth. First of all why have movements which only men can physically perform and challenge women to put themselves through the strain of mastering them? So, excluding women from the arts in the name of strain is not acceptable. The second argument that one hears is that Kathakali training and practice involves a great deal of community living. And women, after a certain age, having their own families, will not be in a position to fully adapt to this community living. Performances in different locations will take them away from home and upset the life at home. Children will be left without anyone to take care of them. Cooking, cleaning and taking care of the house will not be done satisfactorily. Again, this is not a good argument. Times have changed and why should women alone take on the burden of family, children etc? What can’t men also chip in and share the burden and find some workable solution. There are other options such as taking children with you when you go on tours etc. What the children loose by way of monotonous school studies, they gain from experiences and association with different types of people in different places. Also, why not men and women take turns to look after children as they do in Scandinavian countries? . So, in conclusion I feel that exclusion of women from certain art forms is not based on rational or humane arguments, but patriarchal impulses and instincts.
Now, let us take another scenario where women are allowed to fully take part in the performance of art forms. The classic case is that of Bharatanatyam, where the solo woman dancer takes the centre stage most of the times. Now, of course, the situation has changed and even men have started performing Bharatanatyam. But, look at the state of the solo Bharatanatyam dancer. She is in every ways objectified and subjected to the male gaze. She is in fact, performing to please men. The emotions portrayed, the stances taken, the associative ideas are all supporting this objectification. She may seem to be a very independent operator, but, in effect, she is literally and metaphorically dancing to the tune of the Nattuvanar, the singer the accompanying instrumentalists especially the mridangist whose loud and fast tempo produces sounds which literally drown the dancers movements and distracts the audience from her dancing. She is dressed like a doll, she dances like a doll; finally she is transformed into a doll, a doll which gyrates and moves to please an audience, especially a male audience. There is no exaltation of the body or the spirit. She just moves and acts like a robot and produces loud, prolonged thumped claps which she is forced to accept as marks of appreciation. More and More her movements and expressions are becoming convoluted and contrived. She has no connection with reality; nor is she allowed any leeway to move away from the traditional structure in form or theme. It is at best a soul-killing experience.
The last section with regard to women and performing arts is the part played by the audience in promoting these stereotypical ideas and stances. The audience, not only men, but women too are oblivious by far to the implications of the roles played by women when they perform or not perform arts. They are happy to witness maintenance of status quo and aversion to experimentation. Any change or move is vociferously voted down in the name of maintaining the purity and authenticity of the classical form. So, there is no protest even from the audience at this mindless continuance of patently patriarchal practices. Unless, we can get rid of this aversion to experimentation through protest or the extreme measure of banning the presentation of the accumulated baggage there is no salvation to women in performing arts.
BV Balasai’s “Moods of the Bamboo”
by Nirmala Seshadri
January 14th 2008
From the age of sixteen I would visit Chennai (Madras, rather) virtually every December to attend the Season. In those days there was an excitement in me as also the stamina to hop from sabha to sabha, enjoying the doasas and vadas in those canteens, generally soaking it all in. It wouldn’t be just the dance shows; I was passionately interested in Carnatic music too and would join in all the thigh slapping, head swaying and clucking.
Now when I look back, it is as if I am looking at a different person. A person who is so diametrically different from the person I am today. Perhaps actually standing on the other side, on stage, for a few years brought in a change of perspective. I began to see things that as an innocent audience member, I had totally missed seeing. Or perhaps I have just outgrown it all. Is there any regret? Not an ounce.
Against this backdrop I couldn’t believe I was actually at a sabha for a Carnatic music concert. No thigh slapping now- thigh pinching perhaps! But how could I not attend Balasai’s concert? Years ago (I’m speaking of the early 90s), Balasai used to play live for my solo Bharatanatyam performances. After a longish break, I got back to dance in 2002. For the last five years he has been a partner in crime, composing music for my concept driven works. No easy task this, as it means placing concept above all else. It means stepping out of the traditional framework and norms and viewing the form with fresh eyes. Initially I would hesitate to offer certain suggestions as I know that Balasai is sincere to tradition. But then I began to realize that this exceptional musician was uncompromising in a creative sense. He would do whatever it took to work with concept, even if it meant letting go of the familiar.
