For decades, Tamil theatre has been amplifying a narrow set of voices — men behind the mic, stories framed by dominant caste perspectives. Women’s roles were performed by men. Narratives of the oppressed were diluted, wrapped in pity rather than power.
The stage long resisted certain stories — those of caste, queerness, or women’s lived realities. When such tales emerged, they were often sanitised, made palatable for mainstream audiences.
Change moved slowly, unevenly. Collectives formed. Protests erupted. Silence gave way to speech. A Mangai was part of this shift. Her theatre wasn’t born from theory but from grassroots dialogue, contradictions, and feminist solidarity. Mentors, students, collaborators, and context shaped her. Over four decades, Mangai stood at the intersection of performance and protest, staging urgent questions rather than easy answers. Her work echoed lived experience: rage, tenderness, complexity. Now, she pauses not to rest but to reflect, and while doing so, invites us to do the same.
Kulavai 2025 celebrates not just her legacy but the defiant history of Tamil theatre’s marginalised storytellers — those who resisted, redefined, and reclaimed the stage. Named after women’s sharp ululation — at rituals, protests, celebrations — Kulavai is a reminder of countless stories that still await their turn. Ahead of the event, Mangai speaks with CE about feminist theatre, fractured solidarities, and the slow work of carving space for all.
Celebration in solidarity
Kulavai 2025 emerged from within Mangai’s long-time theatre collective, Marappachi. The group initially proposed a retrospective to mark her 60th birthday. While the pandemic paused the plans, they’ve now brought the idea back to life. For them, it’s about recognition: “It’s their way of acknowledging what they’ve learned in theatre,” shares Mangai.
The festival also bridges divides. “This gathering recognises the strong female presence in Tamil theatre. I think we’ve made a difference.”
To Mangai, Kulavai is more than a title — it’s an echo of history. “From 1992-2003, we ran Voicing Silence with the MS Swaminathan Foundation. Mina Swaminathan mentored me; I was the artistic director. It had national significance,” she says. Her book ‘Acting Up’ traces gender and theatre from 1979.
Inspired by movements like the 1989 Kasauli workshop and 1990’s Expressions festival in Bombay, Kulavai was launched in 1996. “It brought together feminist artists and NGOs. We held five editions till 2003.” Now, Marappachi, formed in 2006, reclaims that legacy. “It’s about assertion, reclamation, and nourishment. That’s the core.”
Rooted in women’s movement
Mangai’s journey began in the 1980s. “I entered theatre through the women’s movement — a time of struggles against dowry, for rape laws, for social change. I had no feminist role models in my family, but the discourse surrounded us. Talking about liberation felt socially acceptable, and of course, necessary.”
The 1990s brought new battles. “HIV’s rise labelled sex workers and trans people ‘high-risk’. Government responses — like condom distribution — made sexuality a public debate. Domestic violence discussions also grew.”
Progress faced setbacks. She says, “The moment felt ripe for equality, but highlighting differences wasn’t easy. Then MeToo erupted — stories of abuse in schools. It was devastating. Like starting over. But you rebuild, collect the fragments, and rise.” Today, voices break the silence. “More people speak out. Some abusers were named; we sent collective letters refusing to engage with them. I hope this creates safer spaces for silenced truths.”
Healing happens on stage. “I look forward to the open mic. I hope young practitioners from Bengaluru, Kolkata, Delhi, Chennai join — people doing bold work. Something like Kulavai is not networking; it’s knowing we’re part of a wider, inclusive world where harm is no longer hidden,” shares Mangai.
Theatre beyond livelihood
Mangai never treated the theatre as a paycheck. “I wasn’t a ‘professional’ in the conventional sense. My day job — teaching at Stella Maris College — gave me freedom to be uncompromising.” She highlights collaborators like Pritham Chakravarthy. “She created early plays on trans experiences, like Nirvana surgery’s impact. Her Nirvanam even went to Edinburgh.”
Yet inclusion wavered. “Artistes were welcomed by the trans community, but few theatre-makers committed long-term. Kanimozhi Karunanidhi supported a play with a trans group.”
She also speaks about lasting partnerships. “Living Smile Vidya, Revathi, Soumya — Soumya has been in theatre for 16 years. That persistence is rare.”
The real challenge? Keeping the theatre open. “The craft — voice, body, mind — matters, not rigid gender roles. People assume anyone can do theatre. I say — yes, if you practice. It has a grammar, even if uncodified.” And, she adds, “There’s joy in holding space, in play. That’s theatre’s magic.”
Her queer collaborations began 20 years ago. “I worked more with trans people initially. But earlier, I’d explored these ideas — wrote a play on Amba-Shikhandi in Panithee. I questioned why masculinity and femininity carry inequal value.”
Street theatre and family outreach were vital. “Trans activism fought for basics — ration cards, name changes. Street theatre spread these struggles. Families needed to understand: being trans wasn’t a fault.” The rejection’s cost was high. “Many trans people spoke of familial abuse, abandonment. That pain ran deep.” Collaborations in Bengaluru deepened her work. “With Rumi Harish and Sunil Mohan, we aimed beyond ‘queer themes’ — queer performers telling universal stories. That clarity came from 20 years of engagement.”
Embers of the future
Hope lingers in small sparks. “It’s there — like embers. At Vaanam Art Festival, Melody’s piece stood out: 45 minutes, no dialogue, just two actors waiting — Beckettian, yet rooted in construction workers’ lives.” Initiatives like Theatre Nisha rise. “Strong women lead there. This year, they centred Women’s Day and Valentine’s Day on women’s relationships. The shift is coming. The embers exist. We must fan them into flame. Right now, they’re scattered.”
She dismisses outdated mobilisation. “Traditional methods don’t work. It’s not about slogans. If we unite ethically, artistically, believing in social justice — if you’re a woman reflecting on your identity — that’s enough. Feminism may scare some, but woman-centred solidarity matters.”
Her final note is an invitation. Mangai says, “We’re not seeking power. We’re saying: We have something to say. Please listen.”
Kulavai 2025: A two-day festival of theatre and conversation on women, queers and feminism in Tamil theatre.
Venue: Alliance Francaise
Dates: June 7 & 8, 2025
Time: 9.30 am to 8.00 pm
For more details: visit @marappachitheaterart on Instagram