Bharatanatyam for aficionados; a humbling experience

The evening Bharatanatyam performance by Prof. C.V Chandrasekar was an eye opener for many in the audience. The clean lines, perfection in posture and footwork and precision in hand-eye movement, were new experiences. The full program included an invocation to Ganesha, a Tanjore Quartet varnam, an astapadi, Javali and Padam. Click here to see the full program list Items that should also be mentioned are “Adum azhagai paaradi”, Ksheera Sagara Shayana choreographed by Chandrasekhar as well as the concluding Hamsanandhi tillana which was composed and choreographed by him.

The simple and elegant costumes distracted nothing from the aesthetic movements on stage. It was also refreshing after a long time to see a program without the usual and insipid “convent English” translations. The nattuvangam by Jaya Chandrasekar was crisp and unobtrusive, complementing and blending with the dancers’ movements. This was a program that any aficionado of Bharatanatyam should have seen and heard. The vocal music sung by Vanathi had been meticulously prepared and presented.

More the pity that the hall, though well filled, was not packed to capacity as would have been the case if the dancer was one of the glitterati names who adorn the Bharatanatyam stage today. The audience was also given reassurance that yes - the art and classicism of Bharatanatyam is alive and well even if not in abundant evidence. V.V Sundaram sums it up well in his remarks by saying “I thought I had seen some Bharatanatyam in my time. But I feel humbled by what we have seen today”.

The following day Prof. CV Chandrasekhar conducted a two-hour lecture demonstration on two themes: the emotive aspects of nritta as well as aspects of music for dance programs. The latter brought out the significant differences in singing for dance concerts versus singing at a music concert.

This was followed by a presentation of his abstract dance ballet, Panchabhootam. Ramya Harishankar and her troupe presented this program. They had come all the way from California at their own expense. In Ramya’s own words “ we wanted to present and share Chandrasekhar’s work and pay tribute to him at this event where he was honored with the title Nrithya Rathnakara.

Shankar Ramachandran, Cleveland, April 14, 2004

Navarathiri; a womens' festival

Young Rukmini gets ready to go to the temple with her mother. Her hair is braided into two tight plaits. Her face is scrubbed and shines with expectation and pride at wearing her newest skirt, a bright blue one with a red border. She and her mother are about to walk to the temple near the village for the evening Navarathri celebrations.

All the women from nearby will be there with their daughters. For weeks now each family have been busy with their preparations, polishing a brass plate until it shines like a mirror, making powders of various colours from vegetable leaves and such. Black from dried curry leaves, red from powdered brick, little white beads from cooked rice paste. With a light sticky gruel they had made kolams on the tray and stuck these rice beads to form the lines and borders. The space in between is filled with the painstakingly prepared coloured powder. And this evening all the women congregate at the temple and offer these “painted prayers” to the Goddess.

Dressed in their best, dark shining tresses tightly tied back, red kum-kum shining on their foreheads, the women arrive at the temple with their daughters in tow. The children wear the little jewellery they possess. As the evening light fades and the only sounds to be heard are that of the gently swaying coconut trees and the rustle of pepul leaves, the oil lamps are lit . The mothers and daughters hold out the trays in their outstretched arms. Together they rotate them in front of the shrine and pray for the future of their families and their children.

The scene is visual. But the smell of freshly broken coconuts, camphor and incense fill the air as do the fragrances from the jasmine and tulsi and kadambam garlands that adorn the shrine. Every woman has a small bunch of flowers tucked in her hair. The sound of brass bells from the temple doors mingles with the soft chimes of the silver bells on the little girls’ ankles.
After the pooja, the girls talk excitedly about the kolam competition the next day. Who will win this year? Will it again be Mala and her mother from the next village? People from nearby villages come to see the kolams in the temple courtyard. The simple, white rice flour with the occasional dab of red from crushed brick pieces belie the complex patterns. Yellow flowers from pumpkin creepers are occasionally used to add a flash of colour.

