From the Hindu/Column: Footloose/ What's in a name?

When it comes to explaining what dance is, several definitions are available. It refers to the movement

of the body, a form of expression. It is also a mode of social interaction. Dance can be defined in terms of technique, but also as ceremonial, competitive, combative and narrative. The definition of dance, like dancing itself, is not static. If one is to be inclusive in one's approach to dance, then its definition has to be fluid. It must evolve along with its cultural, social and political surroundings. It must be open-ended in order to include new creations and evolutions.

There was probably only a very brief time when dance meant only certain and very specific things, probably when the idea of dance was only just being conceived. Indian classical dance has certainly had a strict code of what can be called dance and what lies outside the periphery of how we define dance.

Even in the ‘West', before the modernist dance movements began, only ballet was considered to be dance. But new dance forms have been coming into being continually in India and the West. 

When the Devadasis performed dance, the definition of dance was pretty expansive. It included body movement, expression, narratives, social interaction as well as ceremony. With the onset of Colonialism and western notions of femininity and sexuality, dance in India came to be redefined again. What the Devadasis and Indians had considered to be dance was now considered an overtly sexual activity, not fit to be given the status of being a dance form. A dance form that was a ceremonial expression of love was reduced to being defined as crude and erotic. As for the Indian, it became a cause for shame. In the West however, rebellion against a singular definition of dance had begun with Isadora Duncan's resistance to classical ballet.

Post-colonial nationalism in India saw the Tanjore Quartet format find a stable and comfortable place in

India – a format that defined dance in terms of technique, very broadly similar to what Rudolph Laban

did with dance in the West. Dance in India also came to be defined more in terms of devotion and spirituality, rather than sensuality or “shringara”. In the western world, Martha Graham played a historic role in expanding the definition of dance by radically opposing the theory of movement on which

classical ballet rested. In the previous century, the definitions of what dance is have expanded considerably.

In India, Uday Shankar became world renowned as a pioneer in Indian modern dance, adapting western theatrical techniques to Indian classical dance, and utilising Indian folk and tribal dances. Folk traditions such as Chhau have now become reputed dance forms and combative martial arts like Kalaripayattu are used to create Indian movement vocabularies. Genres of Indian dance have developed that use western styles of contemporary dance, sometimes exclusively. And more and more genres have become recognised worldwide as respectable dance forms. These include African dances and dance forms from Latin America. All these genres define dance differently in terms of the body, movement and sentiment. A singular and exclusive definition of dance becomes very difficult then. While some dancers, students,

teachers, critics and spectators continue to search for a singular and exclusive definition of dance, it in turn continues to elude them.

Perhaps dance was never meant to have a single definition. How is one to singularly define something that is constantly growing and evolving? Maybe its beauty lies in the fact that its dynamism repels a static definition written in stone. Perhaps it redefines itself constantly in order to remain relevant and important. This requires it to have multiple, inclusive and fluid definitions. It is, after all, multiple and fluid definitions of dance that will allow for more and more dance to be created, accepted and appreciated in a world that is constantly renegotiating what we call ‘dance'.

Aranyani Bhargav, performer-teacher-researcher, will henceforth write this fortnightly column, Footloose. Feedback can be mailed to aranyanibhargav@gmail.com

The 'Western' gaze - my response to Donovan Roebert

During a post-performance discussion, I was asked by a member of the audience whether I had to change the way I perform when I do so abroad. I found myself saying that I am changing the way I perform within India. The reason for this, I realized, was that the Indian rasika is hugely overestimated. And indeed, the western rasika seems to be underestimated. The statement mentioned in Donovan Roebert's article betrays this underestimation. In fact, it is more than that. It is an ill-informed and biased prejudice and moreover, hugely overlooks some problems with the members of audiences of Indian origin.

The 'western' audiences I have encountered have been immensely intelligent and well informed. Although sometimes unfamiliar with every intricate detail of the mythology (something I would attribute to many Indian audiences as well), they seem to watch Indian classical dance with deep curiosity, interest and an open mind. I find that they are also keen to understand it, and try to get everything they possibly can out of the performance. Perhaps this is because it is unfamiliar to them, and because they don't get to see it as often as we do, but these are some of the reasons for why they make such an engaged and attentive audience. I have personally never encountered the western audiences perceiving me as a doll or a babe.

