Stories through shadows

source http://www.hindu.com/fr/2009/03/13/stories/2009031351270400.htm

Stories through shadows

SUGANTHY KRISHNAMACHARY

Leather gets a magicl touch at the hands of Seethalakshmi.

Photos: V. Ganesan.

Leather Tales: S. Seethalakshmi and her puppets.

“What a wonderful dancer she is!” one can’t help exclaiming. A twist, a leap, a neat landing, an arai mandi — you name it, and she does it all. Except, of course, she is not a dancer. She’s only a puppet!

This was the dancing puppet in the shadow puppetry show organised by Indian Council for Cultural Relations and Sri Ariyakkudi Music Foundation under the monthly ‘Horizon’ programme, and staged on February 28, at R.K. Swamy Auditorium, Sivaswamy Kalalaya Senior Secondary School. The artist was Seethalakshmi Srinivasan.

Seethalakshmi began to learn Thalu Bommalaattam, as it is called in Andhra Pradesh, at the age of three, from her maternal uncle M.V. Ramanamurthy, who founded a school of puppetry, in Kakinada.

In 1954, when she was nine, she did a show along with him, at the Island Grounds exhibition in Chennai. Mrs. YGP and Sanskrit scholar Dr.V. Raghavan, who were in the audience that day, were so impressed, that they suggested that she stay back in Chennai.

Since her uncle Ramanamurthy had already moved to Chennai, Seethalakshmi’s parents left her with him. “Mrs. YGP arranged many shows for us in schools in the city,” she recalls.

A real boost to her career came when she performed at the Museum Theatre, Egmore, for, in the audience that day, was Dr. Nayudamma, the leather technologist. He offered Seethalakshmi and Ramanamurthy jobs at CLRI. He wanted to show people the cultural aspect of leather. “Being in a Central Government institution conferred on us a prestige that most folk artistes usually don’t enjoy. And with that came many invitations to perform abroad,” says Seethalakshmi.

She’s done shows in Spain, Germany, Italy, Malaysia, Singapore, Denmark, the U.S. and many other countries.

“Once my uncle, my sister and I went to Austria. Puppeteers from different countries were there. They were amazed that just the three of us could do a show that would have taken at least 30 of them to do.”

Epic themes

Seethalakshmi’s themes are from the Mahabharata and Ramayana. Ayyappa and the Panchatantra were later additions. She’s also done programmes on adult education and family planning. “I was surprised to find puppeteers in Russia and Spain doing Ramayana stories,” she says.

Seethalakshmi has done a show that combines puppetry and Bharatanatyam. “This was based on the Telugu work, ‘Molla Ramayanamu.’ Dr. Sindhoori, Bharatanatyam and Kuchipudi dancer, who runs a dance school in the U.S., assumed the role of Sita, and all other Ramayana characters were puppets,” says Seethalakshmi.

“The show was inaugurated at Rabindra Bharati, Hyderabad. Film actor Nageswara Rao and playback singer P. Susheela marvelled at the novelty of the concept.”

Seethalakshmi’s puppets are made of parchment leather. Goat’s skin is boiled, and the hair is scraped off.

The leather is then stretched and pinned to a board, and allowed to dry for two days. The required figures are drawn on to the leather and cut out. The puppets are coloured on both sides, and designs are punched on them. When light is projected through these holes, it seems as if the puppets are dressed in gold studded clothes!

The puppets are manipulated using three sticks. Except for the dancing puppets, which require two puppeteers for manipulation, they are manipulated by just one person. In the case of the Vali-Sugriva fight, one puppeteer manipulates both puppets.

A black bordered, white cotton cloth is rigged up on the stage. “In villages in Andhra, a dhoti would serve as the screen, and the shadows were projected on to the screen using oil lamps. These days we use fluorescent lamps,” explains Seethalakshmi.

New technique

While at CLRI, Seethalakshmi, together with researchers T.P. Sastry, C. Rose and S. Ramakrishnan, developed a process, by which parchment leather could be made from chrome shavings, a by-product of tanning.