So how could I not attend a concert by Balasai, that too one that was going to be experimental and exploratory in nature? A day before the actual concert I sat in on a rehearsal and was astounded by the energy, excitement, playful spirit and camaraderie that filled the room. There were eleven musicians- Balasai on the flute, with the mridangam, violin, tabla, keyboard, rhythm pads, saxophone and four vocalists supporting him. During the two hours that I spent, there was laughter, chatter, jokes criss-crossing along with the music which left me totally spellbound. As they practiced the Thillana (composed by Balasai in raag Desh and tala khanda jathi triputa), I found myself sobbing uncontrollably. Was it the music which touched excellence, was it the single-pointed devotion to music, was it the high energy and excitement in the room, was it the courage and commitment to experimentation that moved me or was it the fact that I had been suddenly lifted out of the state of numbness and disinterest? Possibly it was a combination of factors that made me get up quietly to leave the rehearsal, just to be alone to come to terms with the high.
Balasai’s phenomenal work “The Moods of the Bamboo” is almost an invitation to revel in oneness through a voice that is ancient, sensual and eternal. A primordial voice that calls out through a reed. The bamboo flute, the instrument of the shepherds, leads us back to our folk and primal origins and yet it can be the most refined instrument, imbued with the flexibility to traverse genres of music. The flute is so simple it can be played all alone. And yet, it has the capacity to call out and draw all to it.
Balasai’s flute met with a range of other instruments and sounds. It was a meeting of music with technology that created a presence of instruments through absence. The meeting of tradition with new possibilities. Each piece was rooted in tradition but infused with new energy.
The flute merged and yet stood apart, a metaphorical Krishna at the centre in a Raas Leela with the Gopis. Together they journeyed through form and space- Carnatic, folk, Hindustani, Jazz and semi-classical, exploring the distinctness of each and yet the inter-connectedness.
Unpredictability was what characterized each piece, except perhaps for Deva Deva Kalayaamithe (a Swati Thirunal composition) that was rendered faithfully in the traditional Carnatic format. But a moment of predictability in an exciting wave of change is not only welcome but needed as an anchor of sorts especially for an audience that has been attuned to the traditional format for a whole season. Also it underscored the timeless depth and beauty of the form. And yet, contrary to what I felt when I first began listening to the music at the rehearsal, each piece had been worked on, played with and extended into something even better than the original.
Krishna Nee Begane Baro, Brahmam Okate, Sadinchene O Manasa are cases in point. In Krishna Nee Begane Baro, a dramatic quality was brought out- one could almost see the mischievous prankster, the loving mother as well as a devotee who is yearning for a glimpse of something higher. Brahmam Okate was a unique rendition in which the musicians not only played their own instruments but stepped out to contribute to the concept of “one voice containing the cadences of many different voices”. Saadinchene O Manasa is one Pancharatna kriti in which Tyagaraja actually takes the liberty of remonstrating his favourite deity Rama. While the instrumentation highlighted this, one somehow got the feeling that the singers were focused more on ‘singing in praise of’ which seemed to be at a tangent to the central idea of the kriti.
One did feel somehow that the singers did not come across as effectively as the rest of the orchestra. One reason could have been that they could hardly be heard. Also I felt that they did not have much of a role. Perhaps stronger, more confident voices as well as a greater inclusion of vocals would have made for a more cohesive and effective whole. Another point- there is something unnatural and disturbing about women singers having to sing outside of their comfortable pitch to suit the male pitch.