Navarathri is essentially a woman’s festival. It reflects and perhaps helps develop an aesthetic sense that is essentially feminine. No crackers or boisterous processions here. Neither big feasts nor ostentation are a part of this celebration. Each family decorates its home in a simple fashion. An arrangement of dolls and ornaments form a prayer area. Each evening the women and their daughters visit their friends and neighbours and sit together in a ritual bonding that helps them remember who they are. They are the keepers of the hearth. They share a little sundal and a simple sweet, sing songs for each other and pray for peace and tranquility. The Goddess of Navarathiri, Durga in the form of Mahishasuramardini, is the one who vanquishes the demon Mahisha who represents violence and evil.

There is a school of thought that suggests that these are the demons we face within ourselves. The worship is our endeavour to come face to face with the turmoil and conflict within each of us. For this we seek the grace of Goddess Durga. And in Her name the women gather to unconsciously reflect on their most basic social obligations. They keep the peace, raise the children and promote gentleness and maintain cultural memories.

In recent times, Navarathiri has changed and transformed itself as it adapted to city life and the urban environment. Dolls are made and sold in markets. These are collected, some painted clay and others in tiny plastic forms. The decorations became more elaborate as the collections of dolls grow. Small themes would be created. A hill with a temple on it, a bus stop and a few dolls become the pilgrims. The fact that the pilgrims are disproportionately larger than the bus stop does not matter. A mirror edged with sand forms a small pond. Sprouted mustard seeds and coriander seedlings form a grove and a forest behind the hill.

Another practice involves dressing up children in different costumes. These costumes are made with odd pieces of cloth, a dab or two of talc, and a prop or two taken from the odd cupboard. A little girl becomes Krishna with a peacock feather stuck in her hair. Another in a turban becomes Thyagaraja the composer. Together the kids go from home to home in the neighbourhood. In each home, they are welcomed with smiles and affection. Their costumes are admired, they are given sundal to eat. So many varieties of sundal! Some have fresh coconut grated over them, others have a lime dressing and still others are made with dark beans and chopped unripe mango that imparts a crisp texture and a tart aftertaste. Plenty of mustard seeds, a few dried chilli peppers and lots of asafoetida are the secret to the success of any sundal.

Navarathiri is a time for giving. In each home are prepared little bags of take away gifts. Typical gifts include a comb, a small vanity mirror, a small plastic kum-kum box, along with the usual betel leaves and nuts and of course the omnipresent haldi andturmeric which have come to represent all that is feminine in our culture. Each family gives gifts that reflect their means and budget. The importance lies in the joy of giving.

In recent times the Navarathiri Kolu has become more elaborate and thematic. Affluence, urban life and a market economy have left their indelible mark. The Kolu has become a festival in itself. Big themes from the Ramayana and other Hindu stories are portrayed. The dolls and the theme park efforts often remind one of elaborate Lego lands or other Disneyland like properties. Some are tasteful. Others are garish and some glitter gaudily in the dark. Secular themes of Independence days and national political figures form the basis of some Kolus. Environmental themes predominate now, with water conservation a particularly popular theme. This is only natural in a city whose population has grown well beyond its ability to supply water to its citizens.

Perhaps this year someone will have a 9/11 Kolu replete with burning towers, Bush and Bin Laden. Some more daring themes include an anti-war presentation with newspaper headlines and photographs pasted on the wall. Quixotically, birth control and AIDS awareness, infanticide and other pressing social issues are nowhere to be found.

Despite the vivid imagination, the artistry and skill reflected in these theme extravaganzas, despite all the good taste and the new ideas, these exhibits are missing in something. Perhaps it is the essential simplicity of our lives that is gone. Where are the children and their mothers who used to make and display these dolls together? Is it a life and an innocence that we have lost forever?

But Navarathiri is also being reborn. An artist friend, Deppika, is organising a 'traditional' Kolu replete with handmade dolls and clay figures hearkening to yesteryears. A 'tableau', she calls it. The theme is Andal Charithram, the Tamil story of the woman who is regarded as the greatest of the Alwar poets. Deppika and her mother Uma have together worked on this Kolu. I wonder if the sundal will have grated coconut and chopped mango in it! Will it be homemade or will it be catered from “Suriya’s Sweets”?

