Correction: today’s girls DON’T shy away from sringara

In an earlier post, “Has Shyness Died in a Generation of Emboldened Women,” I discussed whether it was possible for today’s generation of girls, who see changed gender roles and are more independent, can capture the element of shyness that’s part of expressing sringara.

Flickr photo by Creative Eye

Well after talking with some experts and student dancers here in Chennai, I have to change my comments. Earlier I had written:

“As journalist Nita Kulkarni writes, Indians today, girls and boys, whether living in India or not, no longer maintain the pristine reputations that perhaps their parents or grandparents once did: “Boys and girls from even traditional families are dating, but secrecy is the name of the game… If there are any guilt pangs for this elaborate deceit, they are suppressed by the overwhelming needs of these youngsters, needs which are no longer considered immoral.”

However, it’s that secrecy which gives way to shyness, according to principal instructor at Chennai’s Shree Bharatalaya dance school, Sudharani Raghupathy. “In that first look, there is coyness, secrecy,” she says, “That amount of shyness is present because that is Indian culture.” But the level of shyness depends on the extent to which a person has been exposed to society, she says. Even so, it’s there in Indian blood. As Prof. Raghupathy explains, there is a certain extent of coyness involved even to flirt. Then it’s because “it is in our genes,” that even the daughters of NRIs learning Bharatnatyam abroad are able to portray the subtleties of sringara.

But for the younger students or for those who cannot relate, dance exponent Padma Subramaniam, director, Nrityodaya, says that’s where acting comes into play. “You don’t need the experience of killing to act as if you’re killing someone on stage,” she says. “Acting is acting whether it is shyness or villainy.” As these are natural, human emotions, they are within the expressive reach of all students. Dr. Subramaniam’s students, Swati V.P. (22) and G. Aparna (23), endorse the view. Emotions remain the same, regardless of the changing times and interaction with other cultures. Perhaps that is why even Dr. Subramaniam’s foreign students are able to capture the shyness just as effortlessly.

So if the background of the student does not matter, it must mean some of the responsibility to elicit the proper expression is shouldered by the teacher, as dancer Chitra Visweswaran notes: “It is essential to go into a detailed background of each piece, and that does not necessarily relate to the immediate text alone,” she says. Visweswaran says that it is the duty of the teacher to bring out that which already lies dormant within the student, and it seems dedicated students will overcome generational and cultural barriers by watching several professional performances.

“Whatever has to be done, we do it, and it is pakka done,” Aparna says.

I suppose that is why I finally got over my diffidence and continued to learn the dance piece. I realized the shy expression was within my reach, thanks to my genetic make-up, my teacher’s competence, and at the most basic level, my membership to the human race. Plus, as someone who has grown up in an artistic milieu, I’ve noticed that it’s Bharatanatyam’s ability to express, not traditional or even Indian but, human emotions that has allowed it to withstand foreign penetration and the test of time.

Priyadarshini Govind: expression of epic proportion

Priyadarshini Govind needs no song, instrument, demonstration or special lighting effects to tell her story — her face is enough. In a performance filled with abhinaya-heavy pieces, Govind played up her forte: her expression. It was a traditional performance, complete with prayer, alarippu, varnam, padam…… in fact, I was pleasantly surprised. It has been so long since I have seen a dancer of similar caliber actually go through the traditional sequential order of dance pieces during a show. Usually, they opt for themes. But in sticking to a very traditional selection of pieces, Govind actually set herself apart from other dancers, who now choose to mesh dance styles or manifest modern themes to revamp Bharatanatyam.

I try to take something away from each dance performance I watch, one major thing that stands out, and in the case of Govind it was without a doubt her uncanny ability to narrate using just her eyes. In the varnam, the nayaki asks her friend to bring Lord Nataraja to her quickly, for Cupid’s arrows have penetrated her heart and left her longing. The pain of separation displayed in Govind’s eyes were unbelievably compelling, so much so that I’ll bet any audience member was thinking, “Perhaps she really IS apart from someone.”  ( call me gullible, I know I did.) Her looks of longing were more convincing than any other dancer I’ve seen.

But more than her expression of pain, it was her expression of cavalier indifference that I found amusing as the nayaki says, “Why should I be afraid to express my love? Everyone knows already. I am not afraid. Let them talk.” I thought her portrayal of fear, confidence, carelessness and playfulness in such quick succession was skillful and mature. Similarly, in her padam, she was tactful in showing the reluctance by a Shiivite  devotee being seduced by a Vishnavite; while the  body language pushes her pursuer away, her eyes cannot gaze away from him. “Go away, and do not stand at the temple threshold, pull my sari, or press your lips against mine,” she says, although, she continues to look on after she has locked him out.  Again, it’s not that these are sentiments I have never before seen in dance — rather, it’s that I’ve never seen anyone illustrate them so candidly.