“The researchers found a way to remove the chromium content from the shavings, which are then used to make puppets, lampshades and wall hangings,” says Srinivasu, Seethalakshmi’s son, who is also a puppeteer. The research served two purposes. It helped solve the problem of disposal of the leather waste, and also provided cheap parchment leather. Daughter-in-law Dharini, daughter Malathi, who is a software engineer, and granddaughters Priyanka and Madhumita, are all involved in puppetry.

The show that Sunday was based on the Kamba Ramayanam. The highlight was Anjaneya shrinking in size. The huge Anjaneya puppet was replaced by successively smaller ones, until a tiny puppet, about the size of one’s palm, entered the demon’s cavernous mouth. The puppets were replaced so quickly, that the effect of a shrinking figure was sustained throughout, and the audience applauded heartily. Seethalakshmi can be contacted at 98400 74589.

Audience response

Seventy- three year old V.G. Dharmalingam said, “Look at the goose bumps on my arms. I’ve never seen such a wonderful puppet show.”

Johanna Sudyka from Poland, a student of the Madras University, and her friend Liliya Petkova, whose father is a puppeteer in Bulgaria, found the show fascinating, and went up to the artistes to congratulate them at the end of the show.

His art speaks for him - Burra Katha

Source http://www.hindu.com/fr/2009/01/23/stories/2009012351070100.htm

His art speaks for him

PROFILE Veteran Burra Katha artist Karnati Lakshmi Narasaiah talks about the folk form and its relevance today. Kausalya Santhanam

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The themes dealt with in Burra Katha stress the need to erase inequality and spread the message of universal brotherhood.

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PHOTO: K.V. SRINIVASAN

WITH SOCIAL AWARENESS: Karnati Lakshmi Narasaiah.

Folk arts are our traditional wealth. We should try to educate the common people through these arts because they were created by them,” says Karnati Lakshmi Narasaiah, the doyen of Telugu folk performing arts who was in Chennai recently with his troupe to participate in the Chennai Sangamam.

The energetic 82-year-old is a man of many parts — practitioner and promoter of many Telugu folk performing art forms, scholar in Telugu and Urdu, freedom fighter who responded to Gandhiji’s call and also fought against the Nizam’s rule, and an author of several books (in Telugu). You talk to him for an hour and come away impressed with his singing skills and his indefatigable energy.

“Talking about the various things I have done in these many years is like distilling the sea in a bottle,” he says without false modesty. “If I stay idle for even half an hour, I tire,” he says with the sprightly enthusiasm of a man in his twenties. “I’m still actively engaged in lecture demonstrations, and I sing, dance and act.”

In a career spanning 65 years, Narasaiah has tried his hand successfully at various forms. He lists them rapidly — Veedhi Bhagavatham, Kasi Kavadi, Pitaldora, Jamukulakatha, Pambakatha, Kolattam, Bommalattam, Tapeta Gullu and Oggukatha.

Early years

“By the time I was 16, I had learnt nearly all these Kala Roopalu,” he says in chaste Telugu while I can only look bemused and scribble rapidly to keep pace.

“Did you get it right, amma?” he asks from time to time while our hostess Shobhana Reddy seeks to assure him on the score. Shobhana, a member of FICCI Ladies Organisation, has worked to showcase the Telugu arts at the Chennai Sangamam and has got Karnati’s troupe to perform here through the auspices of the World Telugu Federation. Karnati’s involvement in the arts goes back to his childhood. His mother moved to Telengana, her native place, when he was just a boy. Her family owned property there and when he took the cows to graze, he learnt the many songs of the folk people that helped lessen the burden of their toil. Surprisingly though the family was quite comfortably placed, the elder members did not curb the wanderings of the boy. He was free to roam around and absorb whatever took his fancy; so passionate was he in the pursuit of these art forms that he even forgot sometimes to turn up for his meals! He heard the recording of the great master of Burra Katha, Doddavarapu Venkataswamy for His Master’s Voice and learnt the form. “I also learnt to play the Jamukku (a drum),” he says.

