Anyone who has been following the column, knows that I am a theatre-junkie. I can’t visit anywhere without trying to weed out those with a penchant for performance.

Up on a hill of Dharamsala, over-looking the bustling confusion that is McLeodganj lies TIPA, The Tibetan Institute of Performing Arts. The Tibetan version of our own NSD. Hundreds of Tibetans apply and only a few are granted entry in the 12-year-long programme. The students come from settlements all over India and live on campus. The purpose of the institute is to preserve the Tibetan performing arts, the songs, the dances, the rituals, the costumers, the masks, etc. Students are schooled in performance, stitching costumes, making of masks, etc. so that when they eventually leave, they can start their own TIPAs wherever they may wander; proliferating the traditional forms to newer generations of Tibetans who do not have access to such things.
It was one of the first structures that the exiled Tibetans built when they moved from across the border. It was also the first project undertaken by the exiled Tibetan government and the Dalai Lama in their new (hopefully temporary) home.
The modern, post liberalised Indian might ask — Why would someone build a performing arts institute first? What’s the point of that? And there lies the rub.
The Tibetans fled what can only be described as a kind of “genocide”. An attempt to make all Chinese territories one large homogenous mass of homogenous people. Identifiers, ways of life, were all being traded in for uniformity. The exiles knew, that in order to preserve their way of life, they must preserve their culture. And culture, both ancient and modern, is given life by the artists and story tellers. Thus, TIPA, was the most important starting point in the fight against the occupiers.
The origin of Tibetan Opera is a curious one. A priest once witnessed many people drown while trying to cross a river. He immediately saw the need for a bridge. But there was a paucity of funds. He then “directed” the first performance with seven women, and soon they raised enough money to fund several bridges across the region. When people heard the women sing so beautifully, they felt that they were hearing fairies or Lhamo. Hence, the name for Tibetan Opera — Ace Lhamo. How strange that theatre was being used as a fund raiser at the time? Unlike today, where funds need to be raised for theatre! It is also wonderful that in contrast to Western (and even Indian) traditions, where women were relatively late entrants into the performing arts, for Tibetans they are an important part of its origins.
The nature of Tibetan opera and music is also quite unique. The costumes and props are incredibly ornate and beautiful. But the performances happen in a circle, with the audience seated on all sides. The centre of the performers is also the centre of the audience. It is more of a sharing of the performance rather than the playing “out” or presentation style of modern theatre. The singing tones are also low. This is because, traditionally Tibetans are a nomadic people, and when tending their flock, they are often alone. The low tones reverberate off the surrounding hills and fill the space, eliminating the loneliness of the shepherd.
As I heard these stories, my chest swelled. It is always gratifying to know that the arts have a role to play in the life of a society. They have a purpose and they give meaning. And in times of conflict, like those being experienced by the exiled Tibetans, the arts become symbols of a way of life and expression.
Maybe that’s a lesson that we in ‘modern’ India should heed. The Arts are important, especially in times of crisis… which also seem to be omnipresent.