I actually didn’t like the adavu sequences in this performance. There was too much scampering around, too much movement and dashing across the stage to take in what was going on. I’ll give Govind the benefit of the doubt — perhaps this is not Govind’s fault but just reflective of her school’s style. But I have never cared for repeated prancing. No, scratch that…any prancing. However, I didn’t mind sitting through the adavus because Govind’s expression had me locked.

Adavus aside, for those who can read faces well, in Govind’s performance, they would find an epic.

Malavika Sarukkai’s “Dharsan” a true show of her abilities

In comparison to Alarmel Valli’s performance the previous night, I thought Malavika Sarukkai’s “Dharsan” was a much livelier and energetic show. Not only was her choreography and execution of adavus vibrant and unique, but her conceptualization and depiction of the various forms of dharsan were captivating.

The first piece was a tribute to Lord Ranganatha. Reclining on a bed of serpents in the middle of the cosmic ocean, Lord Ranganatha’s left hand is described metaphorically by his consort Lakshmi, the demonic asuras, and the  surrendering devotee. To Lakshmi, Rangantha’s left arm is like a fragrant garland of flowers, whose embrace she yearns for; to the demons, his arm is as frightening as a thunderbolt; to the devotee, his arm provides protection, like the branch of tree. I was impressed by the remarkable grace exhibited by Sarukkai when portraying goddess Lakshmi, in contrast to the bhaya (fear) portrayed by the asuras immediately after. I was mesmerized by her poses, which resembled those carved into ancient temple walls. Again, as with Valli, it was a real treat to witness such poise.

However, in the case of Sarukkai, the content of her dances held my attention, and I was not glancing at my watch every few minutes. I thought her second item was her strongest, a piece describing Lord Rama’s arrival in Mythilai. The women of Mythilai watch intently as Rama walks by, some excited and obvious like a deer…others glance gracefully his way like a peacock. Still others peer out their windows furtively like stars in the night sky. I thought this piece truly was a “dharsan” of Sarukkai’s superior Bharatanatyam aplomb as she represented the deer-like scampering of some women as well as the cool gait of others (like peacocks). The subsequent adavus were also appropriate to the segments they followed–fast for the deer, smooth for the peacock, and staccato for the stars.

The next two Krishna pieces, one of which was a North Indian Meera bhajan, were somewhat weak I felt, at least in comparison to the first two. But she finished with a very energetic and distinct thillana which I thought ended the performance on a sweet note.

Overall, Sarukkai’s performance displayed her talent as a Bharatanatyam dancer and her originality as a choreographer: “Dharsan” was truly a show of spirit.

Alarmel Valli: spot-on delivery, but performance lacking zest

I want to preface this post by saying….I had never seen Alarmel Valli dance before. In fact, I havent seen a lot of the well-known dancers, because I’ve never been in Chennai long enough to have that opportunity.

On a superficial level, the first thing I noticed about her when she stepped foot on the stage was that she was surprisingly fit for her age. I’ve seen a lot of…seasoned…dancers who are not quite so privileged. It is obvious she maintains her figure through rigorous practice, and it pays off. Additionally, I’ve noticed with the some senior artists, makeup proves to be detrimental, enhancing features in an unflattering way. But Valli’s case I would say her features were accentuated strikingly  and suited for dance. Had I not been alerted to her age, I would never have guessed it.

With regard to her actual performance– she was flawless. I have never in my life seen someone execute adavus so perfectly. As someone who has only seen occasional Bharatanatyam and Kuchipudi performances in the U.S. (that, too, very rarely professional dancers) it was a quite a treat to watch her sculpturesque poses and clear movements.

However, I didn’t care much for the performance itself. Something about the content didn’t hold my attention. It was lacking in life.  While I thought some of the adavus were fresh, none of the sequences stuck with me as worth remembering.

Overall, it was obvious Valli is an exquisite dancer, but had perhaps made poor musical and choreographical decisions this time.

(Flickr photo  by Nafees Ahmed)

Chennai Dance Season: Through Desi Eyes

This year I’m lucky enough to be in Chennai for the dance season. In fact, I’ll probably be able to enjoy several dance performances even after this week, right here in the birthplace of Bharatanatyam, as I intern in Chennai for the next few months. Past entries have been about my experiences leading Gator Natyam, being a part of the Triveni team, and also learning dance under my mother in the Jathiswara School of Music and dance. Now that I have the luxury of staying in Chennai, the following entries will include my reflections on the performances I see as well as my own experiences taking lessons from my mother’s guru Smt. Kausalya of the Vazhuvoor Ramaiyya Pillai School.

