P.C. Ramakrishna, veteran theatre actor and director, recounts to Saritha Rao Rayachoti some of the high points of his 50-year association with English Theatre.
If performing
Carnatic music professionally had been more remunerative, P.C. Ramakrishna
would perhaps be better known today for his prowess on the Mridangam. In the
1960s, faced with the choice of continuing to play the instrument or taking the
first steps towards a corporate career, Ramakrishna chose the latter. However,
what has remained unchanged over the last 50 years is his commitment to his true
calling - theatre.
Ramakrishna is
part of The Madras Players, the oldest running English theatre group in India,
that itself turns 60 in 2015. This span of time, we realise, parallels perhaps the
very growth of English Theatre in the country.
“Initially, The
Madras Players produced plays written by English, American, Russian and European
writers.” recounts Ramakrishna, “But since the 1970s, four Indian playwrights
emerged, who changed forever, the metier - Badal Sircar, Mohan Rakesh, Vijay
Tendulkar and Girish Karnad. We enacted their plays translated to English back
then, but today many of our plays are written in English, including from
Chennai, writers like Sabita Radhakrishna, Chetan Shan, Timeri Murari and
Shreekumar Varma.”
Ramakrishna has
been an integral part of productions such as Land of the Free, Silence! The
Court is in Session, Rural Phantasy (based on Kalki’s Kanayazhiyin Kanavu),
Meghadootam, Dance Like A Man, Mangalam and more recently, Honour, which he
directed. He has played innumerable characters, from the titular role in his
first play, The Amazing Mr. Scuttleboom to his most recent enactment of Mr.
Whymper in the Peter Hall adaptation of Animal Farm.
“In 1960 we had
50 to 60 people in the audience for English plays with Indian themes. Today we
have 3 shows running at full house. The audience’s expectations of a theatre
experience have also grown. Take for instance, our production of Mike Cullen’s Anna
Weiss in 2000.”
The play on the
subject of False Memory Syndrome is about a therapist whose young patient, in
the midst of therapy, remembers being sexually molested by her father.
Ramakrishna recalls,
“The subject was very intense. We rehearsed on camera because the actors
playing the two women were not comfortable with onlookers. I found it traumatic
to work on this play and return home to two teenage daughters. At the end of
the performance, the audience stayed in their seats for almost 20 minutes, reluctant
to leave without an interaction on the subject. The therapist, Dr. Vijay
Nagaswami, who was part of the audience, spent some time answering the audience’s
questions.”
Sivasankari’s
Karunai Kolai was conceived as an English play by Ramakrishna and rendered an
ending different from the original with the author’s permission. “Mercy is a
monologue I directed in 2005, about a couple who are very devoted to each other.
The play features the predicament of the husband, as his wife shows no signs of
recovering from coma following a mishap. I remember the audience opinion being clearly
divided on the ending. The men predominantly agreed with the husband’s point of
view, empathising with the guilt of the caregiver. But the women in the
audience believed that the ending was not fair to the character of the wife.”
He holds up ‘Water’
as an example of the writer’s keen observation of a social situation. “Komal
Swaminathan’s Tamil play, Thanneer Thanneer moved me immensely when I first saw
it. In 2012, we approached his daughter about producing it in English at
coincidentally the same time that the idea occurred to her. The brilliance of
Water is that the social situation and corruption depicted in it are as true of
today as they were when the play was first enacted in the Tamil original 32
years ago.”
Ramakrishna
retired
from a corporate career in 1993 in order to devote more time to
theatre. That year, he also dabbled briefly in Tamil cinema, with roles
in movies like May Maadham and Mani Rathnam's Thiruda Thiruda. With his
accent-neutral diction and resonating voice, he is also a
much sought after voice-over professional for corporate films and
documentaries for clients such as BHEL and ISRO, with the latter's
videos about their launch vehicles and satellites carrying his
distinctive voice.
Ramakrishna
speaks of mike-friendliness, and the distinction between a singing voice and a
speaking voice, which brings us to the care he takes to keep his vice sounding
the way it does. “It works for me, but may not work for a singer. Speaking requires
short breaths and singers take long breaths - the discipline is different. I am
blessed with the DNA, but I do take care of my voice with some rudimentary
breathing exercises. I drink liquids at room temperature and avoid spicy foods.
I do not speak above the ambient noise level, at, say, a wedding. I also stay
silent when I can.”
The last statement
catches us unawares.
Ramakrishna
elaborates, “Silence is an active state, and it is not at all about shutting
off. An hour of silence a day leaves the voice refreshed and the mind,
unclogged. This was, perhaps why the rishis of yore undertook mauna vratham.
Silence is indeed the greatest rejuvenator.”
(An edited version of this article was published in the January 2015 Issue of Harmony - Celebrate Age)
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