Most dancers have been asked many times, “why did you choose to do what you do?” I often find myself befuddled by this question, having answered it practically, emotionally and even mechanically in the past, I realise now that at every stage of my journey I have had but one authentic answer – it is not that I chose dance, it is, that dance chose me. And for this honour, for this act of divinity, I bow down in reverence, awe and gratitude to Nataraja without whom, I would not be me. It matters not, if I am a good dancer, a struggling artist, recognised, anonymous or even unsuccessful, what matters in the larger picture is this internal, unfailing commitment, to engage everyday with the internal rhythms of my being and use it to navigate and express the external reverberations of this world – a world that I simultaneously love, hate, fear and revel in.
My time at Attakkalari gave me skill as a mover, taught me how to be a performer, pushed me to embark on the journey of choreography and firmly inculcated in me the need for discipline and consistency in art. Yes, Art makes us human, yes – it elevates us, makes us see differently and sometimes brings about the inside journey. Art is freedom and it is creativity, but it also asks you to face yourself, to be objective about who you are, where you come from and compels you to examine where you are going. It is no easy teacher and holds up mirrors where and when you least expect or want them. It is relentless and asks you to see beauty in battle and be inspired by stillness. These are some of the windows Attakkalari opened for me. I met my teacher and the most inspiring choreographer I have ever worked with - the director of Attakkalari, Jayachandran Palazhy. A man whom I feel a little afraid to describe on paper because I can’t quite touch upon the force of nature he really is, or what he has meant to me as a young dancer and as someone whose life he has made more meaningful by his grace and vision. There are very few people indeed who can speak of having had an original idea or thought and then breathing, building and painstakingly constructing it into reality. This is one such man. In my time with him, I was witness to some of the sacrifices, the genius and mastery, the pain and the love. I would like to believe that this was a tiny part of what is to follow. I wait with bated breath to be inspired by more of his work, which I do believe is the manifestation of his love and complex understanding of the world he sees around him, one that is chaotic, historical, ridiculous, gruesome, beautiful, ordinary and mystical all at once. I move on from here with a heavy heart but with lessons I hope I never forget. My experience with many different choreographers and teachers, as well as dancers and artists has taught me so much. I remember the time I started training in Jazz Ballet at The Danceworx , NewDelhi and saying to myself while watching one of my mentors practicing her extensions and stretches in front of the mirror, “that’s my goal”! A few months later I was shocked at experiencing no satisfaction whatsoever, at achieving those same physical feats. I had set new goals and the old destination seemed like a joke, one that I had made upon myself. At this point the same mentor smilingly told me that I would “never” be satisfied because the bar would just keeps raising itself - one never gets “there”, because this “there” is elusive and forever escaping, leading you deeper and deeper into the forest of what you can be, do, say and create. Art teaches you to love change, accept it revel in it and be moved to tears and laughter when it comes about. At the dance studio, we train with a spirit of camaraderie, deep comfort and awareness, not only of our own bodies, but also of the bodies we share the space with. Unless you have experienced a non-judgmental physical space and actually known what it is like to put aside the personal identity, sex, history or background of the beings around you, and to just be in the raw energy and physicality of the moment with them, you may not quite comprehend what I am pointing towards. One trains all day in this atmosphere, forgets and purposefully forgoes societal conditioning on how men and women sit or carry themselves. The body and consciousness is nursed in a context of awareness and freedom. What ensues is a process of constant purification and sensitization that the dancer or any artist puts oneself through. The day ends and you walk out, back into the world. The shift in energy is harshly perceptible. There is a necessary re- adjustment of physicality as you start defending yourself from the random men on the streets, and closing yourself again so you are in alignment with other city dwellers. Your senses must again be able to distinguish between male and female, people of varied backgrounds and of course between friend and foe. This schizophrenic experience and chasm between the world and the sacred space, is I think a large part of what compels us (at least me) to make art. The artist is privileged in being able to experience what it could be, versus what it has become. And this “it” refers to just about anything – human interactions, public spaces, our connection to the environment and so on. It is the reason that I commit myself to finding the most impactful and authentic way I can to say what needs to be said. After many years of rigorous training in Jazz Ballet, Kalaripayattu ( a martial art form from Kerala), Yoga , Indian Classical Forms and Contemporary Dance techniques , I find that my thirst for learning and training is far from quenched. The more I learn, the more I realize how much there is out there and this ever hungry part of me that seeks to experience firsthand all it possibly can becomes obsessed and restless with the need to assimilate a new skill. But here precisely is the irony, the great big paradox of the artist or even just the student. Each skill or subject that we painstakingly and determinedly go out into the world to pursue becomes in fact another path to go back inside and know and discover the self. While every form I have dabbled in or been possessed by, has taught a me a great deal of skill, tools, even tradition, no subject has it shed more light on than the one learning - the self.