The fusion number set in the Jazz format with solos by the saxophone, violin, flute, keyboard and rhythm pads was another high point and it demonstrated the sheer versatility of these musicians, excelling in the form and yet able to step out of it with such ease to create something new. What brought the piece down slightly was the saxophone which somehow did not rise to the level of the other instruments. I can’t help wondering if it would have been different if it had had more of a presence through the concert. Also the rhythm pads solo, while interesting and exciting in parts, did end up going on for too long.
Balasai’s Bansuri with Chandrajit’s tabla in raag Mohanangi and Teen Taal was haunting and a soothing break from the Carnatic genre. Of course the Hindustani lover in me would have liked for it to have gone on longer, but then I reminded myself that that was not the point of the process. The idea was to journey and when viewed in that context the experiment not only worked, it worked brilliantly.
As a dancer I could not help but get drawn into the Desh Thillana. Srinivas, who maintained a high energy throughout the concert played this piece as if he were accompanying a dancer thereby creating the presence of an invisible dancer at the center of it all.
The musicians were:
On the bamboo flute, susatoo flute, bansuri and western key flute- BV Balasai who also composed and arranged the background score.
On the mridangam- DA Srinivas, who also conceived and composed the rhythm patterns
Violin- Raghavendra Rao
Saxophone- Rajah
Tabla- Chandrajit
Vocals- Sai Bhavadharini, Krithika, Sudhir Warier and Aravind Menon
Keyboard- AS Ram
Rhythm Pads- Sri Ram
That such an off-beat work had the chance of seeing the light of day at a sabha and that too during the sacred season speaks volumes for the relative open-mindedness of a sabha like Bharat Kalachar but that it was staged after December came and went is a telling statement. But taking my Pessimist hat off for a moment- that it was staged at all and received well by an appreciative audience is something to smile about. Mrs YGP, in her inimitable style, commended the effort, recognizing the courage and difficulty involved in such a venture and the role that a process such as this could play in motivating the younger generation.
At this stage, I can only say I am truly proud of my creative collaborator and his team for working with such conviction, for daring to be different. While this platform was ideal to begin with, I hope that the musicians will get to jam on a larger stage the next time. And that there will be a next time. And that they will truly jam like they did on the day of the rehearsal. For on the actual day, I missed the enjoyment, light-heartedness, playfulness and laughter.
On Patriarchy...
"It includes the inability of men to accept that women have rights, that they are human beings, that they should be left alone, that they have a right to occupy space in the public arena.
Time again, deep-seated patriarchal attitudes are laid bare when an assault on women, particularly in cities, is reported. The time-worn arguments about the way women should dress in public are doled out. Women will be "safe" if they stay away from certain places, we are told. Women must not go out in the middle of crowds of men, so women must be careful, we are warned.
The basic attitude that still prevails, irrespective of caste, class or creed, can be summed up as follows: Men know, women don't; men must teach, women must learn; men can behave as they like, women must conform. Need one say more? The exceptions do not make the rule, as we have seen time and again."
- KALPANA SHARMA
in her article "An Assault on Dignity", The Hindu Magazine, January 13, 2008
Time again, deep-seated patriarchal attitudes are laid bare when an assault on women, particularly in cities, is reported. The time-worn arguments about the way women should dress in public are doled out. Women will be "safe" if they stay away from certain places, we are told. Women must not go out in the middle of crowds of men, so women must be careful, we are warned.
The basic attitude that still prevails, irrespective of caste, class or creed, can be summed up as follows: Men know, women don't; men must teach, women must learn; men can behave as they like, women must conform. Need one say more? The exceptions do not make the rule, as we have seen time and again."
- KALPANA SHARMA
in her article "An Assault on Dignity", The Hindu Magazine, January 13, 2008
Confluence of cultures
Bharatanatyam danseuse Nirmala Seshadri performed solo at a concert by the Singapore Chinese Orchestra
BHARATANATYAM DANCER Nirmala Seshadri is back from Singapore where she performed solo to the music of a live 70-member Singapore Chinese Orchestra. This experimental piece was for the orchestra's concert, Nanyang Musical Voyage, and was staged at the Singapore Conference Hall.
