'Raktarakhshas'

I was probably in my 5^th standard, when I first remember having seen a play. It was organized by a Malayalee organization ‘kairali’ as part of their Onam celebrations in Mumbai. My parents, big-time fans of kadhikan Sambasivan could not take me to his ‘kadhaprasangam’, so a play came in like compensation.

I sat there, among the crowd, watching the people transforming into characters, the backdrop changing from that of the inside of a ‘tharavaadu’ to that of the outside ‘vayal’. Though I could not understand most of the dialogues, I was amazed by the dresses worn and the backdrops which kept changing.

Then when I was back in Kerala, I had gone for a play which was on air at our village temple. Since I was way too sleepy, all the more because the backdrop remained stationary, I compelled my parents to head back home.

These are the only stints I had with a stage play. 2 weeks back when a popular FM radio station announced that there was a 30 yr old play running in the city, nostalgia compelled me to take the decision that I would be one among the spectators.

So off I went, to the manjaalikulam ground, to watch ‘raktarakshas’, a horror flick. I was surprised by the number of people who had turned up, considering that our mediocre movies and the monotonous shows on television were keeping them busy for quite some time. I took a ticket for the front row, and there I was in the dark theatre, filled with the smell and smoke of frankincense.  The cardboard pillars on the stage parted ways to open the drama to about 100 spectators.

Raktarakshas would not be raktarakshas, if not for the yakshi, reminding one of the era which survived on vampire flicks.  But I was here primarily to see the changing backdrops. So there it was. Handdrawn perspectives, ranging from that of a house to a forest to that of a garden. I could not help myself from appreciating the work that went into entertaining the mass 30 years back. Of an art that had lost its value to the movies and television shows. Of an expression that was unconsciously rooted in every Malayalee’s nostalgia.