In fact, this accusation made by the dancer in Donovan Roebert's article forced me to remember experiencing this 'babe/doll' scenario with a certain Indian audience. An admittedly extreme and perhaps one-off scenario, I saw it unfold was when I was performing at the Nehru Centre in London. It was a cultural evening organized by the Oxford India Society and hosted by the Nehru Centre. The performance consisted of three short performances of Indian classical dance, and a longer performance by the Oxford India Society dancers who performed Bollywood songs like 'Maar Daala' from the Bollywood blockbuster 'Devdas' and A.R.Rahman's 'Jai Ho' from the soundtrack of Slumdog Millionaire. The audience was mixed, but was largely Indian. I noticed the Indian audiences looking bored, resigned and sleepy during the classical section, and watched them explode into cheers and claps as soon as the Bollywood numbers came on. The bad choreography made the poorly trained dancers jiggle and wobble much more than necessary. As I watched with horror from the wings, the Indian members of the audience were almost drooling watching these undergraduate girls shake their leg (and other parts of their bodies), even as the 'western' audiences looked on uncomfortably.

The reason I mention the above example is not to counter the sweeping generalized statement of the dancer mentioned in Donovan's article, with a sweeping generalized statement of my own. I am certainly not implying that all Indian audiences are the ones that objectify and doll-ify the female dancing body. I merely allude to the fact that the 'kamasutra babe' phenomenon is not one we can foist onto the 'western' audiences. This babe/doll phenomenon exists much closer to home.

There was a time when dance criticism was plagued by the 'male gaze' - the dancer's physical beauty (her big eyes, her full body, her face) was the main focus of the dance review. Luckily this is no longer the case, largely. But today, we face other problems of objectification - whether it is due to the perfect attributes dancers are expected to live up to set by the Natyashastra or whether it is the size zero phenomenon, the way dancers view themselves and each other is a factor that encourages this 'objectification' of the female dancing body. When a dancer refuses to dance alongside another because the latter is thinner and younger (this happens a lot), you know that a part of the problem lies therein. Finally, outside the realm of classical Indian dance, we have a form of dance that has maximum exposure globally - Bollywood, which celebrates the objectification of the female form with all its titilating 'item numbers'.

Of course, by saying all this, I am not attempting to diminish or belittle the vast number of informed, intelligent and incredibly perceptive rasiks and rasikas in India. There are plenty of those around, but to point fingers at the 'west' without looking at ourselves is a grave mistake, I believe.

I also wished to point out that there are enough members of the 'western audience', at least in my experience, that are genuinely interested, inspired and moved by the depth and richness transmitted through Indian classical dance. Very often, it is the 'western' rasika who pushes me to think by asking intelligent questions and it is the 'western' rasika that amazes me with their observations, despite their unfamiliarity with the form and its cultural history. And it does sometimes seem that an Indian spectator is bored or seems to presume to know everything there is to know about the form, and often becomes argumentative instead of receptive.

To conclude, to say that Indian classical dance can be understood and rasa can be experienced only by an Indian is unfair and untrue. And to say that the 'west' can only see Indian dance as an exotic female babe prancing about is a terrible accusation. If this was indeed true, and if many dancers share the same thoughts as the dancer in Donovan's article, I'd like to ask them why they are empanelled with the Indian Council for Cultural Relations, why their resumes shine with performances all over the 'west' and why they crave international recognition.

Indian Dance and the 'Western' Rasika by Donovan Roebert

‘It is always the westerner who keeps harping on our glorious tradition. That is because the West would like to see us as Oriental Barbie dolls while admiring our classical arts. Dance, especially, is prone to this Asian Kama Sutra babe phenomenon. The classical can exist but contemporary India is bursting free with ideas and expression…and that is not contained in the classical form. (sic).’

