To the untrained eye, the thundering of Kattaikkuttu might seem like a whisper from the past. But it is not a ghost, it is almost a deity in defiance. “People think it’s a dying art form when you go to Chennai,” says Swathi Sudhakaran, researcher-in-residence at the Kattaikkuttu Sangam. “But it’s not a dying art form. It is thriving in the villages. When I go to see Koothu here, it’s packed, more packed than any auditorium in Chennai,” she says.
Swathi speaks from the Sangam’s campus in Kanchipuram, a seven-acre haven where one of Tamil Nadu’s most vibrant theatre traditions continues to flourish. The Sangam, run entirely by rural artistes, has been championing Kattaikkuttu for 35 years, not just preserving it, but innovating within it.
Art in full bloom
Founded by P Rajagopal in 1990, the organisation began with just 17 performers. “It was a very modest beginning. Over time, it grew gradually, like how a tree grows from a small plant,” says Rajagopal. Today, the Sangam is a democratically run collective with over 250 members — artistes, musicians, playwrights — united by their dedication to keeping Koothu alive.
And it is alive. Not just in rural temple festivals that stretch across the Tamil calendar, but also in new scripts, urban collaborations, and training programmes. “Every year, from the Tamil month of Thai, until Sivaratri, there are performances happening, nonstop. People in Chennai may not see it, so they assume it doesn’t exist. But they need to come and see for themselves,” says Rajagopal.
For those who do, the Sangam’s annual festivals are an eye-opener. The most recent one, bridged the urban-rural divide, ran every weekend from November to January and drew audiences from both the city and countryside. Performances ranged from Kattaikkuttu to Sufi music, Carnatic-Koothu collaborations, and urban theatre from Chennai. “It was a way to challenge the misconception. And it worked. People came from Bengaluru, Chennai, and beyond,” says Swathi.
But awareness is only part of the battle. Transmission is the real challenge. Senior artistes are dwindling, and there is no formal institute in Tamil Nadu to train the next generation in Kattaikkuttu. The Sangam’s long-running gurukulam — a residential school blending Koothu training with formal education — had to pause in 2020 due to pandemic.
Rajagopal started the gurukulam out of a deep understanding of the cost of choosing between art and education. “I came into this tradition because of my father. I told him, ‘I want to do Kattaikkuttu,’ and he said, ‘Then you can’t go to school.’ So I dropped out. Later, I realised how important education was. That’s why I began the gurukulam — to give children both.”
It was also one of the first places to bring women into Kattaikkuttu formally. “In 1996, Rajagopal sir trained a group of women performers,” says Swathi. “And when the gurukulam started in 2002, girls were formally included as part of the system. That was a turning point.”
Even after the gurukulam closed, the spirit of training continued through workshops. Swathi herself attended one before joining as a researcher. “Even for someone like me, who came from an academic background, training with a guru changed how I understood the art. You can’t get that kind of knowledge sitting in a classroom.”
The Sangam has never confined itself to tradition for tradition’s sake. Its productions have included plays like Maya Kuthirai, about aliens and school children, and Paarvai, a modern piece staged in Koothu style by gurukulam alumni. “There’s a lot of experimentation. But even the traditional stories, when performed with rigour, are powerful and relevant,” says Swathi.
That rigour is what Rajagopal wants to preserve. “Some people say they don’t like Kattaikkuttu. That’s fine, not everyone will. But if they really listen, they’ll realise these songs follow classical ragas and talas. The structure is solid. People just need to see it with an open mind.”
In a world quick to box art forms and rank them, Kattaikkuttu Sangam chooses to grow from within.