My Arangetram!

I had my Bharatha Natya Arangetram on 23rd March in Mumbai and it was the most surreal experience!

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Hmmm. if that were the opening line of a short story, or even an essay, it would be a very poor beginning indeed. I would assume it were a 6th grader, and if I were an ICSE marker, I should only very cursorily scan this piece. But how then do I reacquaint myself with my blog, with all of you? Shall i apologise, sounding very redundant indeed, for my absence? No. Perhaps I should try again.

March 23, 2007. A friday, and the auspicious 5th day of Chaitri Navratri. The day to mark the culmination of my 5 months of effort - not to mention the customary blood, sweat, tears and also, in our case, prayers. The ascendence onto the stage (which is the literal translation of Arangetram), which would mark my launch into the world of professional/temple dancing, if i so chose.

The day began at 8:30, an hour earlier at least than I would have wished and promised, (not to mention, threatened) to be a hectic one, for rather than the hours of rest, stretching and practice that is usual on the day of a hectic performance under blinding lights on an unfamiliar stage encased in silk and safety pins, I was to be caught up in a whirlwind of activity beginning with being stuffed into a wedding lehenga for my lagnapatrika ceremony, after which my inlaws came in full force to wish me for my arangetram, bearing gifts (always welcome!) and their wedding invitations (for those who are unfamiliar with this custom, the parents and other family of the bride and groom must go to each other's house to 'invite' each other for the wedding, bearing invitations for individual members and sweets etc). In the meanwhile, I presided rather pathetically in my bedchamber, having been awarded an undignified shot in the rear by my doctor earlier in the morning to numb the sudden pull that has arisen below my rhomboids the day before, and the ensuing collective panic. The lunch comprised fried gujju delicacies - ghughras, khandvi/patevdi, cucumber and coconut salad, stuffed okra, paneer, mixed vegatbles, rice, vermicelli upma, assorted papads and roti/puris, kachoris, shrikhand, phada lapsi-chola, jalebis, sinful, unealthy treats that would settle in my middle and prevent me from moving agilely, I was sure.

After that, I forced myself to nap, with my loving fiance encouraging me. After an uneasy slumber of an hour, from which I was loath to be awakened, I reluctantly set off for the theatre for makeup. I was rather surprised at my calmness, and as a result, wondering if I should be scared. My stage rehearsal at Mysore Association theatre had gone well, though I found the wood of the stage to be alarmingly less stable than the stone floor I was used to. Everytime I banged I could feel the hollowness, and the subsequent realisation that there was nothing below the wood, that I could very well make a hole in it if I banged too hard. And I couldn't forget Pragni the Dream Catcher's comment that the worse one's stage rehearsal goes, the better one's actual performance goes. I asked my guru's wife about it, and she said that that was what they told students whose stage rehearsals went badly so they wouldn't get nervous. Whew. That was a relief! (the day before with a full music rehearsal in class I had forgetton steps I NEVER forget, so I philosophically figured that really, it was a 50-50 chance it would go well.)

I had had a dream the week before that the audience only had 5 people in it, that my first item went well, that my second item was messed up, that I was so busy moaning about the mess backstage that i didnt hear my signal, and that by the time i rushd on stage for the thirs item, masterji had made his companion guru start the dance.I franticallytried to catch up, bt found myself doing the steps of another dance instead. And during this, who should i see but a sister-in-law wearing a sari that I am planning to wear in real life for a wedding lunch, and I get so mad - though i admit that the sari looks STUNNING. She comes backstage to commiserate with me. I go back onstage for my varnam when for some reason I am compelled to stop twice in the middle of my first half, when my guru gets up and walks off stage in a huff, and I chase after him begging hm to let me finish my varnam and the rest of m programme. I told this to a girl who had her arangetram in the same theatre as me, and she said she too dreamt of the hall being empty but that it was overfull on that day. However, I did not expect that when i heard about a certain CRICKET MATCH between India and Sri Lanka that promised to make my audience devoid of at least a hundred men.

