Latest news with #RatanThiyam
The Wire
20 hours ago
- Entertainment
- The Wire
The Theatre of Ratan Thiyam: Profound Beauty on the Modern Stage
I remember Ratan Thiyam, almost always dressed in black, performing an elaborate curtain call along with his actors at the end of his show. Together they would all go down on their knees and touch their foreheads to the stageboards so as to thank the audience for coming to the performance. The grace of this gesture in some sense encoded the essence of Ratan's theatre work – its formal rigour and its elegance as it walked the fine line between performance and secular ritual for, and of, the modern stage. One the most celebrated theatre makers of India, Ratan Thiyam, who passed on July 23, 2025, in Imphal at the age of 77, was in command of many roles at one and the same time throughout his life. He was a theatre director of brilliance, but was also a writer and a poet, a theatre teacher, a guru, a distinguished organiser and a leader – heading institutions like the National School of Drama as its Director (1987–88) and as its Chairperson (2013–17), while creatively shaping the artistic style of the renowned Chorus Repertory Company that has performed across India and the world to great acclaim for more than four decades. However, let me begin this tribute to Ratan by taking a step sideways. It is said that there is a philosophical connection between landscape artists, horticulturalists and theatre makers. All of them understand the effects of a slant of light, the depth of shadow, grades of colour, chiaroscuro, and the inter-relationships, by placement, between nature, humans and objects. I had the occasion several years ago to visit the Chorus Repertory Company, located at the edges of Imphal city, and I vividly remember the nearly three-acre site: the neatly trimmed hedges, the small pond, the clusters of trees with blossoming vines wrapped around their trunks, the flower beds, the vegetable patch, and the gravelly pathways connecting one part to another. The vegetables harvested from the fields fed everyone who lived on site including Ratan. He lovingly introduced the garden, the water body and the plants, many of which he had planted himself. Also read: Ratan Thiyam, the Risks He Took and the Future of Indian Theatre Working the land was a part of the daily routine set up several decades before the connections between agricultural activity and theatre practice had come into focus, as they have done now. Apart from this there was, and still is, another routine in place – of practising movement, breath, vocalisation, song and music derived from the vocabularies of Manipuri dance traditions, martial arts and ritual practices. This training happened in a cluster of buildings set amidst the landscape, that included an exhibition space, a rehearsal space, and a blackbox theatre equipped with light and sound systems. Away from the noise of the city, the Chorus Repertory as imagined by Ratan functions as a sort of ashram, where skill is transferred to the shishya – student – on a daily and continual basis, a mode of transmission different from the segmented time-tables of 'modern' theatre training institutes. But back to the theatre maker and the horticulturalist, and their understanding of atmosphere – which is objective and subjective, material and non-material, at the same time; something that you can breathe in and recognise it to be joy or peace or melancholy for instance, but not know what it is that you have drawn into your lungs. Ratan's use of light and shadow in theatre is unparalleled. He was able to create degrees of darkness on the stage – experienced as sometimes dense and sometimes diffuse with a precision that requires an exact understanding of the properties of lighting apparatus. At one moment the lights dimmed so low that you might see nothing but the glint of sequins on the potloi (the structured skirt worn by Manipuri dancers) as a group of performers glide across the stage; at another moment you might see a slash of light illuminate fingers wrists and upper arms flickering against the cyclorama – leaves, insects or distress signals from a drowning chorus? From the dark upstage you might see a tall, white fabric umbrella, held firmly by an actor, float downstage, to form a halo ─ marking a passage to the heavens? The tumultuous clang and flash of hand-held gongs deafen and blind the spectators as the chakravyuh gains the velocity of a tornado in a circle of red beams. And who can forget the often-cited image of an elephant materialising on stage as if in a dream, in his memorable production of Agyeya's Uttarapriyadarshi! These are stage effects that cause the heart to pound. Almost nobody understood the magic of the image in theatre better than Ratan Thiyam. And almost nobody used the proscenium arch theatre, also known as the picture-frame stage, better than him. The picture-frame stage, brought to India by the British to house their theatricals, has given rise to much debate. The proscenium, as we know, is the architectural frame that edges the opening of the stage. The major experiential convention it produces is a play of dark and light; the stage being illumined while the audience is in darkness is as much an emotional experience as it is material. What effect does such architectural framing have on traditional forms and their grammars? How does it change our viewing habits and our expectations? Ratan Thiyam's work, performed primarily in the proscenium, disturbs assumptions and generates a contradiction. Even when he remodelled traditional grammars, and reshaped gestures drawn from Manipuri martial arts and dance forms so as to align them with the enclosing edges of the frame, Ratan produced performances that have often been understood as, or even become synonymous with, Indian theatre. A description that we must inflect, gloss and interrogate by keeping his remodelling, his refashioning of form stance and music in mind. Ratan Thiyam's luminous stage work exceeds description; what stays in our memory is his love for the craft of theatre, and the beauty it can produce. It reminds us that meaning-making in theatre is not by word alone but by all the elements that make up the performance – from minutiae such as glinting sequins and flying tassels on costume, to the voluminosity of shadowed tableaus and grand battles choreographed to thunderous percussion that judder the very foundations of the auditorium. Our homage to Ratan Thiyam: the person who ignited the spell of material fiction that is theatre; the one whose aesthetic and pedagogical imagination enhanced the discourse of modern Indian theatre.
