Nrityagram: A globalized dance form

If it is not clear yet, I consider myself to be a dancer, with a forte in bharatanatyam. It is how I communicate; it is how I live; it is how I breathe. I am in many senses nothing without it.

And as an Indian classical dancer, where mentors/gurus are your source to continual improvement, and myself with no official teacher training me at the moment, it has been difficult. For six years I have floundered looking for someone  - sometimes, anyone - who would want to take on a dancer who wanted intensive training. Sadly, I came up short. Until I took Nrityagram’s month long summer workshop.

It is an incredible experience to find a teacher at this age who is actually interested in developing professional level students whether they are trained or untrained in the style. Most teachers in the Indian classical dance field will write you off if you haven’t been with them for years and years, and several more will show favoritism to the talented. Not so at Nrityagram, where the philosophy emphasizes dedication and passion leading a student towards carefully guided professional development.

Best of all is that the dance company remains firmly routed in the traditions of Indian classical dance, while creating constant evolution within the form.  The result is an ever-developing globalized art form. Though Nrityagram once had, and perhaps will again, house other styles of dance, as of right now many of us associate them with a deep commitment to the odissi form and ethos.  But the style here does not quite emphasize preservation or even simply working with only the vocabulary that has been passed down to them…it is one that has absorbed the techniques, stability, and graces of many other genres of dance while adapting it to the art form. Never before have I seen so many influences from dance around the world yet found it to remain firmly entrenched within the curvaceous feel of odissi. And to me, this is what makes Nrityagram so inspiring. They keep pushing the form forward.

At Nrityagram’s village, which is like a mini-college complete with dorms and several areas to practice, is a quiet air of constant learning, absorbing, and imbibing, even amongst the teachers. It is a place that makes almost everyone who comes want to quit everything and stay here, even with the lizards that hide behind your mirror and after you’ve killed your twentieth cockroach in the bathroom. And this is not because the style of dance, or the incredibly beautiful dancers, (though these are a product of the atmosphere) but because of the inspiration and knowledge that the teachers impart. After learning at Nrityagram, it’s difficult to imagine learning from anyone else or any other way.  It’s an experience you hope you can consistently come back to, magnificent in its simplicity, humbling, and utterly enthralling.

I wish, in some senses, I had found Nrityagram 5 years ago, when I had first embarked on my permanent journey into the dance field. I would have happily tried out for their residential program then, and with a little luck may now consider odissi to be my forte rather than bharatanatyam.

In other senses, it was the perfect timing for me. It is a time when I feel I can truly appreciate and apply the perspective and criticisms of accomplished artists such as Bijayini Satpathy/Surupa Sen/Pavithra Reddy, without tons of ego (at least in relation to 5 years back), and with some of the carefully developed awareness of the body that I didn’t have when I was 21 – and took being a little lost as a dancer – to find.

And just like learning, there is no conclusion here, only hope that I can continue onwards and upwards.

Aristotle's Poetics -- An analysis by Stephen Halliwell

On page 37 of this analysis, Halliwell says:

"...It is...the primary purpose of the Poetics to establish a philosophical framework for the understanding of poetry in general, and to do so in a way which entails the statement and advocacy of criteria of poetic excellence. The treatise is in this sense both theoretical and prescriptive. But it has sometimes been believed that it is also prescriptive in a stronger and more pragmatic sense: that it sets out to instruct poets or would-be poets in the methods of composition itself."

I wonder if the Natyashastra and rasa theory as analyzed by Abhinavagupta is somewhat the same. Most historians agree that the Natyashastra was NOT prescriptive but rather described the arts as it was performed when it was written. (Theorized to be 500 BC to 500 AD, if I recollect properly). However, I think it is extremely difficult to analyze such methodology in detail without ultimately becoming also prescriptive.

The Natyashastra nowadays is definitely a prescriptive text. But if you think about it, it is comparable to a book like Aristotle's Poetics. Which allows for more leeway than one would think - it is now a text actually written by someone, who, for all intents and purposes, can't be right about everything. Is there anyone out there who would analyze, and above all, challenge the Natyashastra?

Death and its effect on tradition and history.

It is the phenomena of death that creates change.  Have you noticed how major changes seem to only happen generation to generation?  It is true that older persons are more set in their ways and beliefs, and when the mid-liners of a generation (20's, 30's, etc) start to come into their own, differently opinionated mindset, the changes and acceptances really take place as the children of this generation grow up.