My mother says, I was dancing since I was a child, before training or classes or even exposure. I remember watching the classic Hollywood musicals and old Hindi film songs. From Gene Kelly and John Travolta to Madhubala and Kishore Kumar- I was inspired; I had been bitten by the performance bug. Even Disney musicals had their place! Being the oldest of many cousins I often coerced, bullied and directed my younger family repertory into dance dramas with choreographies and rehearsed sequences. It helped of course to have a captive ever encouraging family audience. There is no way I could have my sustained this journey had family not rallied around me, both in times of strive and in times of celebration. My Grandmother, in all her wisdom laughed at me , when I called her panicking as I has cleared all the exams and group discussions for a five year professional course. There was just one interview between me and five years of life at a desk , away from the dance floor. “Fail it” she glibly advised me! of course! This hadn’t even occurred to me and I obediently went ahead and did just that, ensuring my dancer days were to continue. All this talk of passion, adrenaline and transformation should by no means undermine the hours of physical pain and discomfort, the mental fragility , the judgment, the objectification we put our bodies through and of course the deep angst – “what will I do when I can’t move like this”.. Like most dancers, I have had years go by, spent in the studio. Sometimes forgetting what day it is, or what time. The being is doing, learning, un-doing, unlearning, creating, and sculpting the body and being sculpted upon. Learning a form, takes time. In the case of the contemporary dancer, learning many forms and creating a meeting point between them, takes years. And then, the moment you are comfortable, you must deconstruct. Take whatever fits easily and topple it to find something new or more authentic. I am referring, rather inadequately to the artist’s duty to stay alive in his or her action and to wear this confusion with amused yet self indulgent curiosity. To attempt even through the sophisticated training to speak from primal spaces, guttural impulses and even functional planes. This, while constantly engaging in improvisational exercises where one revisits and investigates authentic ways of how the body reacts to life’s stimulus. It would be painting a pretty one sided picture if I didn’t mention that the world we inhabit today is not necessarily one that is designed for the artist to navigate with ease. The work that keeps me going in order to make ends meet, and if I’m lucky have something left for my creative endeavors, research and training is basically work with the community- schools, colleges, fitness enthusiasts and so on , primarily in the role of a teacher. I do love to teach. So this works out well for me. However the choreographer in me often needs a whole other kind of time investment. While the inner performer and student of dance is a creature with demands far surpassing what is logistically possible in the best of times. So I keep at it, ever shuffling between these selves, hoping , sometimes wishing they would let the quieter voices speak - the daughter, friend, sibling, child, partner, rouge, traveler, wanderer and a few others often want to have their way too. The dancer still wins, and I am forced to confront the fact that the experience of being an artist and in the world can be so very conflicting, as well as a deeply gendered experience. As a female artist who is now in her 30s, I definitely feel the angst of really having no time for a personal life. A part of me cringes with craving when I see children and babies, and when I leave my family to go back to the empty yet vibrant space I now call home .This angst then gets filtered and invested into energy for research, practice and creative expression, paradoxically moving me further away from any semblance of a “normal” life. This is not to say that men in my field don’t have societal and other pressures, but that is a whole other conversation. I’m beginning to think it is really difficult to balance these worlds and do them both justice. No one likes to come second! Least of all to an abstract other such as art...
I imagine sometimes, an interview of my body … “what is it like to belong to an obsessed dancer?” And I shrink with dread at the answer this battered body might give… I will never forget waking up, one chilly autumn morning in my Paying guest accommodation in Delhi (this was during the Jazz phase of my life), and not being able to move from pain. I couldn’t get up, or shift even a tiny bit. With teeth gritted and long deep breathing to try and ease the immobile back, I managed to somehow reach my phone and dial a friend. What followed was my friend manually lifting me off the mattress, dressing me, packing my bags and sending me off to Kolkata on a plane. I remember arriving at the airport and waiting in a wheelchair with a brace around my neck. After this were months of therapy, consultations with over ten doctors and making it through with the wonderful support of my family and friends. All of whom made it their business to find humour in the situation and give me strength as I battled with the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, that warned - I may not dance again… After much alternate therapy, conventional therapy, fights with my poor father and of course blatant disobedience of the doctor’s orders, I made it through that particular injury. I think a large part of it was that “dance” didn’t give me a choice and, I discovered Kalaripayattu at Attakkalari which strengthened my back and gave me immense physical confidence. This was of course, the first of a long list of injuries.. An archive of pain as it were , that would slowly become the war wounds of this dancer.
As performers we pull off sometimes 16 hours or more of rehearsal, flitting from one production to the next, switching roles and physical intention as we do so, midnight rehearsals and even 3 am ones. I have done this for many, many days and nights of my life. Of course, this was the exception, the rule being eight to ten hours of movement work. I have done it with glee, madness, excitement and adrenaline as well as while cursing, throwing a fit and hating myself and everyone around me in those moments. Would I change it for a second? The answer is a loud resounding NO. Today my performance schedule is very sparse having deliberately made such a choice. But my engagement with the work, and involvement in larger areas of it such as organisation, administration, pedagogy and project based work with various bodies and collectives, has resulted in a different kind of demand. My hours are longer, and there seems to be no break or holiday as one is one’s own boss. Seems like it should have become easier? Welcome to the world of the forever fidgety artist. The goal is to creep towards some kind of authentic place. To find creativity and peace and yet be curious, skillful and have childlike wonder at this incredible manifest universe. These days, at least for the moment, my mantra seems to be “integration”. I do realize that for me and many fellow artists, the classroom, the studio and the monastery/ ashram will suffice as a replica of the entire inhabited world, with occasional stints at the auditorium and on the stage. However recently I have become very interested in the possibilities of the artist as the site for deep, authentic integration. A living, embodied site where art (be it movement, music, craft, theatre or any other medium), academia and research can meet spiritual practice and the lived manifest experience of the world. This excites me endlessly and I hope the path is one filled with experiences that can be accessed by everyone, through the work I intend to put out there.