The above is a comment recently made by a well-known Bharatanatyam/ contemporary dancer, much of whose work, incidently, I admire. The comment itself is disappointing. It raises a number of questions about the negatively perceived relation (or misrelation) between the ‘western’ rasika and the Indian classical dance forms, and implies a certain ‘western’ crassness of approach to the dancer, and to the Shringara Rasa.

To confine myself only to Indian classical dance (leaving out the broader ‘glorious tradition’), three central questions seem to be asked here: Is the ‘western’ rasika capable of appreciating the dance on its own terms, and for what it inherently is? Does the ‘western’ rasika have a right to assess and comment on its nature and value? and: Does the ‘western’ rasika view the dancer only as a ‘doll’ or ‘babe’?

In this case these questions are compelled out of an unfortunate cultural prejudice, a sort of dismissal of any ‘western’ interference, or even only a point of view, on the dance. The easiest way to deal with this bias is to assert at once that the dance and the dancer are as liable to be misperceived by an Indian as by a ‘western’ rasika. Both would be equally incapable of correct assessments if they lacked adequate insight into the philosophical and technical elements of the dance, as well as of its history.

But there’s also a more subtle aspect to consider. I once heard a dancer from Chennai doubting out loud whether the ‘westerner’ is humanly equipped to experience rasa at the deepest level, that of the transmission of the tejas. Some Indian dancers, it seems, view ‘westerners’ as deficient in this regard, as though there were a specifically Indian ‘spiritual’ or aesthetic gene that ‘westerners’ are born without.

To tackle the most annoying question first – the assertion that the ‘westerner’ is disposed to view the dancer as an ‘Oriental Barbie doll’ or a ‘Kama Sutra babe’ –  it would be helpful to remind ourselves that the Natyashastra itself prescribes certain standards of physical beauty for the aspirant shishya. Second, there are prescriptive details of costume and make-up intended to heighten the aesthetic-erotic effect. The performing female dancer, clearly, is intended to represent a prescribed, classical ideal of feminine beauty; an ideal that is universally recognisable.

The dancer, that is, ought to transcend the projection of her own individual beauty in order to place before the rasika (whether male or female) an ideal that is immediate and universal, and which invokes an inward response to a notion of beauty separate from individuality. The quality of eroticism also becomes transformed and idealised in this process. One might say that it is returned to its essence, as an energy of bhakti. This is, of course, a simplification which will have to suffice for my purposes here.

Is the ‘westerner’, then, capable of entertaining this sort of transcendent or essentialised experience? My answer would have to be, ‘Yes, very obviously, because the experience is not an exclusively tribal or cultural one, but one that is connected with our common humanity.’

Every human being can, through cultivation of the necessary insights, learn to make the connection between the aesthetic-erotic experience and the ‘spiritual’ one. And this is certainly not foreign to ‘western’ culture. The highest products of ‘western’ art have always been viewed in this way, from the earliest epochs of Greek, Norse, Celtic and other mythologico-artistic expressions. The Grecian Dionysian and Eleusinian rites, as well as the choral odes which form an integral part of classical Greek tragedy (whose purpose, as drama-natya, was religious) are full of the notion of ‘tejas’, achieved through the combination of music, song and dance.

As for understanding classical Indian dance in terms of its grammar and the elements of structure, geometry, flux etc., these are not supra-intellectual exercises. Anyone from any culture can study and understand them. Even the more esoteric aspects, whether seen and experienced as ‘spiritual’ or merely mythological qualities, don’t stand outside of the common human experience.

This being the case, it seems hard to argue against the view that ‘western’ rasikas (or, more plainly ‘educated audiences’) are as qualified and have as much right to assess, evaluate, and indeed fully appreciate Indian classical dance as Indian rasikas do. They have at least as real a right as Indian commentators have to comment on and appreciate ‘western’ art forms and culture. This sort of exchange seems to me fundamentally valid, useful, good and necessary.

In a more general way, I would have to say frankly that I find it impossible to discover a clear dividing line, an absolute hiatus, between Indian and ‘western’ culture as a whole. Anyone who cares to study these matters in sufficient depth and detail would, I think, have to agree that there are far more similarities than differences in these two cultural spheres.