Born in Singapore and a homegrown talent, Nirmala began her training in classical Indian dance in Singapore, where she also learnt music, both Indian and Western. She did her schooling in Singapore, at the Singapore Chinese Girls' School. Now based in Chennai, Nirmala is actively involved in the arts scene in Singapore, through performances and arts education programmes. She also serves on the National Arts Council's Arts Resource Panel. In August this year, Nirmala was invited to present her choreography, "The Eternal Human Aspiration", at the Esplanade Theatre in Singapore. This was the adaptation of the Mandarin poem, "Aspiration" by Singaporean poet Dan Ying, into dance.
Of the orchestral collaboration Nirmala says:
"My first exposure to the SCO was the opening of the Singapore Arts Festival this year. The experience changed my perception of orchestras, of Chinese music and of myself as an artiste in a multi-cultural setting. As I listened to them play, I felt myself relating to their music and wanting to get up and dance. Of course, Tan Swie Hian's poetry and paintings played a great role in creating deeper connections".
So it was not difficult to say `yes' when Maestro Tsung Yeh, managing director, SCO, who also conducted the Nanyang Musical Voyage, invited her to collaborate with the orchestra. Nirmala divided the piece into four segments: `Comfort', `Call of the Flute', `Rhythm' and `The Celestial Web' (based on Swie Hian's poem). She choreographed these pieces using her dance form as a base. It was Maestro Tsung Yeh's idea to start with a piece from the traditional repertoire of Bharatanatyam to establish the style. So the first segment `Comfort' was based on the `Thillana', which is usually the concluding piece in traditional dance recitals. Nirmala used it as a beginning, as she tried to gradually find connections through music, rhythm, poetry and painting.
In the second piece, `The Ganges Nocturne' by Hong Kong composer Tan Bao Shuo, Nirmala brought out the essence of two ashtapadis, using the flute as a connection. In the third segment, the concept of rhythm was used to move closer. Here Nirmala performed the traditional tisra alarippu to Chinese percussion as well as tabla.
In the final segment, "The Celestial Web', everything came to a climax - with Swie Hian's poetry and painting providing stronger points of connection along with soul stirring music by Singaporean composer Low Wai Lun. A creative video by Chetan Shah heightened the emotional segment.
Note: The write-up was published in The Hindu, 18th Nov 2003
BHARATANATYAM DANCER Nirmala Seshadri is back from Singapore where she performed solo to the music of a live 70-member Singapore Chinese Orchestra. This experimental piece was for the orchestra's concert, Nanyang Musical Voyage, and was staged at the Singapore Conference Hall.
Born in Singapore and a homegrown talent, Nirmala began her training in classical Indian dance in Singapore, where she also learnt music, both Indian and Western. She did her schooling in Singapore, at the Singapore Chinese Girls' School. Now based in Chennai, Nirmala is actively involved in the arts scene in Singapore, through performances and arts education programmes. She also serves on the National Arts Council's Arts Resource Panel. In August this year, Nirmala was invited to present her choreography, "The Eternal Human Aspiration", at the Esplanade Theatre in Singapore. This was the adaptation of the Mandarin poem, "Aspiration" by Singaporean poet Dan Ying, into dance.
Of the orchestral collaboration Nirmala says:
"My first exposure to the SCO was the opening of the Singapore Arts Festival this year. The experience changed my perception of orchestras, of Chinese music and of myself as an artiste in a multi-cultural setting. As I listened to them play, I felt myself relating to their music and wanting to get up and dance. Of course, Tan Swie Hian's poetry and paintings played a great role in creating deeper connections".