Of course, the views expressed here are those of a girl who has been born and raised in the U.S. So here’s to the Chennai dance season, through the eyes of a desi.

Dancers Can’t be Compared Across Schools

Through Gator Natyam, the challenge was meshing the Bharatanatyam styles from different schools of dance (Kalakshetra, Vazhuvoor, Pandanallur….), because the university setting compelled us to do so. All the girls had had different training from various schools and teachers both from India and the U.S.,  so the challenge was to pick up some of the adavu styles of one school while teaching the other girls the nuances of your own. In other words, we struck a balance to create what we thought was the most elegant form. Sure, this gave way to some snide remarks once or twice about which style was prettier or “better,” but ultimately we were all able to compromise.

After the recent Triveni Sangam, I was disappointed to find some members of the audience assert the superiority of some dancers over the others based on a school’s style and not on the dancer’s delivery.  I would have expected more from a modern audience which I thought could understand and identify the uniqueness of each,  but perhaps that is the difference between performing in the States and performing in India: the audiences in India are better suited to identify the school styles and savor them individually.

A friend of mine went so far as to say one of the performers in last month’s show was by far the best in the group. But from the claims my friend was making, it was clear that she was basing her judgment on the school of dance rather than the dancer’s mastery of that school’s style.

I don’t think my friend’s comment was a fair one to make. I think each  dancer should be judged against the standards of one’s school. It’s unfair to compare dancers of difference schools especially when styles can vary so dramatically. If anything, the intricacies of each style should be appreciated.

It is disappointing to learn that the variance in school style gives novice audiences (and even some arrogant dancers) the weapons to weigh schools against each other, rather than as tools to further the understanding and appreciation of each.

The Final Product

 Here are some photos from the Trivani Sangam performance (Nov. 30) hosted by the University of Florida Center for the Study of Hindu Traditions (CHiTra). The performers were myself, Vrnda Davi, Anapayini Jakupko and Vinata Vedam for Bharatanatyam, and Swati Mahalaxmi for Odissi and Kuchipudi.

The arrogant King Bali in the Vaman avatar of the Dashavatar

 

Kolapureswari is an incarnation of Maha Lakshmi, goddess of wealth and good fortune.

 

King Hiranyakashipu is angry that his son worships Lord Vishnu

Lord Vishnu first incarnated as a fish. (Swati Mahalakshmi performs in the Odissi style of dance)

  

 

 

When Lord Vishnu incarnated as the dwarf Vamana, he deceived the arrogant King Bali, asking him for a mere three steps. In his first step he conquered the earth, in the second, the skies. When he asked Bali where to place his thirs step, the king surrendered his own head.

 

  

 

Mudra Demonstrations Help, not Hinder, Performances

The question arose a few days ago whether we should provide demonstrations of the mudras and stories right before each of the dances we perform on Sunday. On one hand, the performance is most likely going to span two hours already, and to add explanations before each piece may kill the remaining attention span of our post-Thanksgiving audience. Moreover, as dancers, we sometimes feel the beauty and originality of the dance is given away if we show all the hand gestures through an initial demonstration. Yet, we all decided the audience would benefit greatly if we provided demonstrations. 

From a Bharathanatyam performance by students of Indralaya School of Dancing at India Heritage Center Bangalore (Flickr photo by Jogesh).

Dance does create its own language, as V.R. Devika writes in The Hindu’s folio edition: “The body becomes a natural conduit for language,” he says, and I do believe this is true. Some may argue that providing an explanation before a dance piece proves the dancer’s inability to express all she needs to through the dance itself. But I don’t think so.  While facial expressions are easily decipherable, some hand gestures are not so obvious. 

I noticed one visitor comment a few posts back that the reason Bharatanatyam may be lost on some audiences is that it is archaic and the gestures are hard to understand. It’s for that reason I think demonstrations help and audiences are willing to sit through them. Otherwise the dance is just a sequence of meaningless gestures set to music in a foreign language, telling stories of Hindu gods and goddesses with whom the audience may or may not be familiar. 

Also, I don’t think doing a demonstration takes away from its performance because during the actual dance, the music and elements of interspersed nritta create an unparalleled experience for the people watching. The dance is enhanced. 