As for the last point, that ‘free ideas and expression are not contained in the classical form’ – with this I would have to disagree vehemently. The most cursory philosophical insight will make it clear that there’s nothing either completely ‘new’ or completely ‘free.’ Every new phenomenon arises as an innovation derived from a pre-existing condition, every novelty has its roots in the classical seed. This can easily be demonstrated by tracing it back to its source.

As a clarification for my regularly placing the epithet ‘western’ between quotation marks, I must point out that there are really no such things as ‘western’ culture or ‘westerners’. This label is convenenient, but often as artificial and misleading as it is prone to be put to mischievous uses. The ‘West’ is made up of hundreds of tribes and cultures, with as many differences and similarities between them as there are between them and the varieties of Indian culture. I think it may be useful to bear this in mind before entering on glib inter-cultural judgements.

Lastly, I’d like to express my sincere appreciation to all the Indian classical dancers who have brought so much joy to so many of us ‘westerners’ through the performance of their beautiful art.

****

Donovan Roebert is the founder and coordinator of the South African Friends of Tibet. Born in East London, South Africa, he is a painter whose works are sold internationally. He is also a devoted practitioner of Mahayana Buddhism and is an author. Amongst his publications are - Samdhong Rinpoche Uncompromising Truth for a Compromised World: Tibertan Buddhism and Today's World; The Gospel for Buddhists and the Dharma for Christians (Wipf & Stock 2009), Lama Charlie's Big Bang and Whimper (Contact Publishing 2010) and The Odissi Girl (Rupa Publications, Delhi, 2011)

Judging Dance

Pre-script: This article talks about the general trend noticed, but I would like to acknowledge that very rarely, there has been some good writing on dance and some in depth reviews. Having said that, that its rare to find good writing on dance is what compelled me to write this piece.

Dance journalism in India leaves much to be desired. Dance is rarely spoken or written about in the media, and when it is, it is usually uneducated, badly researched, and uninterested journalism. The rare writings on dance mostly take the form of reviews/critiques of performances. Dancers across India use these critiques to legitimize their work. But really, dance criticism in India is a dying art. Only a handful of critics validate or discredit the work of thousands of dancers. These reviews have come under criticism in the past (see Sadanand Menon's newspaper article in 1984 on Dance criticism titled 'Those Large Liquid Eyes') and largely today's reviews also leave many questioning the validity and legitimacy of the critics themselves.

Why do many reviews leave so many dancers feeling dissatisfied, cheated or misunderstood? The main reason, I feel, is that the relationship between the critic and the dancer is not of mutual understanding and learning as it should be. A dance critic must critique work in order to constructively guide a dancer, to improve the dancer. A dancer must feel like he or she learnt something from the review. Critique should constructively criticize, not demoralize and vex dancers. But there is such a dearth of critics that they are easily placed on a pedestal and become unquestionable. Thus critiques are like ultimatums - a dancer has to accept the reviews regardless of prejudice or bias, if any - and has no way of questioning the critic or explaining him or herself. The lack of communication and dialogue in a democratic atmosphere fuels the mistrust.

But why does this mistrust exist?

First of all, critics often get facts wrong. This often tells of badly conducted research. Recently, a newspaper article on Mandeep Raikhy's 'Inhabited Geometry' claimed that its choreographer was Desmond Roberts, who was in fact the photographer of the photograph enclosed in the article. Earlier this year, another review got the dancer's history and nationality wrong - an Indian dancer was written off as a German because he had worked in Austria for a while. In yet another article, a Bharatanatyam dancer was said to have studied at Kalakshetra in Chennai, when in fact she had trained in the Kalakshetra style of dancing in Delhi. Poor research and lack of attention, I imagine, lead to the dancers feeling nervous about trusting the words of the critic.

Secondly, critics often lift descriptions of dance pieces from programme notes and pass them off as reviews. This makes one feel that the critic is lazy to critique anything and is trying to fill up space on the newspaper page. Descriptive, rather than analytical pieces of writing betray a reluctance to scrutinize and appreciate the work. A recent review in the Hindu described a dance performance minute by minute, expending precious space on the description of the event, and a mere two lines talking about the performance and its dancers. Who was there at the performance and how many people were present is surely not more important than what the dance performance entailed.

