Rukmini Devi Arundale, Padma Subrahmanyam, Pandit Birju Maharaj, Mrinalini Sarabhai, Mallika Sarabhai, Yamini Krishnamurthy, Shobhana — the list goes on and on. Many dream to append their name to this illustrious line-up. By the way, what is that connecting thread of these names? Dance.
Till some time ago, dance, as a passion, had never found its way to my wish list or any of the lengthy bucket lists I had compiled. Yet, on a serene Sunday, amid a cascade of thoughts, a brochure about a dance class for working women and seniors commencing on Vijayadashami appeared before me, and within minutes, I found myself enrolled in the dance class.
Was it a miracle or magic? Uncertain. But, one thing was certain. I have become a dance student. My man standing beside me — curiously interested in the class schedule — seemed to be the most happiest person of that moment. I shall leave the reason to your imagination. Yet, a hint of worry crept in. I have orchestrated others’ movements to my tune, but now? Dancing to someone else’s tune was an unimaginable twist. Maybe that is what is called “Reap what you sow”.
“Embrace new horizons” has become my mantra. But why dance? The chasm between me and dance had been wider than an astronomical unit. “Some things perpetually remain mysterious.”
Considering my age (of mind excluded), my actions and words that seldom exude gracefulness, I pondered how I would embody the visible grace essential for any dance form. It’s a new challenge, and I stand prepared to confront it.
My teacher, Bhavana Sudheep, greeted me with a gentle smile as I entered. In that moment, I prayed for that smile to last forever — for reasons known only to me. “You are the one who knows you best.”
I was introduced to my classmates, and that sent a happy vibe within me. Why? I was the youngest in the class. Sharadha, Seema, Shari, Reshma and Niji were already present. They were my neighbours and a laughter roared up on seeing each other. “Secrets won’t last long with women.”
“Bend, bend a little more,” echoed my teacher. “Bend it like Beckham?” I quipped inwardly, though my admiration was for Victoria Beckham’s slenderness. Did a hidden desire to become slender lurk in the recesses of my mind? Perhaps. A cry from the back snapped me back to reality; it was Shari, The villainous bend struck her hip. I stifled a laugh, though “laughter is the best medicine”.
“Come on, bend, jump, turn.” This time, it seemed directed at me. Why should I conform to someone else’s tune when I have my own? I stood resolute. However, a stern glance from the guru compelled me to jump and turn, but I stood without bending. The perplexed look on the teacher’s face led to an entire session dedicated to bend-up exercises for me, while others mastered the steps. “Karma returns.”
“Alapadmam”, “Katakamugham” and other mudras were taught next, and we were urged to stretch our arms for their beauty. Ms. Sudheep exemplified grace, resembling a goddess of dance while demonstrating the postures. “Don’t beg for alms with your hand, stretch it to give,” she instructed. That moment, I became more attentive to my movements. “Decide within, and you become unique.”
Now, I am prepared for any bend, jump, or turn, ready to stretch my hands up and down to any tune (strictly a matter of choice). I have grown to understand Bharatanatyam, its intricate mudras, jhathis, and chaari, all credited to the creator. The theory classes have enlightened me about the art form’s origins and styles — realising we follow the Thanjavur style of dance. “Firm roots make you stand strong.”
The class grows more engaging by the day, and we, the ladies, have resolved to defy criticism about our mismatched ages in dance as a means to prove that “age is just a number”. And indeed, it is, isn’t it?
Some day, we ll have our Arangettam, and the thought of surprising everyone alleviates the pain from cramps, sores, jumps, bends, twists, turns, and stretches — after all, “no gain without pain”.
We practise patiently, holding on to the belief “practice makes perfect”.
And again… now it’s time for practice.
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