25/06/2016
Margi Sathi's autobiography Rangasree poignantly blends the life of an artist, snuffed in her prime, with the life of a dying art form. A riveting autobiography that assumes a humble tone, but describes many heart wrenching moments of what it means to be a woman artist, and a Koodiyattom artist at that, in the conventional world of performing arts in Kerala. It is one thing to celebrate Koodiyattom as the oral and intangible heritage of humanity, but another to dwell on the pain and sacrifices of numerous artists who contributed to its continued life in Kerala today. The questions this autobiography raises are highly relevant in this context. How can you resuscitate a 2000-year art form, far removed from the modern Malayalee's contemporary life styles? How can it be performed to capture the imagination of people not schooled in such theatrical and aesthetic traditions? How can an ancient Sanskrit theatre form, once performed solely within temple precincts and Koothambalams, be made appealing without losing its traditional aura and charm in the current democratic and secular moorings of our society?
It's the austere elegance of Nangiarkoothu and the severe grandeur of that bare stage that is the hallmark of Sathi's memories too: simple, stark, yet so profoundly moving. There are no superfluities here, no verbosity. One can feel the studied, stylized, chiseled movements of the artist, her almost sculptural presence and grace as she moves slowly and gracefully with the music of her life, her passion, her art. The reader is given a glimpse of how her art enriches her life, even as her life is fortified and strengthened by her art. Sathi remembers fondly her initial days of tutelage under Painkulam Rama Chakyar, that doyen of Koodiyattom who helped redeem this art form from its casteist, ritual base and nurtured and gently nudged it into more secular and modern frameworks. She also remembers gratefully the numerous people in her life who stood staunchly by her side in passionate defense of her commitment to a dying art form. They, especially her partner in life Subramanyan Potti, himself an *Edakka* artist, effaced himself with loving abandon in order to gain visibility for her and the art she cherished.
When a performing body is a woman's body, there are many constrictions and limitations that a conventional society imposes. Sathi's life is a poignant reminder of those visible and invisible boundaries. It was when Subramanyan Potti, her life partner and the strength and soul of her life and art, went in search of a space for her to change her clothes behind the stage that he was electrocuted to death by an unnoticed live wire. It illustrates how women artists in this country have nurtured arts without even proper green rooms, spaces where they can at least change their costumes. One is left appalled at the crassness of what one can even call a societal crime committed on women artists who need men to constantly accompany them in order to find out toilet facilities where there might be none, to improvise 'changing room' spaces in the absence of proper green rooms. That death which left the artist heartbroken raises certain crucial questions regarding Kerala society's patriarchal biases in its treatment of women, especially female artists, be it on stage, public spaces or the silver screen.
It is the agony and ecstasy of having a creative mind and a performing body in a highly conventional society that Sati explicates again and again through her autobiographical writing, though one has to read between the lines and sometimes fathom the depths of her mind using words as vital clues in that exercise. That early image of someone who tried to push her into the turbulent Bharathapuzha and the terror of that experience haunts her. The cancer she fights relentlessly till the end is only a metaphor for the larger battles in her life. One sees the author battling with this sense of dejection throughout the book. Yet, there are refreshing springs of hope in between those moments of despair where her art becomes her succor and solace, as also the incredibly humane faces that come to offer encouragement, support and accolades. Her life illustrates the formidable passions that a woman with such inordinate talent engender in the people she meets, the audiences she enthralls, the reviewers who she perplexes and charms in equal measure.
Here is the simple story of a woman who defied conventions to reinvent a dying art form. Her incredible energy, her unswerving commitment, her undying passion redeemed an art and helped preserve it for future generations. That is probably the reason why the book rings out in a tone that is clear and resonant with an artistic logic, the day she stopped performing would be the day she died. The autobiographical narratives have been compiled by V.S.Rajesh with an illuminative preface. The introductions by Adoor Gopalakrishnan and V.R. Prabodhachandran Nair serve to contextualize Sathi's contributions to Nangiarkoothu. The reminiscences of many people dear and near to Sathi mark their tribute to the indelible footprints this dedicated artist left behind in both her artistic and personal capacity. This book is an honest account of one woman's love for her art as much as the love she nurtured for the fleeting emotions, colors and music of life, her battles with aesthetic and societal norms as much as with disease and death, in order to rejuvenate her art, attain artistic perfection and in the process find a richer and fuller meaning for this brief candle called life.