Third, critics make sweeping statements which often contradict themselves. A review a few months ago mentioned that the 'charismatic' dancer 'lacked energy and emotion' and then went on to say that she performed an abhinaya piece 'in a captivating manner'. A classical dance performance lacking energy and emotion is a dramatic accusation which requires further explanation - in what way did the performance lack energy, specially since the critic also thought that the dancer was 'charismatic'? Moreover, if the performance lacked emotion, then how does the critic explain the captivating abhinaya? These sweeping statements have no value because they explain nothing, and serve no purpose. They are useless whimsical words that are of no help to the dancer at all! It is the same as when a critic says the dancer was full of 'grace and poise'. Even a lion resting under an acacia tree in the Masai mara can be full of 'grace and poise'. And it doesn't take a skilled critic to see that. I would want to know what was graceful about the performance and what made the dancer so poised.

There are several other reasons for why dance criticism in India is in a bit of a state of crisis, but even the reasons above are proof enough. Dance criticism needs an overhaul, without which one might lose faith in it entirely! This is so dangerous, because dance criticism is a lively and integral part of the dance world. A good system of critique keeps dancers on their toes. It also informs the larger world about works by dancers and choreographers. Furthermore, it opens up the possibility for a dialogue between the performers and spectators - something that brings the art and artist closer to the people. All this is so important. We need this overhaul now so that we can have faith in our critics. We need to have faith in our critics so that we take them seriously. Critics and critique need to be taken seriously in an intelligent and responsive dance community.

*****

Please do check out 'DanceCritique Anon', an initiative of Pratyayin and NrityaYoga to start a dance criticism forum where audience members anonymously critique the work of dancers and choreographers. DanceCritique Anon currently has a facebook page -  DanceCritique Anon - and will soon have a website.

Improv fright - II

Pre-script: Please do read 'Improv fright - I' below before reading this post.

At the intensive first week of the Gati Dance Residency this year that I was privileged to be able to attend as a guest resident, the focus had been on learning how to generate movement. So as you can imagine, there was improvisation involved. As soon as I heard that Chris Lechner was one of the mentors, my body had the same panic reaction that I mentioned earlier. Chris had been my teacher at Attakkalari, and I knew he was all about improv!

It was on the third or fourth day that I felt it, and Chris felt it too. "You had a breakthrough today", he said. I knew I had. It was a tiny thing on the outside. But it was huge for me. Anyway, the breakthrough happened because I succumbed to my fate, really. I knew I could not get away from the secluded place where the residency was being held and I knew I could not, for my own sake and self-esteem, sit this one out. So I just closed my eyes and followed instructions.

I learnt a lot about improvisation as a result of opening my mind to the possibility of improvisation finding a place in my mind and body. Everything I previously dreaded suddenly made sense after I felt like I'd lost the fear. Of course, these realizations might be obvious to those who don't fear improv, but for me (and hopefully others like me), these realizations are enlightening!

I had been afraid of not having time to think of something. My teachers were always telling me 'Let go', but I never had. It was that succumbing to fate that they had meant, perhaps. Because I really just stopped worrying momentarily, and just closed my eyes and did something! It sounds simple and easy, but it wasn't. I had to let my body overtake the mind. And I realized - not thinking too much helps!

I had wanted perfection and I didn't like the uncertainty of it. But improvisation isn't about perfection and what makes it exciting, I learnt, is precisely the sense of uncertainty. If improvisation is about discovery and exploration, then the whole point is lost if you're not uncertain to begin with, right?

With improv, for now, I am happy with closing my eyes and pretending that no one is watching. I can really then go into myself and feel something. The fear of being watched while I explored the unexplored had at some point led to some unintended 'faking' - you don't want to disappoint, you want to impress - and in that worry, you forget to really do the task at hand. And this faking had always troubled me a lot. I had always been able to point out if someone was faking it while doing Bharatanatyam, or any other dance form. And I knew that when I ended up faking it, I was equally transparent. Moreover, I didn't feel right about it. Closing my eyes took care of that problem, mostly. Because it allowed me to shut the outside world and open up the internal one.

