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.