Ten years after 9/11, I thought, how was it possible that I had no story to write, nothing to say, no feeling to articulate through words? Even now I’m slightly disappointed that there’s no post on my other blog serving as a tribute to the 9/11 victims, but since my mom helped me express through my other craft, dance, what I couldn’t express through words, I find myself finally updating this site after more than two years.

In remembrance of 9/11, my mom choreographed a dance for me to perform for an interfaith event honoring the victims of the Sept. 11, 2001 tragedies. It was a dance on world peace, choreographed to the Tamil song, “Shanthi Nilava Vendum,” or “Let There Be Peace Everywhere.” Having the lyrics in my mother tongue helped me bring out the emotions a lot more easily than I think I would have for a song in a different language. It was a plea for everlasting peace and spiritual power in a world filled with fear, terror and violence.

A sloka, or prayer, preceded the dance, asking for there to be peace everywhere: in the heavens, on earth, and in the great cosmos; peace on the waters, peace to bestow contentment; peace for all forms of life.

“Let peace come to us through actions done and yet to be done, let there be peace to the past as well as the future.”

The song was a call to action, for people to do their duty in being open hearted and teaching those things that build good character in a person. I want to expand on that to urge people to share with people of other cultures  information about your own— your customs, traditions, rituals and beliefs. What good is it to say you’re tolerant if you’re not active in sharing (I said sharing, not proselytizing) with others the richness of your own culture? That’s what breeds understanding among people and can lead to a society free of ignorance.

“With a pure heart let us give back to our society.”

When my mom and I were working on the dance, we first started off by including a depiction of the father of the nonviolence movement, Mahatma Gandhi, since his name is specifically mentioned in the Tamil song. Later, however, we decided to also illustrate scenes from the World Trade Center disasters, as it was more appropriate for the interfaith event, and would likely evoke more personal reactions from the audience.

It worked. And I felt truly honored to be able to perform for such an occasion.

May all those who have lost their lives in fighting violence around the world rest in peace always.

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.

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.

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.

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)

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.

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.

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.

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.