As far as feeling exposed and vulnerable, that still happens to me quite a bit. And not just that - I find I have trouble giving weight entirely to someone else. I do sometimes have trouble 'letting go' entirely. I also do still lose my connection with the task once in a while, and I definitely do occasionally generate extremely dull material. But all this doesn't trouble me so much anymore. Because I have an idea as to why its happening. More importantly, seven out of ten times, I've managed to "Let go, Aranyani!"

Improv fright - I

When I was first exposed to 'improv', I was absolutely petrified. Coming from a classical dance background where almost everything is well thought out, 'fixed' and rehearsed well before it is displayed, I found myself totally frozen. I could not enjoy myself and I certainly did not impress.

Dance Improvisation, for those who aren't familiar, is the process of creating movement spontaneously. There are several tools and methods to do this - one can use internal impulses, music, emotions, silence, a particular story or event, or another body/bodies (contact improvisation). It is a movement method that encourages you to step out out of your usual dancing patterns.

When I first became exposed to it, the more exposure I got, the further I went into my shell. It soon became a mental block.Then recently, mainly because the week-long event with dancers meant a lot to me, and I shared the week of dancing with people who's opinions, approval and critique really mattered to me, I was forced to address these fears and finally lost my fear of improv. I would still say I have a long way to go, but losing that fear, I realized, is really the big first step.

The entire process made me reflect on what made me so afraid of improvisation. I share them here because I know I'm not the only one who's been afraid of improvisation, and perhaps what I say will be informative or will simply give a sense of relief to those who think they are alone in feeling this!

Firstly - Improvisation meant stepping into a completely unfamiliar world where I had to generate some sort of creativity in my body almost instantly. It was like I didn't have time to think! For a classical dancer, where everything is carefully thought out, this was a mammoth challenge. 

Second, because the form of dance I knew was about learning something, and practicing it by repetition in order to thrive for perfection, the fact that many a time, the small movements generated in improv were not 'impressive' or 'perfect' really troubled me. 

Third, I felt at a constant disadvantage because the only technique I could impulsively bring out in the body was Bharatanatyam (despite having learnt others for shorter periods of time). My teachers were pushing me to generate something unfamiliar to me but I was unwilling to do something 'uncertain' in front of people.

Next, I felt watched and judged. Now this might seem odd. The many years that I had danced and performed on stage had also involved watching and judging by a lot of people. But this watching was different. I wasn't being judged on perfection of form and technique, or how I used my face while doing abhinaya. I was being judged (I'm not sure I buy that argument that no one judges anyone when doing improv) on something else. I thought it was my creativity. That judgment frightened me too, because while I didn't doubt that I was creative, I somehow failed to impress my teachers, peers and even myself every time.

Finally, outspoken and 'open' as I might seem, I am quite private about certain things. Particularly about things that mean a lot to me, one of which is dance. Improvisation had a way of making me feel totally exposed, and totally vulnerable. I didn't like that discomfort at all.

Because of all this and much more, I had worked myself up into such a frigid frenzy that the very mention of the word 'improvisation' sent panic signals to my brain that translated into atrophy of sorts in my body! My heart would sink, my mouth would go dry, my body would stiffen, my brain would freeze. And as it is with vicious cycles, this frigid frenzy made improvisation all the more difficult. In fact, in that state, improvisation was an utterly futile exercise.

A rolling stone that gathers moss - the full interview

A story about me came out in the New Indian Express. This is the full interview - in my words. While I'm grateful for their interest and the publicity, the printed interview was of course, edited. This here is the full email interview - it tells something more about the current me, and also gives us something to think about regarding dance journalism in India. Have a read.

1)Tell me a little about your background. Where were you born and brought up, education, family and early life.

I was born and brought up in Delhi. My father, Rajeev Bhargava - a political theorist and philosopher, mother -Tani Sandhu Bhargava - a social worker and my sister, Vanya have always encouraged my desire to dance. Though neither of my parents are in any way directly connected to dance, both are great lovers of music and dance. It’s because of their love for the arts that I was exposed to a lot of music and dance from the time I was a toddler. My sister has also encouraged my dancing and is one of my most valued critics. They have always encouraged me to look at dance critically and analytically.