Vibrant art form

Burra Katha, an art form once known as Jangam Katha, among other names, has a strong presence in Andhra Pradesh. Traditionally, it was used to narrate mythological stories. It later began to mirror social change. Burra Katha comprises three performers — one who sings, tells the story, plays the tambura and also dances, another who acts as commentator introducing political elements, and the third who acts as a comedian. The form is at once effective and extemporaneous, traditional and contemporary.

“The timbre of the performers’ voices is such as to rouse even those who are asleep,” guffaws Karnati and launches into a rousing recital of a few lines in his baritone. “I have given 10,000 performances in all,” he says. “I used to also participate in radio plays on AIR Vijayawada.”

Social messages

Burra Katha has been adapted successfully to propagate social messages. Karnati worked with Nassar to spread awareness among the people. Burra Katha has been used with telling effect in Telengana. “The themes I have dealt include the need to erase inequality and spread the message of universal brotherhood,” says Karnati. He is also a firm believer in gender equity. “Burrra Katha artists should speak of the problems of the poor farmers who are the backbone of the country,” he says.

Burra Katha led him to the cinema. “My guru Garikapati Rajarao introduced me and other members of the People’s Theatre such as Allu Ramalingaiah (actor Chiranjeevi’s father-in-law) to cinema. I have performed Burra Katha in 20 films,” he says. But the veteran is unhappy about the dilution of Burra Katha and other folk performing art forms as he feels not enough attention is being paid to the traditional costumes and format.

“All the States have their own distinctive and rich folk art forms; I love them all. I’m eager to be present wherever service is being done to them. Shobhana called me and so I have come with my troupe to take part in this confluence of arts,” says this recipient of many awards who facilitated different troupes to present Burra Katha, Jamukulakatha and play the Dappu at the festival.

The archer’s penance

Source http://www.hindu.com/fr/2009/03/06/stories/2009030651210300.htm

The archer’s penance

SUGANTHY KRISHNAMACHARI

Koothu-p-pattarai’s Arjunan Thabasu brought home the evils of war.

Photo: S. Thanthoni

Bold acrobatics: Arjunanan Thabasu.

The Mahabharata, mythological tale though it is, is a documentation of a family quarrel with far-reaching and disastrous consequences. Just as the horrors of war are brought home to us by history, so also, they are brought home to us by the Mahabharata too. Cousin pitched against cousin, uncle against nephew, brother against brother, not to mention the countless others caught up in the war — victory, when it does come, whether in history or in the Mahabharata, is Pyrrhic.

It is the horrendous consequences of war that Na. Muthuswamy’s play ‘Arjunanan Thabasu,’ presented by Koothu-p-pattarai, is all about. Vyasa tells the Pandavas that Duryodhana is unwilling to allow them to return, once their period of exile is over. So Arjuna sets off to do penance, to obtain the Pasupathastra from Siva. On the way Mohini and Perandi try to seduce him, but he is not tempted.

Working out a strategy

But when Siva is about to give Arjuna the Pasupathastra, Ekalavya’s disciples exhort him not to, because of the potential of the weapon to cause large scale damage. How else can the Pandavas vanquish Duryodhana, asks Siva. One of Ekalavya’s disciples suggests the use of a scent to lure the men. He demonstrates the potential of the scent, and even Siva succumbs to the enticing fragrance. But the plan to use the scent is abandoned when Draupadi objects to it on grounds of morality. Siva then gives Arjuna the Pasupathastra, with warnings about the consequences should it fall into the wrong hands. It will lead to large scale destruction, and no one will be spared, he says, reminding one of how easy it is for a conventional war to become a nuclear holocaust.

Vigour is generally the hallmark of Koothu-p-pattarai productions. But ‘Arjunan Thabasu’ lived up to it only in parts. The acrobatics of Ekalavya’s disciples on the rope were graceful and bold, and there was clever use of lighting here. The fight between Arjuna and Siva was lively.