So it was not difficult to say `yes' when Maestro Tsung Yeh, managing director, SCO, who also conducted the Nanyang Musical Voyage, invited her to collaborate with the orchestra. Nirmala divided the piece into four segments: `Comfort', `Call of the Flute', `Rhythm' and `The Celestial Web' (based on Swie Hian's poem). She choreographed these pieces using her dance form as a base. It was Maestro Tsung Yeh's idea to start with a piece from the traditional repertoire of Bharatanatyam to establish the style. So the first segment `Comfort' was based on the `Thillana', which is usually the concluding piece in traditional dance recitals. Nirmala used it as a beginning, as she tried to gradually find connections through music, rhythm, poetry and painting.
In the second piece, `The Ganges Nocturne' by Hong Kong composer Tan Bao Shuo, Nirmala brought out the essence of two ashtapadis, using the flute as a connection. In the third segment, the concept of rhythm was used to move closer. Here Nirmala performed the traditional tisra alarippu to Chinese percussion as well as tabla.
In the final segment, "The Celestial Web', everything came to a climax - with Swie Hian's poetry and painting providing stronger points of connection along with soul stirring music by Singaporean composer Low Wai Lun. A creative video by Chetan Shah heightened the emotional segment.
Note: The write-up was published in The Hindu, 18th Nov 2003
Dialogues within dialogues
Oil Painting "DIVINE MELODY" by Tan Swie Hian
In the conclusion of a two-part article, NIRMALA SESHADRI looks at what went on behind production at the Singapore Arts Festival. She talks to three of its key members.
THE gala opening of the Singapore Arts Festival, held at the new Esplanade Theatre, featured the Singapore Chinese Orchestra (SCO) in a musical dialogue with the country's most celebrated multi-disciplinary artist, Tan Swie Hian in the world premiere of "Instant is a Millenium"— A Musical Conversation with Tan Swie Hian".
Following the interview with Tan Swie Hian, which was featured in part one of this article, a discussion with conductor Tsung Yeh, digital video artist Casey Lim and lighting designer Tommy Wong offers a peek at the production process.
Quite by coincidence, the discussion picks up from Swie Hian's last comment. "You are all naturally multi-disciplinary".
"All of us here are multi-disciplinary!" says an excited Tommy Wong, who is also a dancer. Casey is also a musician, actor and director. Tsung Yeh, a pianist and conductor, brings up another aspect of his artistic persona.
"I was the trouble maker!" says conductor Tsung Yeh when I ask them just how it all began. "I have always enjoyed combining music with other art forms but have never had the chance of collaborating with calligraphy." Maestro Tsung Yeh joined the SCO as Music Director in 2002. He is also the music director of the South Bend Symphony Orchestra in the United States and Conductor Laureate of the Hong Kong Sinfonietta.
Not only was he looking for a calligrapher, but also for one who could perform in front of an audience. It was the Singapore National Arts Council that connected the two. "After getting to know Swie Hian, so many other aspects to the performance emerged," says Tsung Yeh.
There were some very dramatic moments that evening that still remain etched in my mind. I ask the team for some insights into the process.
NIRMALA SESHADRI: In the first piece, "The Celestial Web", none of us in the audience would have imagined that there was a 188-member choir standing on stage. When the lights came on at the back of the stage in the middle of the number, and we suddenly saw them standing there, we knew it was going to be a special performance.
CASEY LIM (C.L.): The poem touched on the concept of breath, and then a deeper breath. So we thought that we could highlight this thought with the introduction of the choir at that point in the poem. Most of the time, what started as being functional became aesthetic.
It also went in line with the idea of inter-connectedness which was an integral element in the poem.
TOMMY WONG (T.W.): Did you notice how we lifted the thin veil towards the end so that you could see the choir clearly in full white light?
Yes, and you know I didn't know till you lifted it that there was a veil in front of them in the first place! Another element of surprise there.