Shankar Ramachandran, Chennai, October 2002

Prelude to the Cleveland Thyagaraja Festival

In the Eye of the Storm; Gomathi in her Kitchen

Outwardly, the house looks like any other in the sleepy Cleveland neighborhood. A few more cars parked in front is all the clue one gets that this must be the house of the Cleveland Thyagaraga Academy President Balasubramaniam & Gomathi. As soon as we walk in at 8.30am, we are offered breakfast. Gomathi has started cooking. Today, on the day before, she is busy preparing lunch and dinner for some 35-50 artistes and volunteers who will be arriving through the day. For the next 10 days, meals for all the artistes and the volunteers will be cooked in Gomathi’s kitchen and sent to the Comfort Inn.

For Saturday, she will have the help of some 80 volunteers who will cook and bring the food to be served at breakfast and lunch to all of the attendees. “My volunteers are great” says Gomathi with pride in her voice. “I have a group of old timers but each year we get some new volunteers also. I make out the menu and then share it out. Only thing is that I have to spend a lot of time on the phone calling everybody. A few years’ back Donuts were suggested for breakfast. I felt we should have South Indian food. After all, if it is donuts for breakfast, why not salad and sandwich for lunch?” She asks me.

“So I used to make 500 idlis myself. Then they came and helped me because they could see that I was not going to change” she says with a twinkle in her eye. Gomathi is cooking in her kitchen as we speak. Pots and pans filled with cut vegetables and soaking grains surround her. She has three large vessels on the stove. She stands on tiptoe to reach and stir the pot in the back in which she is making what looks like 15 quarts of More Kuzhambhu.

The phone rings incessantly. The printer is calling about the souvenirs. Someone needs driving directions from Pennsylvania. A lady from NYC calls for canceling her package because of illness in the family. I find myself answering the phone so Gomathi can cook without interruption. Husband “Cleveland” Balu is the president of the committee. “We don’t have members and meetings,” he says with a chuckle. “If you are helping, if you are cooking or setting up something you are in the committee.”

Within a couple of hours the house will fill up. There is a strange quiet this morning rather like being in the eye of the storm. Balu recalls an incident from years back when he came home. “There was a man in the house who told me where the food was and he asked me my own name!” he says with a chuckle.

Their house is getting ready for the Aradhana. In one corner sit a wall of cartons containing banana chips for the Saturday lunch. Today, Pepsi is delivering 240 cases of soft drinks; a gift from their CFO Indra Nooyi. Gomathi needs to make sure it goes to the University and not into her living room. In the midst of all this, Gomathi, Sundaram and Balu seem calm and confident. They have done this about 26 times before.

Balu’s daughter gives a message that there are 207 contestants for the children’s competition. They will need four rooms set up in order to get it done in a day. Sundaram says he will go to the University & make sure they have the rooms. Then they get the big call. The Air India flight bringing 29 artists is going to be 4 hours late into Chicago. All the artists will miss the last connecting flight to Cleveland. Coming the next day is not an option as they are to be judges for the Children’s Competition. Sundaram and Balu get on the phone and within a couple of hours they have a plan to bus the group from Chicago to Cleveland. “They will get here at 4am,” he says with a shrug and a smile. “But that cannot be helped”. The competition will have its judges.

Shankar Ramachandran, Cleveland, April 9, 2004

Artist Interview

Praying for the Gift of Playing the Nadaswaram; Sheikh Subhani Mahboob and his wife Khaleeshabibi Mahaboob at Cleveland Thyagaraja Aradhana 2004

This is the first time the Cleveland Aradhana has included a full-length nadaswaram concert. The artists, Sheikh Subhani Mahboob and his wife Khaleeshabibi Mahaboob say they need at least three hours or more for a concert as it takes time for the wood wind instruments to settle down in these dry and cold climate conditions. And they cannot warm up in the hotel room for fear of disturbing the other guest with the loud instruments.

