In 'For the Love of Art', Sajitha Madathil and Jayasree Kalathil Recover Lost Women's Voices in Malayalam Theatre History

When Sajitha Madathil began documenting women in Malayalam theatre, she confronted systematic erasure. Standard histories meticulously recorded male artists while relegating women, even celebrated performers, to footnotes. This carelessness was symptomatic: one historical text repeatedly cited Subhadradhananjayam by Thottakkattu Madhaviyamma, when the play was actually Subhadrarjunam by her mother, Thottakkattu Ikkavamma. Women's creative labour existed simultaneously as visible yet unrecorded.

For Madathil, writing For the Love of Artbecame "an act of claiming my own legacy—a female legacy." As scholar, actor, playwright, and activist, she combined interviews with forgotten actors, analysis of neglected plays, and excavation of biographical fragments. Translator Jayasree Kalathil describes the project's political dimension: "Part of this is about reclaiming the narrative. But the other part is about changing the narrative itself—the rules of narration, the value placed on certain types of narratives, the notions about what constitutes history."

Beyond Economic Necessity

The prevailing narrative portrayed women entering theatre through financial desperation. Madathil's interviews revealed something more complex. While economic need was real, "what emerged even more forcefully," Kalathil notes, "was the often ignored idea that women were choosing this profession, staying within it against all odds, because they were primarily artists who loved the work they did."

This distinction matters profoundly. The English title For the Love of Art—departing from the literal Malayala Nataka Sthree Charithram (The History of Women in Malayalam Theatre)—captures this reality. Women persisted not merely from necessity but from artistic passion, an assertion both political and emotional.

Translating Cultural Texture

Kalathil faced the challenge of rendering theatrical atmospheres and cultural textures, not merely Malayalam words. "Translation is re-narration," she explains, "every word, every rhythm, every emotion carefully retold in a different language." Conveying the weight of sangeetha natakam or Namboothiri reform movements demanded collaborative interpretation—how caste, gender and patriarchy intersected to shape women's experiences.

"The political imperative to decentralize narratives has stayed with me throughout my work," Kalathil notes. She researched historical events, studied relevant materials, and discussed conceptual challenges with Madathil, ensuring precision in both fact and feeling.

Translation's Political Work

Perhaps the book's most radical gesture is naming—restoring to record women who created theatre history. Madathil documents M.K. Kamalam, heroine of Malayalam's first talkie who ended in penury; P.K. Rosy, the Dalit actor who faced murderous violence for playing an upper-caste character in 1930; KPAC Sulochana, who transformed playback singing. These testimonies form the book's emotional and political core, challenging not just what history records but how it constructs authority.

For Kalathil, bringing regional-language scholarship into English serves larger purposes: "As a translator, I feel it is important that these narratives become part of how we understand history and the writing of history, the accepted theories of which are often found in work that is in the English language." Translation becomes political intervention—insisting that Malayalam scholarship must shape global conversations about history, gender, and performance. Though Madathil acknowledges incompleteness, For the Love of Art models feminist historiography for future scholars.