C.L.: It was a spontaneous decision. The night before, during the stage rehearsal, the music was on. The part about the "white light" came in the verse and we suddenly lifted the veil so that it looked as if the choir was soaked in white light, in purity. It wasn't planned at all. It meant that we had to plan well and the orchestra became inspirational. Many ideas emerged during rehearsals, not really during the meetings.
It was a highly imaginative display of Swie Hian's water colour paintings in the second piece, "Fables". When the choir moved off stage, instead of moving away the steps on which they stood, you turned both the steps to form a kind of a `V', resulting in a very interesting series of visuals. How did that idea come about?
T.W.: We kept thinking of how we could create a 3-D field with the slides. It could have looked very one-dimensional had it been projected directly onto the cyclorama. And from a static state, there was movement that matched the flow in the fables.
In "Divine Melody", you displayed the oil painting in such a way that it seemed as if an invisible hand was at work. How did you manage that?
C.L.: First, when both Swie Hian and I came up with the same thought at the same time during one of our creative meetings, we knew it was the right idea. We both agreed it should be an oil painting. But we wanted to keep the calligraphy special; for him to come up only in that final segment. Also, an oil painting can't be completed so quickly.
So I recorded him painting it with three digital video recorders, extracted every stroke and replicated it as a digital painting. Swie Hian listened to music as he painted. I listened to music as I did the digital work.
It seems as if at every level there were dialogues and that music inspired you at each level.
C.L.: Yes, and do you know that the graphics were happening live? Because the music was live. We couldn't pre-record the timing of the graphics because it would've been out of sync with the music
T.W.: And even the lighting was linked to the tempo of the music. It was like being a dancer but off stage!
It did feel, though, that the pipa solo brought about a dip in the mood and tempo. I found myself getting restless. Why did you choose to include that piece?
TSUNG YEH (T.Y.): I thought it would be good to have a string solo without the orchestra, to provide some contrast and focus.
The final piece with the calligraphy must have been the most challenging especially in terms of timing. I noticed you and Swie Hian watching each other very closely.
T.Y.: I had to calculate when he should come in, start, and how long he would paint. He said it would be for five minutes, but on that day, he completed it in two minutes! He is a true performer.
How was it decided that he would do the work on the elevated platform and that this would be projected on the cyclorama? Why didn't you get him to paint vertically on a sheet of paper?
C.L.: The theatre is so big that we would have had to get a gigantic piece of rice paper for the calligraphy to be seen. Also, if it had been vertical, the ink would have been dripping. So for very practical reasons, we came up with this design and found we were happy with it functionally and aesthetically.
How does it feel now that you have the production behind you? What are future plans?
T.Y.: I feel we have created a new type of art and enlarged the repertoire of Chinese music. That it has moved people from other artistic and ethnic backgrounds is indeed gratifying. We are going to continue on this route. Perhaps next time, we will introduce audience participation. It is really the arts coming together and moving up to a different level.
Multiple levels of dialogue, dialogues within a dialogue, a unique harmony between music, visual art and poetry, between the real brush and digital brush, real space and the virtual.
To quote Swie Hian: "To me, all forms of art are interrelated. Cross-disciplinary practice is like mutual visits between neighbours. It is just next door and one can easily go over for a chat, so near and so close."
A stanza from the English translation of the Mandarin poem "The Celestial Web":
A jasmine by the window
Has got a thread
Linking with a star beyond the horizon
A star beyond the horizon
Has got a thread
Linking with an early-rising mother
An early-rising mother
Has got a thread
Linking with a wink of a butterfly
A wink of a butterfly
Has got a thread
Linking with the inner clarity of a lake
And a thread of the inner clarity
Links with the eternity of the cosmos. (Written specially for this concert by Tan Swie Hian, and inspired by the Avatamsaka Sutra)
(Concluded)
Note: This article was published in The Hindu, Sunday Magazine, on July 13, 2003.
The first part titled "Myriad Possibilities" appeared in The Hindu, Sunday Magazine, issue dated July 6, 2003.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)