Economic Times
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Economic Times
The Ratan of Indian Theatre: Ratan Thiyam harnessed his spectacular stage to confront modern chaos and shape a just society
Ratan Thiyam, a prominent figure in Indian theatre, has passed away. He was an institution and a visionary artist. Thiyam founded the Chorus Repertory Theatre in Manipur. He used theatre for social reflection. His work was rooted in the Natyashastra. He served as director and chairperson of the National School of Drama. Thiyam's plays addressed social issues. Tired of too many ads? Remove Ads MANIPUR'S OWN CHORUS Tired of too many ads? Remove Ads Uttar Priyadarshi is one of Thiyam's acclaimed productions Tired of too many ads? Remove Ads (Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this column are that of the writer. The facts and opinions expressed here do not reflect the views of .) When a friend called to inform me that Ratan Thiyam was no more, I was shocked and devastated. He wasn't just a stalwart of the Indian theatre , he was an institution in himself. With his passing, I have lost a fellow traveller.I first met Thiyam in the late 1980s. Over the years, our paths crossed many times, both in Guwahati and Delhi. Even a brief interaction with him was profoundly enriching. I now carry a regret: despite his many invitations, I never made it to Imphal to witness his work at its conversations were always centred around art, culture and the society in which we live. We rarely spoke of personal matters — it was always about the larger canvas. One area we deeply connected on was the Natyashastra of sage Bharata, the ancient and powerful treatise on performing arts, often revered as the fifth theatrical work was deeply rooted in the Natyashastra. Having drawn on the same theories in my own films, I felt an immediate creative kinship with him. As outlined in that ancient text, human emotions are classified into nine fundamental compartments — the nava rasa. Thiyam not only embodied this ancient science in his plays but also used it extensively in training his in 1948, Thiyam graduated from the National School of Drama (NSD), Delhi, where he later served as its director (198788) and eventually as chairperson (2013-17). He was the founder-director of the Chorus Repertory Theatre that he established in his home state of Manipur, which remained his primary creative base.A visionary artist, Thiyam masterfully used theatre as a tool for social reflection and transformation, confronting the chaos of modern life through his craft. For long, Manipur has had a rich cultural legacy, and Thiyam not only preserved it but elevated it to national and global prominence. That he was also an accomplished painter is hardly surprising—true cultural stalwarts often express their versatility in multiple art many ways, Thiyam filled a long cultural void in the Northeast and beyond, leaving behind a legacy that continues to our society, good and evil forces constantly fight with one another. Thiyam understood that the role of an artist is not neutral — it is to stand firmly with the forces of good and contribute to building a just and healthy society. Through his plays, he consistently sought to confront and expose the devilish elements in our social fabric. His work served as a moral compass, urging reflection and reform. It is imperative that future artists carry forward this legacy of socially conscious his most celebrated productions are Uttar Priyadarshi , Chakravyuha , Andha Yug and Ritusamhara — each a testament to his creative mastery and ethical was a pioneer of the 'theatre of roots' movement. His plays were deeply grounded in Indian cultural traditions, particularly those of his home state, Manipur, and the broader Northeast region. It was his profound mastery of the Natyashastra that enabled him to write and direct plays drawing from ancient Indian theatrical traditions, infusing them with present like the legendary Assamese singer Bhupen Hazarika, Thiyam too saw art as a bridge — a powerful medium to foster a healthier and harmonious society. Whether or not he fully succeeded in his lifetime is secondary; what truly matters is that he committed himself, relentlessly, to the struggle for an ideal a time when societal values have steadily degraded, Thiyam stood as a cultural warrior, fighting valiantly to counter that erosion through the power of performing legacy will endure for generations. As we bid farewell to this stalwart of Indian theatre, we are reminded that true artists never die—they live on through their work, their vision, and most importantly, the ideals they leave behind. Yes, the stage feels dimmer without the doyen, but his light will continue to guide generations to writer is a National Award-winning filmmaker (As told to Shantanu Nandan Sharma)
Time of India
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Time of India
The Ratan of Indian Theatre: Ratan Thiyam harnessed his spectacular stage to confront modern chaos and shape a just society
When a friend called to inform me that Ratan Thiyam was no more, I was shocked and devastated. He wasn't just a stalwart of the Indian theatre , he was an institution in himself. With his passing, I have lost a fellow traveller. I first met Thiyam in the late 1980s. Over the years, our paths crossed many times, both in Guwahati and Delhi. Even a brief interaction with him was profoundly enriching. I now carry a regret: despite his many invitations, I never made it to Imphal to witness his work at its source. Explore courses from Top Institutes in Please select course: Select a Course Category PGDM Data Science others Leadership Public Policy Management Technology Data Analytics Finance Project Management Cybersecurity Digital Marketing Others Degree Data Science MBA Design Thinking healthcare CXO Product Management MCA Healthcare Artificial Intelligence Operations Management Skills you'll gain: Financial Analysis & Decision Making Quantitative & Analytical Skills Organizational Management & Leadership