When I got on stage, I looked into the audience and as disappointed to see many seats at the back unoccupied. Fearing the prophecy of my dream, while trying to pragmatically blame the cricket match, I became so busy initially getting the rituals right - walking in, bowing first to God, then the Gurus, then praying to the stage, then settling in for my first item, trying to look devoted rather than nervous as I invoked Ganesha, that the first item was over before I knew it, and I had a feel of the stage, and was rather annoyed with it. The wood had a different quality, and worse, the X mark on the stage where I had to begin most of my dances from, was right on a piece to duct tape that joined the planks together, so that the place where the arch of my foot rested was slightly uneven. It was alarming because I tend to obssessively adhere to the centre of the stage precisely to a fault, and that placed my balancing at risk.

The second item, my Jathiswaram, a rhythm and stamina piece, saw me making my first mistakes, which caused me a great deal of alarm, because though I was dependent on the automotive reflexes of my body in response to a beat and notes I had been listening to for months, i would register that my movement didnt match the beat of the mridangam, and I would mentally falter, be more determined than ever to not let it show, and smile and go on. However, I was more reassured as I saw latecomers straggling in. Many of the items went on this way, and my confidence would increase as my presence of mind allowed me to work in sync with the drums and the song, as i placed my enjoyment of the dance and its communication to the audience over and above my technical finesse, which at this crucial point, was up to God anyway. After my Sabdam (some word-action lags)and Varnam (almost perfect except for the first sequence, which only someone intimately acquainted with the composition would have noticed) which went beautifully except that I apparently looked exhausted at the end, though I was floating on air by then.

Then came the interval, during which I had to change out of my soaked sari costume into my cutdress, while trying to salvage my eye makeup (my contact lens had been troubling me throughout the dances, leading to black streaks and smudging below my eye, not to mention mild discomfort). Then came my favourite dances - my Mira Bhajan depicting Draupadi's Vastraharan, almost perfect again except for another word/action lag, the Shiva slokam and Oru Kalaithuki, in which i was unable to attempt some of my harder poses because my pants felt tight and I wasnt sweating enough to let my foot slide to my elbow (which really means im not as flexible as I should be), which led me to use my beats in a less than satisfactory way, and which was the first time the audience could sense I was having trouble, even though I wasnt tired. Then came the beautiful Annapurni, which always makes me so happy that I smile more than I do in any other dance, but I must have been shaken up because I make mistakes I never made in class, and I believe i panicked and it showed as I felt my body freeze in uncertainty for a few seconds. This only led me to be more determined to perfect my final dance, the climactic Thillana, pure rhythm with an addictive bass, which I messed up in the head movements itself. However, the good thing about dance is that every subsequent movement is a redeemer, and that it went perfectly except for one hasty and roundabout turn, and a subtle di-ti-tai fumble in the getu.

And before I knew it, it was over. People were trickling on stage to congratulate me, and I think I was most gratified to see students of the class I frequented coming to meet me. Being so acutely aware of all my mistakes, it was difficult, almost anticlimactic, to hear people tell me how much they enjoyed it, which items were their favourite (though that encompassed quite a range), and I felt that I didnt deserve the accolades that I had earlier, on the wave of my calmness, led myself to believe i deserved. I dont even know if my teachers were being nice when they praised me, simply because it was over and this was a performance I could never repeat, but I must not question my teachers.

The results of this experience? The songs of my arangetram still resound in my mind, and my body is satisfied by no other exercise, for none is as holistic as one that seeks to affirm your belief in the parmatma by turning your physical, mental and spiritual energy inward to bring out stories, legends, lessons that are intrinsic to our existence as humans, as a community. An arangetram is not an ending, but a beginning. I hope that my arangetram will be the worst performance of my life, for I am more acutely aware now than ever before of my failings in my dance, and where I can improve. I also sincerely hope that it will not be the last performance of my life. And yes, whatever you dance, be it Kuchipudi, Bharathanatya, Kathak, whatever, do have the patience, fortitude and LOVE to see your dance through to the end - do your Rangpravesh or Arangetram. You will never view dance, or if you're lucky, life, in the same way again.