Tales of South India

The Yatra Chronicles: An Unbroken Thread

We had an earlier start than usual today, 9 o’clock instead of 10. Our destination was the Konganeshwarar temple, somewhere near which was the home of a Sri Herambanathan (love the name!) and his Bavu Pillai school of dance. They are very near the Brihadeeshwara temple, and these streets must have housed many of the musicians and dancers who served the court and temple. As usual, nothing happened linearly or as planned. We arrived at the place where we were told someone would be waiting for us and of course he wasn’t. Poor Saskia. Against the din of the traffic and of our 3 auto drivers shouting out helpful suggestions, she tried to conduct a phone call with her contact (who she said sounded like he was in a disco, such was the background noise he was shouting against) to find out what exactly we needed to do. Eventually, some chappie arrived and the priest of the temple showed up as well and there was no getting away without a darshanam. 

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

It is said that around the year 95 of the Common Era, the apostle John beheld a series of terrifying visions. He described them in the Book of Revelations, the last book of the New Testament. In vivid and grim detail, he depicted the nightmarish spectacle of the coming of the end of the world. A world riddled with conflict, struggle and persecution in which the forces of destruction were in pitched struggle against those of creation and renewal. It presented the bleakest vision of our world but one that was ultimately illuminated by hope and rebirth.

Songs of Love, Here and There, Then and Now

My mind is in a contemplative and wandering-about mode and today it has been dipping into the nooks and crannies of an assortment of thoughts and memories of love songs. This is not surprising, as I have been listening to and watching a lot of padams lately. Padams are songs of the infinite and universal emotions of love. They were a vital part of the repertoire of the Devadasis, the brilliant and deeply knowledgeable dancers and musicians of the temples and courts of South India. Their beauty is in the mood they create with their haunting melodies and beautiful poetry, rendered at a slow, unhurried pace. They are earthy and real, and sublime and ethereal. They touch a chord deep inside you because the stories they tell are your story too. They are not flashy, there is no exciting footwork, no rhythmic thrills. Only the best musicians and dancers can do them justice and portray their charm, and only a discerning audience can appreciate them. But when it all comes together, the quiet magic that suffuses the air stays with you for a long time. These moments are precious, and rare.

And the Twain Did Meet

Among the many things that make New York one of the world’s greatest cities is the abundance of cultures that it is home to. And often, in this crucible of creativity where diverse ideas, ideals, art forms and people rub shoulders and feed off each other, unexpected elements join forces in a synergetic fusion that results in something that can be beautiful, fresh, dynamic and thought-provoking.  

 

Unravelling Draupadi

Many of us have heard of Draupadi. I suppose you could call her one of the heroines of the great Indian epic, Mahabharatha, although her story hardly fits into the framework of the traditional heroine's narrative. There is no happily ever after. She has an unusual matrimonial situation - she is married to 5 brothers, the Pandavas, the good guys of the story. She is best known for the infamous episode in which Dushasana, the evil cousin of her husbands, attempts to disrobe her, publicly, in a brutal and despicable show of power, authority and victory. Krishna comes to her rescue and Draupadi, a figure of red-hot rage, swears that the next time she washes her hair, it will be with the blood of her enemies. And then? ......most people are uncertain about what becomes of her as the story moves on.

The Ashtanayika Queen

Like many girls growing up in Madras, I learned Carnatic music and Bharata Natyam (as well as, unlike most, western classical piano). It was my great fortune and blessing that I had exceptional gurus who instinctively understood the fundamentals of pedagogy and brought them to life. Their love and dedication for their art, their passion to share their knowledge, their hard work for very little material reward, all inspired and influenced me and have played a tremendous role in who and what I am today. Alas, none of them are alive any more; just a few days back, the last of my childhood gurus, Kalanidhi Narayanan, referred to by one and all as Kalanidhi Maami, passed away. I have shared some memories, experiences and thoughts that I hope encapsulate the remarkable essence of Maami, and my relationship with her.

 

Just Another New York Sunday

I love New York City with a passion, but as happens in any love affair, there are times when I cannot stand the place and wonder why I continue to live in this maddening city with its myriad aggravations. Just the other day, I had occasion to visit friends in a nice clean suburban place that had nice broad roads on which everybody drove nicely, and nice orderly supermarkets with nice wide aisles and nice ample parking. How nice it would be to live here, I thought, stretching out in a nice big room that looked out over a nice empty street. By the end of the day I had had my fill of niceness and was ready to embrace my beloved, mad, messy, noisy, crazily chaotic New York all over again.

 

A Seen Sequence

 Our paths had crossed more than 35 years ago, in that “I know who she is but she has no idea who I am” sort of a way. Malavika Sarukkai, a Bharata Natyam dancer of extraordinary grace and intelligence who has walked hand-in-hand for over four decades with this ancient dance on mesmerizing and exhilarating journeys through tradition and innovation.  And I.

 

A Salon Blossoms in Harlem

By day - and often also by night - they are mathematicians, doctors, scientists, researchers, engineers, bankers, students of an exhilarating array of disciplines that probe the vast arc of human interests and scholarship, from Sanskrit to creative writing to spinal cord regeneration to economic policy. And in the precious nooks and crannies, the cracks and crevices of their spare time, a whole other side blossoms into being: that of singers, dancers, writers, poets, actors and artists. They yearn for their yin to harmonize with their yang, for their right brain to achieve balance and symmetry with their left. They seek to synchronize their creative impulse with their logical and rational selves and send shoots and leaves and tendrils towards the heavens to capture the ethereal and elusive pleasures of sunshine and light while putting down roots that snuggle securely into the comfortable security of soil and earth.

Here and There

North and South, West and East, the cities of New York and Madras would appear to have nothing in common. And indeed, the ways in which they differ are too numerous to list here, and would serve perhaps as a useful exercise to while away time on a rainy day. Yet, both these places, founded as early-modern colonial cities within a few years of each other (New York came into being around 1624, as New Amsterdam; Madras, in 1639), can proudly claim to be among the most culturally vibrant and diverse in their respective countries. And I, resident of one in body and the other in spirit, am the happy beneficiary of this.

Thatched Roof Memories, and a Mystery

 

The words are like a magic incantation: Dhalankuthakadhiku thaka thadhinginathom. Chanted to a rhythmic marching beat of one-two-three-four. The years fall away, and I am back in dance - Bharata Natyam - class. There is a pervasive memory of heat and humidity.  In my reminiscence, it is always May, when schools and colleges are closed for the summer holidays.

The Journey of Bharata Natyam

 

 
Nataraja, Musee Guimet,  Paris

Many, many years ago, in a world filled with bitterness, greed, jealousy and ugliness, the people of the earth yearned for something beautiful and enchanting, a thing of grace and wonder that would cut through the gloom and chaos and light up their world. In despair, they approached Brahma the Supreme Creator and begged him to create something that all the people could enjoy with all their senses, and that would take their minds off the wretchedness and misery of their lives.