Innovation & Entrepreneurship Duration: 24 Months IMI Delhi Post Graduate Diploma in Management (Online) Starts on Sep 1, 2024 Get Details Our conversations were always centred around art, culture and the society in which we live. We rarely spoke of personal matters — it was always about the larger canvas. One area we deeply connected on was the Natyashastra of sage Bharata, the ancient and powerful treatise on performing arts, often revered as the fifth Veda. by Taboola by Taboola Sponsored Links Sponsored Links Promoted Links Promoted Links You May Like MIT Research Says This Is The Leading Cause Of Senior Fatigue AdvancedBionutritionals Read More Thiyam's theatrical work was deeply rooted in the Natyashastra. Having drawn on the same theories in my own films, I felt an immediate creative kinship with him. As outlined in that ancient text, human emotions are classified into nine fundamental compartments — the nava rasa. Thiyam not only embodied this ancient science in his plays but also used it extensively in training his disciples. MANIPUR'S OWN CHORUS Born in 1948, Thiyam graduated from the National School of Drama (NSD), Delhi, where he later served as its director (198788) and eventually as chairperson (2013-17). He was the founder-director of the Chorus Repertory Theatre that he established in his home state of Manipur, which remained his primary creative base. Live Events Getty Images Uttar Priyadarshi is one of Thiyam's acclaimed productions A visionary artist, Thiyam masterfully used theatre as a tool for social reflection and transformation, confronting the chaos of modern life through his craft. For long, Manipur has had a rich cultural legacy, and Thiyam not only preserved it but elevated it to national and global prominence. That he was also an accomplished painter is hardly surprising—true cultural stalwarts often express their versatility in multiple art forms. In many ways, Thiyam filled a long cultural void in the Northeast and beyond, leaving behind a legacy that continues to inspire. In our society, good and evil forces constantly fight with one another. Thiyam understood that the role of an artist is not neutral — it is to stand firmly with the forces of good and contribute to building a just and healthy society. Through his plays, he consistently sought to confront and expose the devilish elements in our social fabric. His work served as a moral compass, urging reflection and reform. It is imperative that future artists carry forward this legacy of socially conscious creativity. Among his most celebrated productions are Uttar Priyadarshi , Chakravyuha , Andha Yug and Ritusamhara — each a testament to his creative mastery and ethical vision. He was a pioneer of the 'theatre of roots' movement. His plays were deeply grounded in Indian cultural traditions, particularly those of his home state, Manipur, and the broader Northeast region. It was his profound mastery of the Natyashastra that enabled him to write and direct plays drawing from ancient Indian theatrical traditions, infusing them with present themes. Much like the legendary Assamese singer Bhupen Hazarika, Thiyam too saw art as a bridge — a powerful medium to foster a healthier and harmonious society. Whether or not he fully succeeded in his lifetime is secondary; what truly matters is that he committed himself, relentlessly, to the struggle for an ideal world. At a time when societal values have steadily degraded, Thiyam stood as a cultural warrior, fighting valiantly to counter that erosion through the power of performing arts. Thiyam's legacy will endure for generations. As we bid farewell to this stalwart of Indian theatre, we are reminded that true artists never die—they live on through their work, their vision, and most importantly, the ideals they leave behind. Yes, the stage feels dimmer without the doyen, but his light will continue to guide generations to come. The writer is a National Award-winning filmmaker (As told to Shantanu Nandan Sharma)
Hindustan Times
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
The world was his stage, and he played many parts
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.
New Indian Express
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- New Indian Express
Manipur, his tortured, mesmerising muse
The one engagement of the many that I had with Ratan Thiyam that had history revolving around it was on October 30, 1984. I recall sitting with Ratan at a shoddy restaurant in Bhubaneswar, as we together translated into English his song 'Dharamkshetra Kurukshetra', sung at the close of the prologue by the flagbearers in his play Chakravyuha, now considered a classic of modern Indian theatre. The play was scheduled to be staged the next evening at an East Zone Theatre Festival sponsored by the Sangeet Natak Akademi. I was part of a national jury asked to select from the lot one play, or maybe a couple at the most, for a national festival of young directors to be held at New Delhi a few months later. The performance needed a synopsis in English for the viewers, none of whom knew a word of Meiteilon (or Manipuri), a language that belongs to the Tibeto-Burman group and is radically different from the languages in the Indian mainstream. What else was radically different? The visuals: Ratan was an excellent painter and designer in his own right. The soundscape: with the dominance of cymbals, conch shells, and the single-string Manipuri lute pena. The rich dance movements: the delicate, slow movements of the Vaishnava raasa woven together (and clashing at the same time) with the rhythmed violence of the Kuki-Zo martial practices. This complex presentation mode also told a complex story, reinterpreting the Hindu epic in a way that could not be conveyed in a summary of tight, compressed verbal text. Ratan had suggested that a translation of that one song, sung by the flagbearers in a war scene, could convey something of the complexity of meaning—for, at the end of it all, the play bodied forth and meant Manipur, as it was then (and worse now).
