The world was his stage, and he played many parts

Hindustan Times

3 days ago

Ratan Thiyam, the legendary Indian playwright and theatre director who passed away earlier this week, was more than just a master craftsman of the stage; he was a profound philosopher who consistently challenged the prevailing notions of modernity in theatre and, by extension, in human existence. Born in Imphal, Manipur, in 1948, Thiyam emerged from a region steeped in rich martial, ritualistic, and storytelling traditions. His journey, from studying at the National School of Drama in Delhi to returning to his roots to establish the Chorus Repertory Theatre in 1976, was a deliberate act of questioning the western-centric theatrical paradigms that often dominated the discourse of 'modern' theatre. This stance places him among a global cohort of visionary theatre makers, including Japan's Yukio Ninagawa, Nigeria's Wole Soyinka, and his own great Indian contemporaries, Neelam Mansingh Chaudhuri and Heisnam Kanhailal, who similarly interrogated modernity by drawing deeply from their indigenous cultural wellsprings.
I had the great opportunity to see many of his productions over the years, and much like many other theatre makers of my generation, his work was always the gold standard for how far the limits of one's art could be pushed and how interrogatively beautiful one's questions to oneself and one's society could be. Thiyam's critique of modernity was not a rejection of progress outright, but rather a nuanced interrogation of its often-unseen costs: The erosion of cultural identity, the spiritual vacuum created by material pursuits, and the disconnect from nature and ancestral wisdom. He believed that true modernity lay not in blind imitation of western forms, but in a deep engagement with one's cultural heritage, allowing it to inform and enrich contemporary expression. This philosophy became the cornerstone of the Theatre of Roots movement, of which he was a leading figure, echoing the cultural rootedness globally seen in Soyinka's commitment to Yoruba traditions or Ninagawa's embrace of Kabuki and Noh.
It is not a coincidence that at a time when India had been a free country for three decades and the world wars had been three decades past, committed artists such as Thiyam, around the world, were the frontrunners in questioning both the form and content that shaped the lives of humanity. In that sense, Thiyam was a global luminary not merely because of how widely his theatre was seen but more importantly for how significantly he was part of a worldwide movement of interrogating the question of modernity, led by the brightest minds in the theatre and arts.
For our own contemporary practice, there is often a misunderstanding that the contemporary is synonymous with the modern; Thiyam is a guiding light who illuminates radical and modern ideas through classics, often revealing the orthodoxies of many modern telling. His theatrical language was a direct manifestation of this tension between modernity and tradition, deeply intertwined with a distinctive visual culture. In an era where theatre often leaned towards naturalism and dialogue-heavy narratives, Thiyam embraced silence, ritual, and a powerful visual vocabulary. His productions were characterised by the evocative use of light, shadow, and music, minimal yet symbolic props, and the incorporation of indigenous Manipuri martial arts like Thang-Ta.
One of Thiyam's most celebrated works, Chakravyuh (1984), based on an episode from the Mahabharata, is a searing indictment of war and the cyclical nature of violence, themes that are acutely relevant in the modern world. Similarly, Andha Yug (The Blind Age), adapted from Dharamvir Bharati's Hindi verse play, explored the moral collapse and spiritual reckoning in the aftermath of the Mahabharata war. Staged famously in an open-air performance in Tonga, Japan, on the eve of the Hiroshima atomic holocaust anniversary, the play became a poignant commentary on humanity's capacity for self-destruction in the modern age. Thiyam's direction amplified the existential angst and the profound sense of loss, using stark imagery and a powerful chorus to convey the spiritual barrenness that often accompanies unchecked 'progress'.
His Manipur trilogy, particularly Wahoudok (Prologue), directly addressed the impact of modernisation on traditional values and ecological balance. In this play, Thiyam explored ancient Meitei creation myths, juxtaposing them with the perceived threats posed by contemporary civilisation. He lamented the gradual cultural and ecological degradation of his native land, advocating for a return to the traditional reverence for nature and spiritual ecology.
Thiyam's adaptations of western classics, such as Sophocles's Antigone (retitled Lengshonnei) and Shakespeare's Macbeth, further exemplify his unique approach. Instead of merely transplanting these plays onto an Indian stage, he 'cooked foreign ideas in a Manipuri kitchen', as he famously put it. He reinterpreted these universal narratives through the lens of Meitei culture, infusing them with local philosophical and performative traditions. This act of localisation was a powerful statement against the cultural homogenisation often associated with globalisation and a testament to the enduring relevance of indigenous forms. By rooting these stories deeply in his own cultural context, he demonstrated that universality is achieved not through imitation, but through profound authenticity.
Beyond his artistic endeavours, Thiyam was a figure of significant political importance, using his art as a potent form of social commentary and protest. He was unafraid to speak up against policies and politics that threatened the cultural or human fabric of his region, particularly during times of ethnic unrest in Manipur. His theatre became a vehicle for expressing the pain and struggles of his people, often wrapping his protest in metaphors of epic proportions.
A testament to his conviction, Thiyam famously returned his Padma Shri award in 2001 in protest against the central government's extension of the territorial limits of the ceasefire with the
National Socialist Council of Nagaland (Isak-Muivah) and the violent impacts of this action on Manipur; an act that underscored his unwavering artistic integrity and moral courage. For Thiyam, theatre was not confined to proscenium boundaries; it was a living discourse that interrogated power, injustice, and the erosion of values.
The image of Ratan Thiyam that will always be etched in my mind is of him bowing on his knees in front of the audience, along with his company at the end of every performance, and the entire audience standing up not just for a standing ovation, but to acknowledge the theatrical irony, that a god had bowed in front of his subjects. That we now knew, that we would never leave the theatre the way we entered it. That before and after watching a Chorus Repertory performance, one can never think about being modern and embracing tradition, in the same way, ever again.
Abhishek Majumdar is a playwright and theatre director. He is the artistic director of Nalanda Arts Studio, Bengaluru, and programme head of the Theater Programme at New York University in Abu Dhabi. The views expressed are personal.