My return to Bharatnatyam
It was a hot Saturday afternoon. Sweaty, nervous and expectant at the same time, I entered Copenhagen Kommune’s dansehallen, or dance hall, a bright spacious room with mirrored walls. My smiling teacher beckoned me in and we started our first practice session.
Dhalanku thaka dhiku thaka thadhin gina thom.
I tapped my right foot on the ground, followed by the left with both my hands circling down to touch the floor. I touched the ground, thanking Mother Earth, folded my hands above my head, brought them upto my temple and finally held them to my chest as I bowed. Thank you God, thank you to my teacher and finally, thank you to my imaginary audience.
Samudra vasane devi, parvatha sthana mandale
Naatyam karishye bhoodevi Paadaghatha kshamasvame.
( Whose clothing is the ocean. Whose body is the mountains and plains. We dance on you, Oh mother Earth! Please forgive us for striking on you )
Thus began my return to Bharatnatyam last year, a classical Indian dance form that I had last practiced as a 10 year old in Mumbai.
Paying obeisance to the Earth and evoking the grace of Lord Nataraja (Hindu God of Dance) with a short prayer is traditionally how a Bharatnatyam dance practice session begins. I signed up for these classes after I chanced on a Facebook post from my teacher who was offering lessons for children as well as adults in Copenhagen.
I had been exposed to the dance form when I was younger and I practised for a few years until I was 10. When our family moved away from Mumbai for a year, I gave it up in favour of academic pursuits. But unlike the Carnatic music lessons my mother had forced on me when I was younger, Bharatnatyam maintained a special place in my heart. There was something about the innate grace, the reverance and the enchanting mythological tales connected to the dance that captivated me.
So in 2019, finding that Facebook post seemed like the perfect opportunity for me to action my fitness aspirations alongside nurturing a cultural re-connection of sorts.
I still remember stepping in to the dance room for the first time last year, clad in Western semi-work out clothes. The other dance students wore traditional Indian salwar suits and sported a bindi on their foreheads and my teacher sat ready with all her guru paraphenilia such as the thalam mani katai. When she instructed us to begin the class with a prayer and encouraged me to repeat the various mudra shlokas out aloud, I felt comically out of place.
In my few years of living in Copenhagen, I was feeling a growing disconnect with my culture. Surrounded by a close-knit group of international friends, I had hardly any Indian friends in the city and I had so far struggled to create an Indian identity in Denmark. I was seeking a space where I could engage in something uniquely Indian and not feel like an outlier. Although I had tried Bharatnatyam before, it had been years since I tried to sit in aramandi and the thought of doing with a room full of strangers was scarier than I wanted to admit. What’s more, I was also sceptical of my return to Bharatnatyam as a way for me to reconnect with my Indian identity. Would it help, I wondered?
It did help. With the start of my Bharatnatyam classes, I found my discomfort slowly slipping away. I sourced some Indian salwar-sets, procured a new pack of bindis and decided that I would embrace this opportunity for what it was — a chance to unlearn, relearn and appreciate my culture. I opened up to my class mates and found that we could strike a friendship that was enjoyable. We had not just our nationality in common but also a desire to learn the art form and appreciate it in all its beauty. When we had theory classes, my peers often added extra tidbits that further enriched the mythological tales and Hindu deities we were studying. With every class, I learned more than I knew before. I was astonished at the wealth of information that my classes could bring.
Outside of class, I started engaging with Bharatnatyam content online. The Instagram algorithm quickly picked up on my new found interest and my ‘explore’ tab was full of beautiful, gracious Bharatnatyam dancer reels, tips and tricks and even community groups for dancers. I started feeling better and better about my choice to go back to Bharatnatyam and be a beginner all over again.
I started telling all my friends about my newfound hobby, to the point where I convinced my best friend from Hong Kong to give it a try. We went to our first in-person dance class this year together where I truly enjoyed watching her take her first Bharatnatyam steps.
Looking back on my journey so far, I know that I am far from finished. All of these are baby steps moving towards my personal bigger picture, the making of my adult identity, Indian-ness and all. But I daresay that I am grateful and proud to have embarked on it.
Proud that I didn’t let my misgivings get the best of me and that I perserved, even when we went under lockdown and we moved to online dance classes. Grateful to my teacher who corrects me, chides me when I don’t practice and pushes me to do better. Grateful to family and friends who cheer on new endeavours. Happy to have the opportunity to try.
Standing in the dance hall a year later with a new batch of beginners, I wasn’t lying when I said “It gets better. With time, with practice, with the respect that the art form deserves. It gets better indeed.”
