Headgears get a fresh breeze
The only commonality one may figure out is longitudinal. But for the fact that both Goa and Canara belong the Konkan stretch, how do you relate Remo Fernandes with Yakshagana? Whatever, the popular rock and fusion singer from the erstwhile Portugese colony has of late begun lending his aesthetics to the traditional dance-drama that has roots in southern Karnataka.
So, no dropping your jaws next time you stumble upon a show of this pre-classical Dravidian theatre and sense that its background score has an unmistakable outlandish touch to it. It’s just one of the several new ways the poor Yakshagana artiste is trying in order to survive the odds his centuries-old art form is facing in an era of increasing modernity.
Well, to hear from the man who sought to find a new-age Yaksha in the gana part of his art, let us turn to K Krishnamurthy Thunga. “Remo’s musical scores from a Goan tribal song has been a successful experiment. It has widened the platform of the theatre, and added to its vocabulary,” says Thunga, who runs Yaksha Kala Academy.
Clearly, the social mapping at cultural events is changing. Today, you have Yakshagana troupes not just in Canara; the state capital Bangalore itself has half-a-dozen of them. Closer to its moorings, in and around Udupi, 30-odd troupes keep this art alive. Plus those in the districts of Shimoga, Uttara and Dakshina Kannada, and even northern Kerala’s Kasargod.
True, these may total a decent number, but the precariousness of their existence is evident. A chunk of the artistes are semi-literate, paid paltry sums and are made to carry forth the legacy for reasons that are anything by inspiring. Its seasonal nature is another deterrent, as Yakshagana is hosted outdoors between November and May. The shows come to a grinding halt by the onset of monsoons in the coastal towns of Uttara and Dakshina Kannada, where Yakshagana is a way of life.
All these have prompted many among them to innovate and tune their presentations to present-day tastes. That way, the experiments in Yakshagana these days are not confined to corporate shows held in star hotels. They are even breaking barriers beyond: even the all-night shows held outdoors have become part of the trend.
It’s lately that the art form has witnessed a flurry of changes. “This art,” notes Srinivas Sasthan, a member of the Yakshagana Academy, “should have a certified degree course complete with scholarships. It would help the students learn the form and maintain a uniform standard. After the course, they can maybe teach in schools.” The academy is planning to send a draft proposal to the state government.
The art form is no more the male bastion it used to be. If it was men who performed female roles in the days of yore, the gender equations have changed: today, even women do male roles. Of late, there are females who don roles of demons like the Lankan king Ravana. Sasthan himself has been instrumental in this reversal of roles. He believes in providing equal opportunities for women in his All Women’s Troupe, headed by his wife Gowri. Women have brought out the essence of vibrant characters like Dushasana, Drona, Bhishma, Kamsa and Bhima in full grandeur.
What’s more, the troupe is into creating awareness among villagers on social issues — of course, using their art as the medium. They have for a while now been staging shows on AIDS, girl child and literacy. “The remuneration depends on whether it’s a solo or group performance, but on an average the troupe earns Rs 10,000-Rs 15,000 per show,” he reveals.
These days, recession has affected, well, Yakshagana too. Rues Thunga: “I generally get invitations for quite a few solo corporate shows in five-star ambience, but this year the demand has reduced.” He points out that presentations at such elitist venues have encouraged Thunga to encapsulate some shows to as short as five minutes. Arguably, not ideal for the aesthetics of the art, but a challenging task nonetheless.
It’s just not the stage conduct that’s challenging about Yakshagana. The attractiveness of the costumes apart, their maintenance is a difficult undertaking. For one, each costumes has four to five parts to it — each of them made of wood, on which the zari costume is stitched. None of these go well with the hot humid conditions where they have to survive. “Transporting them to the venues without insurance or security is a big risk,” points out K Mohan who trains his daughters and students under his Yakshadegula banner.
There are of course ticketed shows, ones that are held in tent theatres whose artistes travel along Karnataka’s coastal belt to perform during as many as 180 to 200 nights spread across six months. They rake in some moolah, but off-season the artistes have still to take to occupations like agriculture for a living. “The only saving grace,” shrugs Mohan, “is that artistes are sought after when devotees fulfil a vow. Temple authorities bring artistes to mark the devotee’s thanksgiving gesture. They are booked in advance and sometimes, the waiting period is for ten years.”
Perhaps therein lies the irony. The Yakshagana artistes are seen as vehicles to appease gods — but that’s only when there’s a personal profit behind it. As a community that unveils certain aesthetics in narrating mythological stories, they still fail to command respect.
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