Chavara Parukutty stands in front of the kalivilakku , her swollen, bandage-swathed legs firm on the cold familiar floor. Sore muscles and long 74 years have not extinguished the flame of her passion as she starts the slow sedate movements of Damayanthi, the lovelorn princess of Vidarbha. Celebrating nearly six decades on stage, her expressions are marked by a rare eloquence, the result of intense self-trust and perseverance. But for the only female Kathakali artiste who has seen 57-odd seasons and is still active, she lacks any aura of stardom.
The short-statured woman, who lives alone at a rented house in Karunagapally, faces your questions with wit and excitement. It’s not easy to miss the proud glint in her eyes as she recounts her 58-year-long tryst with the classical ballet. Life has been unfair to the veteran artiste, but lack of limelight has not doused her spirit and there is not an iota of self-pity as she talks about the emotional spillover between the artiste and the character. She says she has channelled all her anguish to her art form, allowing herself to bleed through on-stage portrayals. “Among navarasas, my favourite is karunam , I never had to learn or rehearse that particular rasa. Shoka just flows out of the pain bottled up in my heart,” she says.
Foraying into an art form, predominately a male bastion, was not an easy task in the 1960s, “Kathakali was the art of the aristocracy then, something unthinkable for a goldsmith’s daughter.” Parukutty says she “stole” her first dance lessons from Leelamani Nrithakalalayam, which later roped in her as a part of the troupe. “I used to secretly watch the classes through a broken windowpane and practise the steps at home. My father could not afford the fee, but later they made me a member,” she says. Though she was fascinated with the grace and grandeur of Kathakali, she couldn’t find an ‘asan’ for long. It was during her pre-university years that Parukutty started her formal training under Muthuvilakkad Gopala Panicker. “I still remember my debut, all jittery in the middle of soaring percussion,” she says.
Diligent journey
Though women were very rare in professional kaliyogams, it was not easy scaling the heights and getting established. “I was no overnight sensation, rather it was a long diligent journey. In the initial days, I joined the Poruvazhi Sreekrishnavilasm Kaliyogam; it was just small roles with minimal mudras. There were roles with no ‘padams’ like Mandodari trying to drag her husband or a lamenting Kunti in Nizhalkuthu.” But Parukutty fought her way to the top circuit, fuelled by grit and tenacity. “I graduated to lead characters sharing stage with luminaries, including Mankulam Vishnu Namboodiri and Kalamandalam Gopi. I have been Damayanthi to many a Nalan, most of them Kathakali icons,” she says. Parukutty adds many Kathakali legends have been open to her suggestions and she never had to experience a dull moment on stage. “At the same time, it’s true that I was ignored during foreign trips citing one reason or another,” she says. She agrees that many male artists excel in the roles of mythological women, their expressions dripping ‘sringara’. But she thinks a performance is often defined in terms of involvement and there is a huge difference between recreating an emotion through practice and feeling it. “I experience a throbbing pain in my chest each time I play Kunti in Karna Sapatham . After the performance I run to green room all inconsolable and dissolving into sobs. I don't think any man can relate to the throes of motherhood,” she says.
A graduate in economics, Parukutty says she never thought of a more secure career even when she was struggling as a single mother. “During the seasons I will leave my sleeping child in the green room for night-long performances. It wasn’t easy, but Kathakali was my lifeline and I just couldn’t imagine a life outside the ‘arangu’. Even today, my only income is from Kathakali, though stages are very few and far between. They say if I am invited they will have to bring an equally senior co-artiste,” she says.
Parukutty, the proud artiste she is, never considered grants or fellowships to supplement her income and calls ‘avasha kalakaran’ an irritating if not derogatory term. But now she has a couple of forms lying on her table, “I thought my art was enough to brave all the storms. But I have reached a point where I need some support and at 74 I have started filling in applications.” She also believes that the golden era of Kathakali is over as Kerala’s grandiose dance drama has now deteriorated into a kind of contract work. “I will write about all this in my autobiography,”she says.
Still active in the arangu, Parukutty is not an artist lost in the glories of her past. Last month, she went on stage with a bad knee that left her in pain for weeks, but the 74-year-old gets all excited at the mention of her next performance. “I forget all the aches of my mind and body on the Kathakali floor,” says the artiste.
