Kathakali masks…

We watched a Kathakali performance in Kerala some days ago. With faces painted in bright colors and pouffy costumes, they danced to the booming beat of the drum.

The theme is simple. The makeup is complicated. Faces are made up or rather painted to the point that they appear like masks. We were told that our tickets included a special backdoor entry to see the makeup being done. A long, elaborate process wherein the dancers lay down while their faces are painted. Green faces denote the good guys, while the black faces belong to the bad guys and the protagonist’s face is painted in warm hues. And certain in-between streaks of red and white depict arrogance and such.

Ah… if only people on the street came with face colors… there would never be any guesswork involved I thought with a smile. But again, I personally don’t believe any person to be an all black, or an all green, or a green with generous heapings of red and white. No, I believe each one of us wears all those shades in one lifetime. And with motherhood, I feel sometimes in one day even.

But fact remains that we wear those shades and we wear those masks. And just like a Kathakali dancer’s face - there is no true mask; but there still is a mask. For the dancer’s true face is completely lost in the paint. Only the masked one comes forward and is shown to the world.

Do we all wear masks? Are we all Kathakali dancers? As I watched the beautiful performance, I wondered if I had been wearing a mask on my trip to India. I had worn my widest smile and my toughest I-can-do-everything attitude. I didn’t want to see sadness in people’s eyes when they looked at me; when they remembered the old-me, when they missed the old-me. I wanted to prove to everybody there that the old-me was back. Who knows…maybe a small part of her was back; or maybe she’s never ever coming back. Why then was I wearing the mask? And why had I posted so many vacation pictures with me in sunglasses – were the sunglasses hiding the tired eyes?

Is wearing this mask necessarily a bad thing even? Does it give direction to a certain path I want to be on? A path of life and laughter, vitality and vigor? Is it a display of a positive aura and persona? Or is it all a dishonest cover-up? A silly sham?

Have I always worn a mask? All through my life? All through my illness? On endless occasion, people have expressed disbelief on finding out I was sick. Right before they wheeled me in to the last surgery, the nurse said, “you look great” (!!). I have never quite known how to react to such comments. Bewilderment, cheerfulness, lack of graciousness, confusion…not knowing whether to feel happy or sad… I probably used some kind of mask to veil what I felt.

I doubt I can completely let go of all masks overnight. I doubt it would even be wise to do so. Is there a sense of safety and security in hiding behind it? Or is it a loss of authenticity? Like most things, the answer is probably somewhere in-between. But I can’t help wonder if I would ever dare to take the paint off my face… if I would ever dare to wash it all off…