Time and again, I've made the confession of that being a nomad. Something which was not by choice, but which eventually became the only choice. And later on, the very source of love.
The consequence took form in the way of busy feet. Almost literally.
The rythm of life slowly transcended through the expression of feet. The rythm came to life, and I was alive!
My earliest training started at the age of five. My first lesson in dance! And it happened to be Bharatnatyam. For about a year, I was the happy five year old, who got to dress up in her mom's red "dupatta" and tie those "ghungrus" to her feet, and groove to the beat!
Then, the change of place, and change of routine. Bharatnatyam gave way to Odissi. The feet stompings gave way to the various bends a six year old's body can indulge in. And "grace" was born. The erstwhile white and red ensemle gave way to a light pink dress. It was a pretty girl's wardrobe, sans the ghungrus. But that bereavement was made up with the introduction of stage and limelight. The first dance constumes. My first dance recital. Those beautiful bright blue silk sarees from Odhisha, silver dance jewellery and that beautiful head gear, those heavy kohl-lines eyes and alta adorned hands and feet! And the danseuse was born. And just when I was growing in the form, the nomadic life called again.
Another change of place. And another change of form. But this time, it was going back in time. Farewell to Odissi and hello Bharatnatyam, all over again! New place, new face, new dress, but the old beats.. Aah! The familiarity. And the return of the ghungrus! And happiness found its way back. Starting afresh, from the first stage. And thus began my gradual ascent in the form. Those long classes, those aching feet simply disappeared when faced with the chance of being the centre-stage. And the performance! The costumes. The bright yellow-red silks, those red stones encrusted gold jewellery, even for the hair and head, those heavily detailed hair-garlands and those mesmerising ghungrus! And I fell in love with all the chaos. It was the adolescence love gaining momentum.
Alas, it was the nomad life that took possession. Another change of place. But the form remained. New place, but same old love. And this time, it was no longer an adolescent love. It took its true roots. Finally, in my city of love, my love for rythm flourished like it was meant to be. More rigorous trainings with each passing day. More hours spent in the confinment of those four walls of the basement, many battles fought with people who came in the way, yes, love was never easy. It had to be fought for, at every stage. And fight I did! And my first elaborate solo recital. And the first ever recital my parents were an audience to! And yes. I made my point! They were stupefied! Bewildered! Astounded! It took me 16 years to prove my love! And it took them only 2 hours to realise the magic which unfolded in front of their eyes!
That one performance, made all the difference.
Yes, I am a trained dancer. Trained in the archaic manner, in the archaic dance forms. And I'm proud of my training. For now I can say, I own the rythm.
And I owe this to all those gurus, I was fortunate enough to have come across in my life, blessed enough to have their blessings showered on me.
The nomadic trait still continues. It's been a long time since formal training. I still yearn for those stick-beat-rehearsals that used to be my evenings.
But I still have my ghungrus. And on days when the blues ovrwhelm, all it takes is, the twinkling toes and the ghungrus beat. and I'm ready to take on life again!
Because, a danseuse was born then. And a dancer still lives.
The consequence took form in the way of busy feet. Almost literally.
The rythm of life slowly transcended through the expression of feet. The rythm came to life, and I was alive!
My earliest training started at the age of five. My first lesson in dance! And it happened to be Bharatnatyam. For about a year, I was the happy five year old, who got to dress up in her mom's red "dupatta" and tie those "ghungrus" to her feet, and groove to the beat!
Then, the change of place, and change of routine. Bharatnatyam gave way to Odissi. The feet stompings gave way to the various bends a six year old's body can indulge in. And "grace" was born. The erstwhile white and red ensemle gave way to a light pink dress. It was a pretty girl's wardrobe, sans the ghungrus. But that bereavement was made up with the introduction of stage and limelight. The first dance constumes. My first dance recital. Those beautiful bright blue silk sarees from Odhisha, silver dance jewellery and that beautiful head gear, those heavy kohl-lines eyes and alta adorned hands and feet! And the danseuse was born. And just when I was growing in the form, the nomadic life called again.
Another change of place. And another change of form. But this time, it was going back in time. Farewell to Odissi and hello Bharatnatyam, all over again! New place, new face, new dress, but the old beats.. Aah! The familiarity. And the return of the ghungrus! And happiness found its way back. Starting afresh, from the first stage. And thus began my gradual ascent in the form. Those long classes, those aching feet simply disappeared when faced with the chance of being the centre-stage. And the performance! The costumes. The bright yellow-red silks, those red stones encrusted gold jewellery, even for the hair and head, those heavily detailed hair-garlands and those mesmerising ghungrus! And I fell in love with all the chaos. It was the adolescence love gaining momentum.
Alas, it was the nomad life that took possession. Another change of place. But the form remained. New place, but same old love. And this time, it was no longer an adolescent love. It took its true roots. Finally, in my city of love, my love for rythm flourished like it was meant to be. More rigorous trainings with each passing day. More hours spent in the confinment of those four walls of the basement, many battles fought with people who came in the way, yes, love was never easy. It had to be fought for, at every stage. And fight I did! And my first elaborate solo recital. And the first ever recital my parents were an audience to! And yes. I made my point! They were stupefied! Bewildered! Astounded! It took me 16 years to prove my love! And it took them only 2 hours to realise the magic which unfolded in front of their eyes!
That one performance, made all the difference.
Yes, I am a trained dancer. Trained in the archaic manner, in the archaic dance forms. And I'm proud of my training. For now I can say, I own the rythm.
And I owe this to all those gurus, I was fortunate enough to have come across in my life, blessed enough to have their blessings showered on me.
The nomadic trait still continues. It's been a long time since formal training. I still yearn for those stick-beat-rehearsals that used to be my evenings.
But I still have my ghungrus. And on days when the blues ovrwhelm, all it takes is, the twinkling toes and the ghungrus beat. and I'm ready to take on life again!
Because, a danseuse was born then. And a dancer still lives.