These are not the usual loud and blaring sounds we hear in the background on festive occasions. The mood created by the talented duo was contemplative throughout. Natakuranji varnam precedes Hamsadwani and Akhilandeshwari in Dwijavanti. Sogasuga Mridanga Thalamu in Sriranjini was accompanied with a soft touch on the tavil.

The Thodi alapana was expansive and in the grand tradition of their Guru; Sheikh Chinna Moulana. They took up the difficult piece Chesinadella Marachitivo O Rama Rama that was executed with a precision not found in many vocal concerts. The nadaswaram seemed to virtually speak the lyrics out aloud.

Many senior artistes were in the audience and enjoying this soul fest. Prof. T.R. Subramaniam, violin maestro T.N. Krishnan, T.M. Krishna, Ramnad Raghavan, Guruvaiur Dorai and several other musicians were all present. During the tani Sri Vembu Muthukumar and Sri Manickam Sankar showed their dexterity and demonstrated that Tavil can also be played softly and produce sounds of exceptional nuance and resonance.

They ended the concert with the ten Bhaja Govindam verses in the ragamalika popularized by M.S. Subbulakshmi. Again one could sense the nadaswarams' enunciation of the Sanskrit verses of Adi Sankara.

I was struck by the incongruity. Here was a Muslim couple playing Hindu religious music. I also noticed that the box that held the nadaswaram had pictures of Hindu Gods. The couple was also the Asthana Vidwans of the Sringeri Peetam. I was curious to know more about how this husband and wife team was introduced to this music? Did they know the words of the songs they play so soulfully? Do Hindu rituals also enter their lives at home?

We caught up with the artists back stage. The soft spoken, unassuming couple and the equally modest and quiet Tavil duo sat down and spoke with us in a Tamil which was not adulterated with English vocabulary:

Q. Do you remember how you started to learn nadaswaram? A. I was five or six years old when my father started including me in the lessons he gave other students. By age ten I was playing at concerts with my father. She (he indicates his wife sitting by his side with an affectionate nod) is my own Athai's daughter. She was taught by her chittappa and by age nine she was also giving concerts.
Q. How were you able to wield such a big instrument when you were so young?A. We learned on a smaller nadaswaram because our fingers were small at the time. We could not have reached and held the instrument. Within a couple of years we were able to play the full-sized instrument.
Q. You are both Muslims. How did you come to be introduced into this life of playing religious Hindu music? A. Our families have a story about this (he says with a smile) that is written in our family record book. It may or may not be so, but it is our family history. Eight generations ago one of our grand parents was a young boy in Saathulur, which is in Guntur district. The boy did not do well in his lessons and his father punished him with a beating. This form of punishment was common in those days when they did not know better.
The young boy ran away from home in pain and hid in the nearby Munivandamma temple. That night, the Amman deity of the temple appeared before the boy and comforted him. It is said that the deity wrote a mantra on his tongue and blessed him with the gift of nadaswaram music; not only for his lifetime but also for the next seven generations to come. "The seventh generation ended with my father" Sheikh Mahaboob adds with a coy smile. We are the eighth generation. So we now pray to receive the blessing for the next seven generations. His plain white shirt reflects brightly and there is a warmth in his eyes as he says this.
Q. Do you learn the music as swaras or do you also learn the sahitya? A. We have to learn the words. Music (he uses the Tamil word paattu) cannot be learned and played by just learning the swaras. We are trained in vocal music and have learned all the pieces we play.
Q. What religious traditions do you observe at home? A. For us, all religions are one. But at home we observe the Muslim holidays and traditions. Our marriage was a traditional Muslim ceremony. However, my father asked me to tie the thali myself. Normally this is not done as the groom rarely meets the bride before the wedding, the elderly of the house tie the knot. We were the first to set this trend and since then, all the youngsters in our family do this. At that time it was a big thing.
Q. Were you satisfied by your concert today? A. No (they reply quickly and with feeling). We had a lot of trouble with the dry and cold weather. The Sivali (mouthpiece for the nadaswaram) gets dry and it takes time to settle down.
Q. What is a Sivali (pronounce sivaaali)? A. It is the removable mouthpiece of the nadaswaram. It is made from the leaves of the Naanal Thattai bush that grows along the banks of the Cauvery River. The leaves are picked, steamed and dried and then the sivalis are made. If you buy a dozen, only three or four will be usable.
Q. You say the art of playing the nadaswaram is going through a revival now with many colleges teaching the instrument in Tamil Nadu. What about the art of making the nadaswarams themselves? A. Nadaswarams are made from the wood of the Accha Maram tree. This is very hard to find today. Beams from old houses that are being demolished are scavenged to make new instruments. It is a dark wood. The dark color of the nadaswaram is the natural color of the wood itself. All nadaswarams are made in Narsingapettai near Mayavaram where a family of two brothers is continuing their tradition of generations.

