The rain taps softly against the windows of the theatre in The Hague. I found myself in this unfamiliar well-lit dance studio, a space that where I would dance only for this night. It is the second week of my new job, my weekends filled with Ashtalaxmi rehearsals, and now here I am, with heavy bags under my eyes, on a damp autumn night. The room is warm, yet outside, the world is drenched in a steady downpour. Summer has slipped away, but the memory of it lingers. I spent those days outdoors, immersed in the dance, studying Jatiswaram beneath the vast sky, with sunrays painting my face and the cool grass embracing my feet. Now, it feels almost symbolic to leave my umbrella by the door to dry and step into this temporary dance studio for the first time, as though I am crossing a threshold into a new season to continue the journey of my Margam (repetoire).
I am beginning a new chapter: Shabdam. It is a piece that sings of Lord Krishna in his carefree, adolescent years. As I start, I wonder which perspective to embody. It seems almost instinctive to become one of the gopikas, those village girls who were so deeply enchanted by him. But my heart is drawn elsewhere — to Radha, who does not merely recount a tale, but becomes a vessel for Krishna’s own voice, for he loved her so deeply, he would trust and support her version. Her telling is distant, as though she is narrating the story she heard from Krishna himself without seeing it first-hand, yet it is filled with an unmistakable adoration for Krishna with his playfulness and all his mannerisms. Even in her seperation from him, she cherishes and enjoys all the stories he has trusted her with. And Krishna has loved no one else as deeply as Radha. Because Krishna and Radha had to seperate without wanting to, I envision a dream where these lovers could meet. Krishna sitting on the grass, resting against a tree, and watching Radha, his true muse, dedicate this Shabdam to him like no one else could, for she knows him deeply. A dream in which they can stay together, in love and adoration for each other.
As my guru and I discuss the first steps of Shabdam, our conversation flows seamlessly into the practicalities of my Arangetram, the debut performance that marks the dawn of every Bharatanatyam dancer's journey. How quickly these past three years have flown since I began dancing under my guru's watchful eye! I feel young in this dance form, still a novice learning to speak its language, but the language has already begun to settle into my bones. I remember those early days, sitting behind my computer, my eyes tired from researching Bharatanatyam, my feet trying to master the rhythm of Tatta Adavu in my small room, searching for a guru who could teach me how to inhale this ancient art. Even then, I knew — I would make it to my debut someday and I would become part of this ancient dance.
Those first two years were a test, a crucible of repetition and endurance. Days filled with Adavus, the foundational steps; Asamyuta Hastas, the single-hand gestures; practices that never seemed to end; and the ceaseless cycle of Pushpanjali and Natesha Kautuvum, my feet pounding against the floor in practice. I've seen dancers come and go, their faces bright with enthusiasm at the start, only to vanish like morning mist. There were moments when fatigue clung to me like a second skin, and sacrifices were made — ice figure skating, a joy I finally found courage for, had to be set aside. Slowly, I transformed from wearing a simple kurta to the more traditional practice saree, and found myself no longer breathless after Kuditta Metta Adavu in the third speed. Being selected as an understudy for a major production became not just an honour but a measure of how far I had come.
Now entering Shabdam, Bharatanatyam is no longer just a series of steps or a routine. It is a tapestry of Abhinaya (emotions), a weaving of the body’s lines with the music’s rhythm, a dialogue between an ancient story and my own heartbeat. And as I stand here, under the bright lights of the studio, I know I am at the threshold of something both familiar and unknown — a dance that is mine to discover in my body and soul, yet one that has existed for centuries before me. I am ready to step into this tale and to be a part of this unending dance.
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