With that said, as a preface to Sunday’s performance I’m providing a glimpse of the mudras which depict the ten avatars of Vishnu, which will repeat throughout the performance of Dashavataram. Enjoy.

Dashavatar’s “Good Over Evil” Theme Not So Clear-Cut

The main piece that’s going to be featured for the Triveni Sangam performance is Jaya Deva’s Dashavataram, or ten avatar’s of Vishnu. These are the most well-known avatars of Vishnu and the stories describe his descents to the earth to curb the upsurges in evil. At least this was the line that had been fed to me when I was child. Yet now I see the phrase, “good over evil” is much too simplistic. 

For the eighth avatar, one dancer plays Balarama, an incarnation of Vishnu, and the other, Yamuna, a river. The story goes that Balarama terrorizes the river to flow in his direction using his plough. One of the other dancers told me “terrorize” is what is literally described by the lyrics of the song. I was confused.

Why would an avatar of Vishnu, who is known as the protector, terrorize and force the river to flow in a direction which she did not want to? Moreover, why is Balarama known and depicted to be a drinker and a ladies-man? If we’re sticking to my earlier claim that Bharatanatyam serves to teach people the stories and values in Hinduism, which moral values are we trying to teach by depicting this avatar? What constructive purpose does it serve to keep this avatar as one in the Dashavatar when it could be replaced with a countless number of other avatars more suited to show the theme of good over evil? 

Flickr photo by Swami Gaurangapada

The other dancers informed me that it’s Balarama’s harnessing of the river Yamuna’s life-supporting forces that makes him the good guy in this story. Although he enjoys alcohol and the company of several women, he is keeping in check the river’s pride and flippancy, as she meanders aimlessly. Here, Lord Vishnu’s avatar, which takes human form, is permitted his vices because he is subduing the pride of the river and making her water usable for people. Balarama may have also had a lustful eye for Yamuna, but it is overlooked in the bigger picture.  

Personally I feel there may be a gender issue at stake. Whether intentional or not, Balarama’s vices are overlooked but the river’s pride is seen as the “evil” in this case. The end result is that Balarama gets Yamuna to flow toward him, as desired. He is able to overpower her, and he is depicted as the good guy.

I suppose it is interesting to portray Balarama as such because it foils other righteous avatars like Rama and Krishna. After all, Balarama is the brother of Krishna, so Krishna’s purity is offset by Balarama’s decadence. My mother also suggested, because Balarama is only an incarnation of Vishnu, he is allowed human flaws. However, it still somewhat disappoints me that the phrase “good over evil” is used generally to describe the avatars, when in fact, sometimes the distinction is not so clear cut.

Why we shouldn’t waste the music

We are two weeks from the Triveni Sangam performance and the rehearsals, complete with orchestra, are now scheduled. Rehearsals are my favorite part of a dance performance because it involves the musicians. I have been asked before if Bharatanatyam truly is a religious or spiritual experience for me, and it’s because of the live music that I say ‘yes.’ While the content of it is obviously religious and I have learned many of the Hindu stories from dance, I feel it’s the live music that sets off the spark of bhakti for me. The beats of the mrindangam and the lilting of the flute automatically evoke that devotion. I no longer worry about forgetting steps, and somehow I feel more Indian and Hindu. I feel nostalgic for India — even if I’m already there.  Trite as it is to say, the live music really does take you into a different world. 

Dancer Anita Ratnam describes how one can use and manipulate sound to evoke certain emotions from an audience and create the desired mood, but I find one point she makes in her “Sangeetam in dance: Seeing sound,” is more appropriate for public speaking than for dance: 

“Of all the sounds that make music, the most pregnant for me is silence…Dance ultimately lies in the rasanubhuti of silence. This is what so many of my productions over the past 10 years have explored. This silence allows the mind to ponder, and form a coherent thought before being rushed into the next face/movement. These silences punctuate the music without puncturing it. “

I disagree. Personally I think a complete silencing of music would seem inappropriate for a dance performance. It’s understandable in a speech or play for the audience to contemplate the words of the orators, but in dance I would think a complete silence would be jarring and could actually shatter the mood the music worked to create. Rather, I think the thick-thin effect by the vocalist and accompanying musicians (that is, playing louder for fast-paced, lively parts and softer for parts where the dancer is expressing devotion or love for her Lord) would accentuate the storytelling as opposed to a complete breach in sound. 

It’s the live music that I look forward to in a performance, so it seems almost insulting to ask the orchestra to stop playing, even momentarily. With the mridangam, violin, flute players and vocalist all assembled, it would be a shame to waste the music.