Later on in the day we spot the couple enjoying flautist Sikkil Mala Chandrasekhar's concert.

Shankar Ramachandran, Cleveland, April 12, 2004

Artiste Interview

70 years young

The eminent Bharatanatyam dancer, choreographer, composer and teacher Prof. C.V. Chandrasekhar shared his memories as we were seated at the Kalakshetra auditorium with his dancer wife Jaya, waiting to watch the program of the evening. “You know I am 70 years old, don’t you,” he says with a wide smile and a chuckle.

Professor Chandrasekhar and his daughters Chithra and Manjari will perform a full Bharatanatyam program at the 2004 Cleveland Thyagaraja Aradhana during the prime Sunday evening slot on April 11th. The following morning they will conduct a lecture-demonstration on Nritta and the salient features of dance music. The lec-dem promises to be a compelling event for teachers, dancers, students and aficionados.

He reminisces about his interest in Bharatanatyam even as a child. At the age of six he would do the Bhairavi piece “Velavare” for anyone who asked to see him dance. He also recalls an incident when M S Subbulakshmi came to Delhi. The Sadasivams visited his family home with their daughter Radha. The eight-year-old Chandrasekhar was brought out to show his musical talent. Learning of his interest in dance, young Radha teaches him “KandadUndo Kannan Pol”. The memories bring a sparkle to his eyes and a warm smile lingers on his face.

His interest in Carnatic music lead him to Kalakshetra at Chennai in 1945 where his father, a civil servant in Delhi sent him to study music. Later, recognizing the young boy’s interest in Bharatanatyam, Rukmini Devi Arundale wrote to his father to ask if she could enroll him in the dance department. My father wrote her back saying “I leave him in your hands. You mould him,” recalls Chandrasekhar.

After his early training at Kalakshetra, Chandrasekhar goes on to complete Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in science, teaches biology and English at a boarding school in Mussorie, and works on his PhD in Botany at Benares. But dance keeps calling out to him and reclaiming his spirit. He turns to lecturing in this art initially at the Benares Hindu University and later becomes a Professor at Baroda, the first University in India to have a full curriculum in dance. Now retired, he and his wife Jaya, also a student of Bharatanatyam in the Kalakshetra tradition, conduct courses and workshops as well as teach.

Known for his adherence to the traditional Kalakshetra forms, Chandrasekhar says he has, over the years, both consciously and by dint of his training tried to stay within the spirit of his early tutelage. “That is not to say I have not evolved, nor even that the Kalakshetra style has stayed the same,” he adds springing out of his chair to demonstrate aramandi and hand mudras.” It is important to know the difference between being stiff and being firm in form. Line, anga-shuddam and neatness as well as the aesthetics of movement are important.

His energy fills the room as he demonstrates and sings familiar lines as well as the words from two of his own compositions in Tamil; thillanas set to misra-triputa thalam and Adi thalam. His wife Jaya, a talent in her own right as a dancer and nattuvanar seems content to listen and occasionally correct a date or detail which Chandrasekhar forgets.

Shankar Ramachandran, Chennai, March 2004