CHENNAI: Thol Paavai Koothu artiste Muthuchandran’s efforts to sustain a dying art comes with many a sacrifice and much uncertainty. With very few left in the field, he draws attention to their way of life and what they need for a revival.
Intha corona baathippu kadum baathippu (The impact of corona has been very severe). And of all the artistes, we are the most affected,” says Kalaimamani Muthuchandran, a sixth-generation Thol Paavai Koothu (shadow puppetry) kalaignan. Over a year since the pandemic rendered every traditional art bankrupt, Muthuchandran and his troupe of five are still reeling from its effects. While opportunities have always been scarce, the utter lack of them has robbed the artistes and their families of the only means of livelihood.
“Ithu enakku ettu vayasula irunthu pazhakam (I’ve been doing this since I was eight years old),” he begins. Over the years, the 45-year-old has seen as much as there is in this line of work. Having lived the life of a nomad, his family had travelled from village to village performing this ancient art that has found its variations in the southern states. It wasn’t till he was 20 years old that his family eventually settled down in the village of Thirumalaipuram in Kanniyakumari; a change that was forced upon the artistes, given the dwindling offers that had become ubiquitous with the art. After a successful show, the villagers came together to set the family up on a piece of poramboke land. The assurance of shelter — and the associated benefits of a ration card, community certificate, electricity and such — allowed his children to become the first-generation schoolgoers in the family.
Perpetual peril
But, for those who survived within the art, the going had always been tough. “Other forms of art — melam, Villu Paatu, Kaniyaan Aattam, etc. — are associated with the temple (koil saarntha kalaigal). They get to perform in temple festivals for nearly half the year and manage to sustain themselves with this income. But Thol Paavai Koothu isn’t associated with a deity or a particular tradition. Unless someone knows about this art and has some interest in experiencing it, we do not get a chance to put on a show. So, the Rs 5,000 or Rs 10,000 that we get from a show is what we have to keep us all going till the next one. If not for this, we borrow to feed our family.
When the next show comes along, we settle the debt. This is how it’s been,” he narrates. With most of the artistes having been nomads for generations, there’s been no means to save for the future (bank accounts need an address and ID), secure property for the next generation or find alternative trade. With the arrival of the pandemic, even this means of survival has come to a complete stop, he reports. Since last March, it’s help from a handful of art enthusiasts familiar with Muthuchandran’s work, the government’s
Rs 2,000 aid for artists, ration aid and free rice that have seen them through the past year. This has only served to remove more artistes from the field, he points out. What was once practised by all members of the family, five generations down the line, participation has dwindled to one per cent. “It’s come to a point where we are questioning if the next generation should practise this art,” he admits.
A lost art
This, coming from an artiste who is foremost in the last few left in the field, says much about its standing in present climes. This form of story-telling uses dolls made of goat skin (thol) propped on sticks, manipulated behind a screen and voiced by one or several troupe members. While stories from epics and the oral traditions of many regions were a staple during these shows, Muthuchandran and band have staged many that told tales around women empowerment, sexual education, electoral awareness, plastic eradication, child marriage, sex selection and much more — keeping up with modern times and its present needs. While the art has found different forms in the southern states, the Tamil way stands out for a few reasons, he says.
“This koothu is in four states — Kerala, Karnataka, Odisha and Tamil Nadu. It’s also practised in China. And there are quite a few differences in how it’s done in each of these places. In Kerala, you’ll have seven people move the pictures behind the screen and voice the characters as well. In Karnataka, while three move the pictures, two others voice them. In Tamil Nadu, it’s often one person who moves the pictures and voices them all — rendering 28-31 different voices. This person would also have to keep rhythm on a kattai held in the foot. This is peculiar to Tamil Nadu. Changing voices like that is very difficult,” he explains. But, he immediately takes the trouble to demonstrate, switching from the voice of an old man, to a raspy one reminiscent of MR Radha, a deep-throated rumble of big man, a weather-beaten roar of a man from the southern districts, the effeminate inflection of a young man and the nasal drawn of a teenager. Making it sound utterly effortless all along. The result of years of training that had its foundation in his impressionable young years.
Route to revival
Today, even as the art finds little resonance among the common populace, children are incredibly curious and interested everywhere they go, says Muthuchandran, offering this avenue as a means of revival. “I train kids in schools that are interested. We find much reception for this among the students. They are interested to know how the pictures are painted,” he says. This is true of students who got to witness this magic online, thanks to the several federations of the Tamil diaspora in the US, Dubai and other countries. In recent times, this training — voice modulations, hand and leg movements (to handle the pictures) — has reached students of Loyola College and students of classes 5 to 12 at a Tiruppur school. A school in Chennai has his band hosting biweekly sessions for kindergarten students — a novel means to keep them engaged. Often, students come back for more lessons after the training schedule, he reports.
With such evident interest, Muthuchandran has reached out to the government to help them sustain this, including them in awareness efforts besides setting up training modules. Requests have also been made to engage artistes like him in temple festivals and training members of the Department of Art and Culture. All this, to save this art from extinction. Until then, the band still looks to the kindness and awareness of art enthusiasts. Perhaps, you can be one of them too.For details about performance/training sessions, call: 9842670869
To make donations to Muthuchandran’s troupe
Account details: Muthuchandran B
Account no: 025500100077981
IFSC code: DLXB000025
Dhanlakshmi Bank, ST Hindu
College, Nagercoil
G Pay number - 9842670869
TEACHING STUDENTS
In recent times, their training — voice modulations, hand and leg movements (to handle the pictures) — has reached students of Loyola College and students of classes 5 to 12 at a Tiruppur school. A school in Chennai has his band hosting biweekly sessions for kindergarten kids.