One of the characters spoke indistinctly, and had trouble with his pronunciation, especially with ‘la’ and found it particularly difficult to say ‘Pasupathastra.’

The idea of conveying a message through the play was laudable but should it have been done at the cost of dignity? The dialogue, at several places, bordered on being vulgar and the gestures quite lewd. Perhaps koothu-p-pattarai should think about this.

Catch ‘Arjunan Thabasu,’ 7 p.m., on March 6, 7, 9, 13,14 and 15 at No1, Vaikasi Street, Chinmaya Nagar, Virugambakkam

Transcending reality

Source --http://www.hindu.com/fr/2008/09/12/stories/2008091250730300.htm

Transcending reality

DAVID SHULMAN

The staging of ‘Ashokavanikangam’ proved to be a unique, evocative experience for teachers and students of the Hebrew University, Jerusalem.

What happens on the stage is so thick with associations, layers of meaning, memories, dramatic action...

Team work:Koodiyattam is a complex interactive work utilising the synergy of actors, drummers and the spectators who put their own imaginations to play .

It was in many ways an exquisitely unique experience. For 15 nights we, the teachers and students of Sanskrit and Malayalam from Hebrew University, Jerusalem, and one actor and playwright from New York watched the unfolding of the single act ‘ ;Ashokavanikangam’ from Shaktibhadra’s play ‘Ascharya-chudamani’ in the Koodiyattam tradition of Ammannur, with Margi Madhu taking the lead, primarily in the role of Ravana. Madhu embodied gracefulness, precision, fined-tuned sensitivity and an astonishing richness of feeling and imagination.

Synergy

But Koodiyattam, is not the work of a single performer but rather a complex interactive work utilising the synergy of actors, drummers and the spectators who put their own imaginations to play in the space opened up by the performers on stage. Over these 15 nights, our own sensibility deepened and expanded.

We felt that Koodiyattam is an art of great intricacy and complexity, at times reaching levels of perception and emotion that are far beyond any ordinary intellection.

Koodiyattam, at times, is thought of as a ‘slow’ art form with each night’s performance lasting between two to four hours.

But, in our experience, the time involved was actually short, indeed too short, a mere 50 hours or so.

What happens on the stage is so thick with associations, layers of meaning, memories, dramatic action, allusions, inter-textual references, segments of text, the expressivity of abhinaya and laya, and sheer visual wonder, that our attention was fully engaged throughout and the time passes very rapidly.

Saktibhadra’s play is named after the Chudamani jewel that Sita was given by sages in the forest. The jewel allows its bearer to distinguish whoever he or she touches in their true form or true self. Thus, when Ravana, who has turned himself into a Maya-Rama, attempts to touch the kidnapped Sita the Chudamani dispels the deceptive surface and reveals his true nature.

Theme

This theme of piercing the veil of surface reality and seeing through to a deeper truth is also enacted by the Koodiyattam style itself, which brings the hidden recesses of the mind and the heart into a very tangible, visible form. Within this strangely intensified space flitting between the future and the past, a reality is allowed to emerge that resists the usual, somewhat trivial questions such as: Is this true (or false)? How true? Is there illusion operating in our minds as we watch? Where are we, inside the drama or outside it? And so on.

This particular dramatic reality, a glimpse into the world of the gods slowly materialising before our eyes, is probably never achieved in Western drama. Except, maybe in ancient Greek tragedy where the god Dionysus sat in the midst of the audience as the prime spectator. It is also something quite different from the classical (Kashmiri) modes of analysis of Abhinavagupta and rasa theory.