I went to Sardar Patel Vidyalaya in Delhi. After that, I went to St.Stephen’s college, where I did my B.A in Philosophy. Throughout - I trained with Leela Samson. I studied Bharatanatyam with her till 2005, when she moved to Chennai. After that, I studied at the Liverpool Institute for Performing Arts, UK and the Attakkalari Centre for Movement Arts in Bangalore I then went to Madras to work with Sadanand Menon, to help organize and initiate the Chandralekha Archives. In 2009, I did my masters in Contemporary Indian studies at Oxford University where I wrote my dissertation on the modernities within Bharatanatyam. Since then, I've been performing, reading and writing about dance and teaching dance to school children.

2) I believe you started dancing at the age of 5. How does a child at that age interpret and understand the different rhythms and movements.  

Yes, I began dancing when I was five. I can’t really remember how I interpreted or understood movement back then, but I’m told I was struck by Bharatanatyam, and in particular, with Leela Samson’s performances. From the little experience I’ve had teaching children, it seems to me that they dance with a sense of complete abandon, and with tremendous enthusiasm. Their minds are also very open and receptive. I suppose the sense of rhythm and movement develop and evolve in the body as you keep dancing, but a five year old, I think, is quite capable of understanding and appreciating movement and rhythm.

3) How did you zero in on Bharatanatyam? 

Like I said before, I grew up watching music concerts and dance performances because of my parents. I think it was when I was four that I expressed a desire to dance. So my parents took me to dance performances of various kinds, and I made the decision that I wanted to learn Bharatanatyam, after I saw Leela Samson perform. I can’t remember what was going through my mind then, but there was obviously something about her dancing that drew me to her and to Bharatanatyam.

4) With the increasing influence of the west, there has been a shift towards contemporary dances. Youngsters these days are easily excited by Ashle Lobo or Shamakh Dawars dance class but not necessarily as much with traditional dance forms of India. What are the reasons for the same in your opinion.  

I’m not sure if the increasing influence of the west is the only reason for a shift towards contemporary dance. It can be argued that a lot of Indian contemporary dance has developed here in India itself. It also depends on what we call contemporary dance. Couldn’t it be that what Balasaraswati was doing in her time was very contemporary, and now that its in the past, we call it tradition?

Moreover, it is a very common mistake to call any sort of western dance – contemporary dance. I strongly suspected that Ashley Lobo and Shyamak Dawar do not come under the contemporary category, but to confirm this – I asked a friend who’s a contemporary dancer. Ashley Lobo is a jazz dancer, and Shyamak can be classified as ‘Bollywood Jazz’. These two genres are quite distinct from ‘contemporary dance’. Salsa, Ballroom dancing and so on are also genres in their own right and do not come under ‘contemporary dance’. The contemporary dance ‘form’ is a broad name given to include dance styles such as Modern, Limon technique, Contact improvisation and so on. So it would be a mistake to club all the ‘western’ forms into one genre.

I also don’t think its true that youngsters are more interested in Shyamak Dawar than in traditional forms. After all, there are a lot of young kids still enrolled in several classical Indian dance classes. I think perhaps the marketing of some dance institutions is better than others – bigger networks, more funding, better exposure on television and so on. But I think youngsters today are interested in a whole lot of things – both “traditional” and “modern” (the two terms are deliberately within quotes).

5) How has dance evolved through the years. What are the new trends and what are people embracing today.

That’s a big, big question! As far as the evolution of dance goes, I think it has evolved immensely, and it should. Dance is not static, so its evolution is inevitable. How that has happened is a matter of great debate amongst dance scholars. I believe history, politics, and society have all played massive roles in evolving and shaping dance in India. Taking the example of Bharatanatyam – its been transforming ever since the first documentations of dance. The Devadasi system impacted it, the Tanjore Quartet modified it, Colonialism and its Victorian notions of sexuality reshaped it, post-Colonial nationalists further changed it, contemporary Bharatanatyam dancers have further experimented with it, and my generation has and will as well.

