Ratan Thiyam, a true alchemist of theatre

Famous playwright and theatre director Ratan Thiyam's passing away at the age of 77 is a huge loss for the world of theatre.

He was not merely a director; he was a revolutionary force, a maestro who redefined the very fabric of Indian theatre. Born in the vibrant land of Manipur, Thiyam was a true alchemist of the stage, blending the rich traditions of his culture with contemporary narratives that questioned and challenged the status quo.

He was a year senior to me at National School of Drama and his presence was noticeable amongst the school’s motley gang. Everyone wooed him as he carried not only the history of Manipur in his veins, but was also a magnetic presence, commanding respect and admiration. His role in both realistic and stylised plays was marked by intensity and rigour.

I observed with curiosity as a student that most of his female classmates knew his weakness for food and were aware of the dictum : the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. In the dormitory, a kerosene stove was flickering and I was curious ‘what’s cooking’. Thiyam’s favourite mattar- paneer was being made and the aroma of cardamoms and cloves flavoured the dormitory. I was envious and hoped that I would get a spoonful to taste.

During that period at the NSD in 1974 when I was in 2nd year and he in the third year, Dr Shivram Karanth, Kannada writer and an exponent of Yakshagana came to the NSD to direct Bheeshma Vijaya with the students. Thiyam, an acting student, was named the main lead as his lithe body and a background in music and dance gave his performance an edge over the other participants. His role as Bheeshma in Bheeshma Vijaya was nothing short of epic, embodying grandeur with an intensity that left audiences breathless.

His movement skills were noticeable as it was part of his legacy. His father was a respected guru of classical dance and his mother was a renowned dancer, indicating a family deeply rooted in the arts.

His journey as a professional started in Imphal, where he founded the Chorus Repertory Theatre in 1976, a receptacle for creativity that birthed groundbreaking works like Chakravyuha and Uttar Priyadarshi.

Each production was a visceral experience that demanded audiences not just to watch but to feel, to engage, to confront the raw truths of existence. Thiyam’s refusal to use subtitles was a radical declaration: art transcends language, and emotion knows no barriers. Thiyam’s work was a fierce assertion of cultural identity, a challenge to the marginalisation of the Northeast narratives on the Indian stage.

His theatre was a battleground where the past clashed with the present, where the struggles of Manipur echoed through the ages. Adaptation like Lengshonnei, inspired by Jean Anouilh’s Antigone, was not just a retelling; it was an urgent cry from a land grappling with conflict, identity and resilience.

I recall inviting Uttar Priyadarshni to Chandigarh in 1997, as the city had heard about Thiyam but not seen his work. It was made possible as I was then heading the Sangeet Natak Akademi and really wished the city to experience his staggering visuals that were both aesthetical and philosophically powerful.

The buzz around the play had made the Tagore Theatre chock-full with audiences spilling on the aisles.

Uttar Priyadarshni is a theatrical adaptation inspired by the life and transformation of Emperor Ashoka, known for his conversion to Buddhism after witnessing the horrors of war.

His journey from violence to enlightenment is the central motif of the play. It was more of a symbolic approach rather than a historical retelling. The sequence of the golden elephant moving from the back of the stage to the centre had the audience applauding. It was a monumental tableau of epic dimension.

Thiyam was not just a creator; he was a cultural warrior, decolonising Indian theatre and rooting it in indigenous traditions.

His stylised movements, inspired by Manipuri and Asian forms from Noh and Kabuki theatre, redefined the language of performance. Yet, in his quest for visual spectacle, there was always a risk of alienating those unfamiliar with his cultural roots.

Beyond the stage, Thiyam was a man of quirks and charm. I fondly recall sharing a glass of champagne in a hotel room at Avignon in France, where he pulled out a potli from the recesses of his briefcase. An onion wrapped in a piece of cloth, along with some namkeen, started a passionate debate extolling the virtues of Indian onions over French ones. A similar experience was revealed in Perth where a bottle of Old Monk was preferred over the various single malts available. This revealed the playful, human side of this theatrical titan.

In 2016, we performed our play Naga Mandala at his black box theatre in Imphal, a wonderfully equipped theatre space where art and life intertwined seamlessly.

Situated on the outskirts of Imphal, Manipur has actors who not only reside there but also till land, engage in farming and do agricultural work along with acting.

This seems to underscore Thiyam’s philosophy that suggests a deep connection to the land, culture and community.

The physical isolation was deliberate, as it allowed his artistes a focussed existence, cut off from the hustle and bustle of city life. Thiyam believed that art was not a separate entity but a vital part of existence.

His legacy is a powerful reminder that theatre is a living, breathing force, capable of igniting change and fostering connection. His departure leaves an indelible void, but his spirit will continue to inspire and challenge future generation of artistes to push boundaries and embrace the transformative power of storytelling.

Neelam Mansingh Chowdhry is a theatre director.