Koodiyattam is a profoundly serious medium requiring the utmost discipline of its performers and its spectators, but it also is replete with moments of humour, direct and highly accessible dramatic events, and a recurrent lightness of touch and heart. Over the 15 nights, there was a constant accumulation of emotional and cognitive experience, a kind of ripening into a state of lucid receptivity. We witnessed a performance mode that in some ways goes back to the earliest levels of Sanskrit drama as recorded in the ‘Natyashastra,’ but in other ways has cut itself free from the ancient theoretical norms and has evolved its own highly charged system in which the actor’s freedom to improvise and play is central.

Indeed, this degree of freedom, within the strong visual and aural language and meticulous training demanded by the tradition, is perhaps unparalleled in other, more modern forms of theatre.

(The author is a Professor at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel.)

On the horns of an artistic dilemma

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On the horns of an artistic dilemma

SUGANTHY KRISHNAMACHARI

Koothu To pursue or not to pursue… is the theme of Purisai Sambandam’s new production.

Photos: S.S. Kumar

Delightful: Lakshman’s Dream being visualised.

The scene is a koothu school, where one of the pupils has decided to quit, because he sees no future in Koothu.

His friends persuade him to remain, for they have a show coming up.

The teacher (Purisai Sambandam) shows them how to perform as monkeys in Rama’s army. But even as he rehearses for the show, the teacher dies. The grief-stricken students gather round him. The boy, who is to play the role of Lakshmana (Cordis Paldano), has a dream, in which he battles Yama, the God of Death, and finally vanquishes him.

Substitute the teacher for art, koothu to be specific, and the symbolism comes alive in “Lakshman’s Dream, But Today We Are Playing Indrajit,” at the Alliance Francaise on September 13 and 14. It was presented by Indianostrum Theatre in association with Purisai Duraisamy Kannappa Thambiran Parambarai Therukoothu Manram.

More a nightmare

Lakshman’s dream is therefore more in the nature of a nightmare. He manages to save his art in his dream. But is it as easy in real life?

The inroads that modern life has made into traditional/folk art are indeed deep. Can the onslaught be stopped through commitment alone? What can we do to preserve our arts from being overtaken? These are questions the play addresses and concedes that it is not easy to get the answers.

What happens when tradition is diluted and even distorted? How can people be sensitised to the purity of art? Shown when intrusions happen inflicting crudity on style? This is where a play like “Lakshman’s Dream” comes in. It shows the dangers of making a mockery of traditional art, in the desire for popularity. And holds out hope. It is a wake up call to those who are complacent in the belief that nothing can substantially affect an art, simply because it is centuries old.

Student’s questions

The questions that the disgruntled student asks in the beginning of the play are just the sort every student of an art, whether classical music or classical dance, is bound to ask himself at some point in his life. Will his art put food on the table? Can he completely ignore material considerations? Should he continue practising his art at all? And what happens if there is no audience appreciation?

Delightful: Lakshman’s Dream being visualised.

Cordis Paldano’s Tamil diction was perfect. None would ever guess that he can’t speak Tamil. Aswini Kasi and Gowri’s singing of the songs “Vandaal Dhaanyamalini” and “Mannar mannar vanangum” was peppy. Vasanth as the angry student and Kumar as Indrajith played their roles with aplomb. Munuswamy as Yama danced delightfully.

Catch ‘Lakshman’s Dream…’ at Kalakshetra, September 27, 10.30 a.m.

Tholpavakoothu-- Shadow of the Original

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Shadow of the original

SUGANTHY KRISHNAMACHARI

Tholpavakoothu demands expertise in various fields, knowledge of three languages being one of them, says Ramachandra Pulavar..

Shadow puppetry: K.K. Ramachandra Pulavar flanked by his puppets Rama and Ravana . He chooses verses from Kambaramayanam, a rich source of material, which he has mastered.

“Let the interview be in Tamil. I can speak pure Tamil. After all the songs in our shadow puppet shows are mainly from the Kambaramayanam,” says K.K. Ramachandra Pulavar, whose mother tongue is Malayalam.

He does speak pure Tamil, but rather haltingly, and this slows down the tempo of the conversation, and Ramachandran is in a hurry to finish the interview, because he has a programme that evening. So after sometime, he switches to Malayalam.