New trends…hmmm. Well, that depends entirely on the dancers. Some see themselves as carrying forward an ancient tradition, others determine their paths within the the guru-shishya parampara. Then there are others yet who are looking to western forms of dance to examine their own ‘traditions’. Bollywood dancing is another huge trend (they even teach it at some schools, I hear). There is also an increasing number of dancers who are going into a deep exploration and examination of dance forms through different mediums. There is so much happening – I’m not sure if I can identify a particular trend.

What are the people embracing today? I think its best you ask the people!

6) Dance requires tremendous amount of focus and dedication. As a young girl did you find it hard to focus. Share with me in detail about your though process say 7-8 years ago. 

That’s true. Dance does require tremendous focus and dedication. Everything you do does, right? Actually, I’m relieved to say that I didn’t find it hard to focus. Perhaps I did feel a bit left out briefly when I was 12, because my other friends were doing all sorts of things that I couldn’t do because I was going to dance classes and rehearsals, but really that feeling didn’t last long at all. Mostly, I was quite absorbed with dance. 

But my focus and dedication was different to what it is today. About 8-9 years ago, I was focused mostly on building my Bharatanatyam repertoire, and performing it. I wasn’t really theoretically engaging with it as much as I would’ve liked. I was also a member of Leela Samson’s dance company ‘Spanda’, and was absolutely thrilled to be travelling around the country and abroad with the troupe. 

Around the time of my college years, my focus started to shift to the theoretical aspects of dance. I started to question things I’d never questioned before. I started to explore other dance forms as well and wanted to re-examine and re-visit Bharatanatyam in as many ways as I could. So my focus and dedication took a different direction from then onwards. Today, I find myself at yet another crossroad linked to the last path I’d taken. I’m starting to feel ready to put the last 7-8 years of questioning and re-thinking, confusion and articulation - into practice.

7) Who has been your inspiration if any at all. 

My inspiration…there is so much that inspires people, I’m no different. I don’t think I can pinpoint one inspiration. I have been inspired by all sorts of things – people, events, paintings, poetry, music, political events, newspaper articles, performances by fellow dancers, photographs…sometimes just something I see happening in a very mundane manner moves me. Many things inspire me. I hope it always stays that way.

8) Dance is also used as therapy these days. What are the other aspects of dance that most people might not know. 

Well, I don’t know how much people know about dance, but I think a lot of people don’t know the history of their dance forms. This, I feel, can be quite problematic...because people don’t know how the dance forms came to be what they are today, what journeys they went through in their historical evolution. Without that, I don’t think one can fully appreciate or understand  any dance form.

9) What is your diet like? Do you follow a strict regime to keep your emotional sanity. 

I’m terribly averse to the word ‘diet’ because all my life, when I have heard people using that word, it has meant starving. I’ve seen dance classmates get sick because they won’t eat enough, others depriving themselves constantly or surviving on dry cereal for months on end to lose weight. ‘Diet’ has somehow become synonymous with ‘weight loss’, which in turn has become synonymous with starving. I’d hate to endorse that sort of dieting. I’m happy to say that I don’t follow any sort of strict diet. I eat everything – ‘unhealthy’ stuff too, every once in a while! But on the whole, I do try to keep a balanced diet. I’m a big foodie. Freely eating whatever I want probably helps a lot to 'keep my emotional sanity'!

10) You are very young and attractive which must mean you would be getting a lot of attention from the opposite sex. How do you handle that.

Ummm...I'd say being young is overrated. And being attractive is subjective. How one handles any attention one gets is also personal and situation-specific, isn’t it? I'm not really sure how else to answer that.

11) What are the characteristics of a complete woman and who is one according to you. 

I don’t think there is such a thing as a ‘complete’ woman. If you become complete, then you’d probably be completely self- satisfied. In that situation, you’d stop feeling the need to do better –  to grow. I think that’s the worst thing that can happen to someone! If you stop feeling the need to grow, you’re at a dead end. That’s it, then. You’re done for.