In the same way, traditions really spike and change generation to generation - as the same mid-liners become older, they also become experts of certain subjects or traditions.  And with their slightly different mind-set, they are bound to change and innovate (for different reasons from artistic innovation to repugnance of certain bits, etc - it all depends on the person, the time period, what is accepted, etc) within the tradition.

With their expert status, and no older generation to challenge them and stagnate the changes, the younger generation perceives these new introductions as inherently part of the tradition.  And so, with death, traditions have the ability to change quite fluidly and without protest.  I believe Richard Schechner elaborates upon this phenomena within his book, Between Theater and Anthropology.

Maybe this is something everyone knew already but I had to write down this connection because it brings up the idea that perhaps it's not individual people who change and accept something new but literally the environment you grow up in, making it more a community phenomena.

A small chat with Ania Loomba, Ustad Amjad Ali Khan, Shankar Mahadevan, Unnikrishnan, Priyadarsini Govind, and Namit Malhotra: Wharton Economic Conference part 2

So now that I've told you of the gist of this conference, I would like to tell you more about the panel itself, or at least my observations of it.  It all stems around the question I asked to the panel in general:

"We all accept that tradition has an ever changing value system.  But what I would like to know is, of the tradition you see changing before your eyes, is there anything in particular you would warn us of losing, any aspect that you see dying that you'd prefer to preserve or aspects that you are excited to see go?"

The question was not answered properly, and I received some fairly generic answers in return, more or less hearing that change would always happen and not to worry if it did.  For instance, Unnikrishnan brought to light the point that the violin, an undeniable force of nature in Indian classical music, was only added to the genre in the 18th century or so.  However, this was a change that was an addition, and not a removal - all was gained and nothing was lost!  So I think there was some confusion as to my question as well.

What was far more interesting though was what I gleaned from listening to this panel and speaking to Ms. Govind a bit more afterwards:

Artists (and perhaps I am iterating the obvious) who have made art completely financially viable for themselves with no issues - do not seem to worry about their form at all.  Example number two: in a later conversation with only Priyadarsini I mentioned how dancers use abhinaya less and less these days and there was no worry.  There was also most certainly a vehement "no" when I asked if she was concerned about gradual diminishing of abhinaya in the classical arts today or if she thought there was a
diminished nature at all.  To summarize, her point was: Change will happen as it does and nothing serious will be lost.

Yet, many, many artists - including Kalanidhi Kuchipudi and Nrityagram - have admitted to leaving out abhinaya pieces or doing less of them as "Westerners do not understand them".  Further, an enormous number of the lesser known artists I have spoken to wonders at some level what is being lost or question the changes that are happening around them.

I wouldn't say that financial success makes an artist complacent, and I definitely don't claim a right or wrong view here, but the evidence seems to show that if you are making money off your art, you are less likely to question the change that is happening in the world around you....



I do realize this wasn't the most in depth analysis (er...really? People who make different amounts of money off their profession think differently about it??) but hey! it had to be noted.

On Food, Dance and Tradition

A year or so ago, I read the Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan and was fascinated by our gathered food knowledge. Before science, how could Mexicans have possibly known that corn supplemented the one nutrient that black beans could not give them? Yet, they ate the two together religiously, as if they knew one without the other was useless.

In fact, it's only recently that we've tried to base our food knowledge on science, which seems to be ineffectual. Our obesity rates and trend diets that change every year or two confirms just that.

As usual, I've related this to dance. In my discussions on traditionality, I touch upon the question of dissecting traditionality. Like deconstructing food, does deconstructing the parts that make up bharatanatyam or classical Indian dance, and then putting them together in new and unexpected ways add up to the sum of its parts? I often wonder if this deconstruction - where we analyze the form, decide that we'll keep pieces of it and discard others to our liking - is a bit like separating the black beans from the corn and deciding to throw away the corn. We've just lost something essential to the dance form, the process, the choreography, and we have no way of knowing it's importance for sure.

Essential to what? That's a good question. I suppose if we go to rasa theory (and my own belief) that you won't ever get to experience truth or that "I've-got-chills-but-this-is-more-than-just-that" feeling by choreographing or dancing in this manner.