Tholpavakoothu, the form of puppetry in which Ramachandran is trained, originated in the 9th century A.D. As in the case of many other folk arts, Tholpavakoothu too is a part of temple rituals. “Goddess Bhadrakali was busy fighting the demon Tarakasura, when Rama was fighting Ravana. So she could not see the Lanka war. Lord Siva advised her to visit temples where the battle would be re-enacted in puppet shows. Our puppet shows are, therefore, staged in Bhagavati temples. And since the whole thing is only a re-enactment, a shadow of the original, we have shadow puppetry. The curtain on which the shadows are projected faces the deity, so that she can watch the show,” says Ramachandran, explaining the ritual aspect of his art.

All Bhagavati temples have permanent stages for puppet shows. The stage is called the ‘Koothu Madam.’ It is 42 feet long, 12 feet wide and 8 feet high. The puppets are behind the curtain and oil lamps are used to light up the scene behind the curtain.

Deer skin

Rama

Originally, puppets were made of palm leaves, and later deer skin was used. There used to be six sangams or associations of puppeteers in Kerala — Mathur, Puthur, Kavalapara, Kuthanur, Palapuram and Payaloor.

They all had leather puppets. The sangams died a natural death. Fortunately, some 400-year-old puppets are still kept in the Kavalapara palace. Every year during the temple festival, the puppets are brought out and used in the shows. The puppets, however, are not taken to temples outside Kavalapara, informs Ramachandran.

Ramachandran makes his own puppets, which he uses to perform in 105 temples in Kerala. These days the puppets are made of goat or buffalo hide. Different types of chisels are used to cut out features of the puppets.

The puppet is moved by a stick fixed on it vertically. The puppets are in different postures. They are 180 cm high and 45 cm wide.

Ramachandra Pulavar is from the Koonathara Tholpava school, and trained under his father — K.L. Krishnan Kutty Pulavar. Pulavar is an honorific that is given to a puppeteer who is also a scholar. The puppeteer has to study Kamba Ramayanam.

Ramachandran, for example, chooses verses for each show, from among the 3,100 Kambaramayanam verses that he knows. He has also written some lyrics himself.

A puppeteer must be familiar with Sanskrit, well read in the Vedas, Agama Sastras, Puranas, ithihasas and Ayurveda, and trained in classical music too. Since classical music requires years of study, some puppeteers give it a miss.

Instruments such as chendai, madhalam, kuzhal, thattam, bombu, chellinga and ezhupara are used. In the course of the show, the audience might have some questions for the main puppeteer. “The questions could be on anything, from Ayurveda to current events. So one must be well read,” says Ramachandran.

Long duration

Ravana

Tholpavakoothu is staged continuously for 7, 14, 21, 41, or 71 days, depending upon the custom practised in the temple. Earlier, shows used to be of ten hours duration. Now they have been reduced to five. “We perform because it is the tradition to, but there is no audience,” Ramachandran observes sadly.

The irony is that there are lots of sponsors for the shows, because it is believed that Goddess Bhagavati will bless those who contribute to Tholpavakoothu. Villagers make their contributions, and their names will be read by the puppeteer, who will invoke the blessings of the Goddess for the donor.

“While villagers don’t come to the shows, there has been an excellent response in colleges,” says Ramachandran. To him goes the credit of introducing secular and contemporary themes, to make the art more appealing to the younger generation. He has performed one-hour shows to packed auditoriums in colleges, on themes such as ragging and Hindu-Muslim unity. Ramachandran has done shows based on the Panchatantra for school children.

Dakshinachitra gave Ramachnadran an award sometime ago. Ramachandran has translated the Bala Kandam (Kamba Ramayanam) into English. He has taken his show to Israel, Sweden, Russia and Greece.

Ramachandran’s wife makes leather puppets that are much sought after not only here but abroad. “In fact, my wife makes more money through the export of her puppets than I make through puppetry,” Ramachandra Pulavar laughs.