What's the point of it all?
Illustration by Satyaki Chakrabarti
“Thalangu thaka dhiku thaka thadhingina thom”
The giggles are muted, backs straightened and knees yanked to the side in aramandi position. My guru had trapped the dancers’ attention using these spoken rhythmic syllables known as solkattu. I began with the namaskaram, a prayer asking Mother Earth permission to dance on her. Alongside permission, I ask Her for strength.
Why is strength fundamental to a dancer?
To withhold the weight of our gurus stare pushing us into a deeper aramandi, a sitting position which reduces your height by half.
To balance yourself in aramandi position whilst your feet are twisted in the opposite direction in a ‘straight line’.
To uphold the natyarambha posture, an arm position resembling the wings of a plane.
To bare the slaps of your feet hitting and rubbing against the wooden floor, or worse, carpet.
For over a decade, I enthusiastically worked my way through 8 Grades of examination, successfully achieving ‘distinction’ at every stage. Somewhere along my quest, I discovered carnatic vocal and violin but my screeching in these beautiful artforms did not last long.
I completed the dreaded diploma, earned the title of ‘Natya Kalajothy’, and completed my arangetram, a debut performance showcasing the milestone of an artist completing training.
It was at this time that the emptiness swarmed in. I was constantly congratulated for ‘finishing’ dance but the unsettling feeling of incompetence settled in. I had not done enough to be a great dancer.
As expected from my guru, I began teaching dance and developed a niche for correcting technique in senior students training to complete their own arangetram.
But I was bored.
I decided to attend a workshop at The Bhavan, conducted by the renowned Barathanatyam dancer from India, Rukmani Vijeyakumar. Through adavu exploration, I realised how a basic step can be manipulated into a complex jathi, a composition of moves that end in a pattern.
I was nowhere near ‘finished’ with dance and I had a sudden hunger to learn more.
Without hesitation, I used my newfound freedom of being 18 and financially free (or somewhat free using student finance) and hunted down tickets for any performances that involved Asian Artists. Bharatanatyam, Kathak, Carnatic Music; anything to fill the void within me. Soon enough, I felt a sense of belonging in this community of artists. I was a good dancer, but I wanted to be great.
After thorough research, I realised what I must do to be a great dancer:
Step 1: Book a flight to India
Step 2: Enroll in a dance school that was founded before I was born.
Step 3: Dedicate at least 5 years of eating ildy for breakfast everyday.
Whilst this is my dream, circumstances do not always allow this.
Being a Mental Health Practitioner in training (yes, I have a bluelight discount card), I have read more legislations than novels in the past year and I have therefore condensed my mission for Arthi's Kalalayam into policy-styled propositions:
We will create a community where artists can continue developing their artforms to a higher level. This can be achieved through dedicated practice, collaboration with other talented artists and stage opportunities where artists have creative freedom to explore their artform.
Together, we will break down stereotypes for the new generation of artists. In these blogs, I will take you on a trip down memory lane on all the good and the bad of being classically trained. I know some of you will quiver at the thought of reminiscing on weekly Bharatanatyam classes.
I will take you on a journey of how I, as a South Asian artist, will create a sustainable career in the UK performing arts industry.
Want to be part of this mission? Subscribe to my newsletter to get updates on my monthly blogs, as well as opportunities for collaborations and performances.
