Aayna

Author

Pratishtha Pandya

Editor

Binaifer Bharucha

Photo Editor

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He stayed wide awake the whole night. Barely 15 years old, he was mesmerized by what he saw on Mariyamman Koil Street of Anumandai village in Tamil Nadu. “They were all in heavily decorated costumes, shining crowns, gilded ornaments, beautiful colours, bright makeup. They sang, danced and acted, with everyone looking at them in awe. The thathas and pathis (grandfathers and grandmothers) in the audience were folding their palms in a prayer mudra as if they were in front of some God. It was funny,” says 70-year-old Veeraragavan remembering his young days.The night he saw Therukoothu, a street theatre form, as the word literally means, for the very first time is etched vividly in the mind of this veteran artiste. “I couldn’t eat or sleep. Something inside me kept saying, ‘I want to be with them. I wanted to do just what they were doing’,” he says. He was in Class 6 then, but his future was decided. With no formal training in music, dance, or storytelling, he quit schooling and joined a Therukoothu troupe.His parents, agricultural labourers from the Vanniyar community listed as OBCs in the state, did not object. “We didn’t earn much, but I was excited to learn,” he recalls. “They gave me small tasks at first.” Eventually, Veeraragavan landed his first role as Duryodhana in a Mahabharata-based performance, practicing his lines day and night. “I was not nervous at all, in fact, I was very excited,” he says, the smile and pride on his face not faded by the years gone by.Veeraraghavan devoted himself not only to learning the art but also to understanding the epics on which the performances were based. He read extensively, diving into puranic Tamil texts like Nool Agarathi, Periya Puranam, and Bharatham to build his knowledge.Until the late ‘90s he earned barely 5 t0 10 rupees for a show. “We had shows almost all year round, 250 days of doing just this,” he says with a smile. The cost of the performance was met by the village panchayat and donations from the villagers. “The audience also gave money out of love for the performance, thinking it was for the Gods,” he adds. People didn't earn much, he says, it was all about their passion.

After a decade of performing with various troupes, in the year 2000, Veeraragavan decided to form his own group named after Lord Ganesha – Siddhi Vinayagar Nagada Sabha. They started rehearsing in empty fields and vacant spaces. The first performance in their village, although free of cost, was a hit.“It was difficult to find a big group of people who were really interested and committed to this. This is fun to watch but to perform well you need to practice, you cannot be relaxed. It was just the four of us doing it then. It took time, but we are here now with a big team," Veeraragavan says. He has been performing Therukoothu for over five decades now, despite his advancing age and changing times. His own group, now with 17 members in all, has survived for two and a half decades.The popularity of the Therukoothu has declined, and Veeraragavan himself has tried other things, like trying his luck into Tamil cinema, or selling vegetables when the performances are not in demand. Caste is yet another big barrier, says E. Karthick, the youngest member of the troupe. He is from the Pariyan community, listed as Scheduled Caste in the state. “We don’t have access to films or the right channels [for our talents]. But I love performing. If not here, then where?” he asks. After 13 years in it, Karthick still takes up construction labour when he is not on stage. “Everyone has to do something else to survive,” says Veeraragavan. His eldest son, the only one of his five children who continues to perform, also runs a small welding and printing business on the side.

Newcomers in Therukoothu may make 500 rupees for a performance. An experienced artiste can earn up to 1,000- 2,000 as and when shows come. The money from Therukoothu performances is no longer enough to sustain a family. The group today makes anything between Rs. 20,000-25,000 when they are invited on special festive occasions. The money gets divided among the 17 members based on their seniority and experience. All artistes do some wage labour work at construction sites, or railway stations, or on the fields at other times.There is no sustained support for such arts from the government. The schemes that exist for promotion of dying art forms remain largely on paper. And yes, there is an occasional award that comes their way, as in the case of Veeraragavan in 2023. The Villupuram district awarded him the Kalai Mudhumani prize of Rs. 20,000 in recognition of his contributions to Therukoothu. A small but meaningful acknowledgment amid the larger environment of apathy and indifference from both the state and the public at large.“Those times were different,” Veeraragavan says, reflecting on the days when audiences packed the village streets. Today, he performs for smaller crowds, but his dedication to his art is steadfast. “I will do this till my last breath, honestly.”

The author would like to thank M. Palani Kumar for his guidance and help with the photographs. She would also like to thank Karthikeyan K for his support.

Streets for stage, performance for passion

వీధులే వేదికగా అభిరుచి నిండిన ప్రదర్శనలు

શેરી એટલે રંગમંચ, કળા એટલે જીવન 

गायब होत कला के बचावे में लागल जुनूनी कलाकार

ରାସ୍ତାକୁ ମଞ୍ଚରେ ପରିଣତ କରିଥିବା ଉତ୍ସାହୀ କଳାକାର

மேடைகளாக தெருக்கள், விருப்பத்துக்கென நாடகங்கள்

ਜਦੋਂ ਗਲ਼ੀ ਹੀ ਮੰਚ ਹੋਵੇ ਤੇ ਅੰਦਰ ਮਘਦਾ ਜੋਸ਼ ਹੀ ਅਦਾਕਾਰੀ

ಅಭಿನಯದ ಉತ್ಸಾಹಕ್ಕೆ ಬೀದಿಯೇ ವೇದಿಕೆ

വേദിക്ക് തെരുവുകൾ, സാഫല്യത്തിന് അഭിനയം

सड़क मंच है, नाटक है जीवन

প্রাণের টানে রাস্তা হল অভিনয়ের মঞ্চ

বাটেই মঞ্চ: ঔদাসীন্যই ম্লান পেলাব পৰা নাই শিল্পীৰ ধাউতি 

Villupuram

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Streets for stage, performance for passion

In the face of public apathy, absence of sustained state support, and changing ideas of entertainment, young and old Therukoothu artistes in Tamil Nadu’s Villupuram struggle to keep their passion alive

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