The eyes blink open more than a couple of hours before the sun rises. It’s by force of an old habit, and the octogenarian knows it. Then, turning sideways on the creaking wooden cot in his tile-roof house, Kalamandalam Ramankutty Nair would slip into a reverie letting himself to be overtaken by memories of a youthful past when his days used to start at 4 am. That had been his routine for the over 40 years he spent in his alma mater, Kerala Kalamandalam, from where he eventually retired as the principal almost a quarter century ago.
“I can’t sleep after 4 o’clock even now. Only that I don’t get up till the break of dawn,” shrugs the reticent Ramankutty Nair, sitting in the threshold of his home in Vellinezhi a verdant central Kerala village synonymous with his art: Kathakali. Age has only chastened him; the maestro hasn’t signed off. Even on his 84th birthday this May 15, he’s playing the lead role in one of the weightiest of the storyplays in the classical dance-drama.
For long, his mastery in handling scenes laden with slow, straitjacketed choreography something that would work as clueless corridors for many is what has led Ramankutty Nair to Kathakali’s hall of fame. Creditably, he is at ease with breezy roles where the characters are less godly and can afford to be witty.
The dual role
It will be amusing today to trail down the gay abandon path that fetched him popularity as an upstart, given the subsequent transformation of Ramankutty Nair’s profile as an ultra-serious actor-dancer. The very man who now wears a badge of conservatism almost as a brand image had initially risen to reckoning by performing a key Kathakali character with a revolutionary costume makeover that has stayed with the dance-drama till date. Young Ramankutty’s energy-packed presentation of Parasurama in realistic make-up and dress edged out the stylised yellow-glow garb that used to represent the ill-tempered sage on stage. Such was the success of the bold 1940s experimentation a brainchild of Kalamandalam co-founder and late poet Vallathol that it earned the artiste a nice portmanteau: Parasuramankutty Nair.
The body power with which he set the stage on fire has since been his forte even as Ramankutty Nair gradually began settling for roles that demanded disciplined movements than unfettered action. As his handsome-looking contemporaries and pupils lent Kathakali a touch of heroic glamour than ever before,
Ramankutty Nair excelled in an equally challenging niche that of anti-heroes.
It isn’t that he brought in an anti-hero cult. Long before Ramankutty Nair, his art had let characters like Ravana, Narakasura and Duryodhana rule the centre-stage while the divine Brahma and Vishnu would don petty roles to perfunctorily finish off the story. Yet, scholars note that Ramankutty Nair has given the anti-heroes a new benchmark and that his presentation of the wily Keechaka and Shishupala has had no parallels even in his Kalluvazhi style that boasts of restraint in every aspect of theatrics.
Transborder acceptance
Easily, Hanuman has been one character that has won Ramankutty Nair equal measure of hospitality in Kerala’s north and south. The downstate Travancore belt has a more characterisation-focused, realism-tinged and dramatically charged approach to Kathakali one that is virtually an anti-thesis of Ramankutty Nair’s no-jerks style modelled on his late guru Pattikkamthodi Ravunni Menon. Yet the master’s portrayal of the monkey god with a blend of uncompromising regimen and comic relief has won him audiences across the two geographical boundaries, not to speak of those outside Kerala or India.
Be it the more racy characters like the hunter or the histrionics-demanding Brahmin, Ramankutty Nair banks on his biggest asset: crisp hand gestures and optimal flexing of the torso and legs with minimal use of space. While the cute technique has found him a huge fan following, the Padma Bhushan awardee has always had his share of critics who snub his lack of power to emote or improvise instantaneously. The censure aggravates when it comes to his essaying soft heroes like Nala or Rukmangada. Nevertheless, many hold in high regard Ramankutty Nair’s textbook-precision handling of similar-category green-painted characters like Dharmaputrar, Bhima and Arjuna in certain slow-tempo plays. There, again, it’s the body not the visage that aids him.
But, off the stage too, Ramankutty Nair seldom betrays emotion. None has quite seen tears well up in his eyes or his lips broaden in a loud cackle. Many mistake his apparent indifference for arrogance. A brief conversation, though, can change the perception.
At the verandah of his house, Ramankutty Nair says he has a function to chair that evening. It takes a while for him to dress up and come out. The juba is neatly buttoned, and the mundu around his waist is well starched and ironed. The master takes out the spectacles and wipes it with the kerchief. It’s an elaborate ritual. Then he nods at his wife it’s a mere half-inch sway of the head with a faint streak of smile. Next he turns and moves towards the organisers’ car in measured, stately steps. Even when it isn’t up to the stage he is walking, one feels Ramankutty Nair is going to perform.
— sreevalsan@epmltd.com