For the classes or the masses Dancers, please get off your a**es

A few years ago (in an era now known as pre-pandemic), I was part of a panel discussion in Calcutta with some other dancers. The audience also comprised mainly of dancers. The conversation had drifted to the lack of support and dwindling audiences for Indian classical dance, with some of us commenting on how dance and dancers needed to re-establish connection with newer and younger audiences. I recall a particularly fiery response and rebuttal, dismissing this train of thought as irrelevant and unnecessary. A young dancer stated – we all know that classical dance is for the classes, not the masses. Taken aback as I was with the with the inherent elitism in the statement, I was more astonished by the cheer and applause that greeted it from the assembled dancers. These were the same dancers who – just a few minutes before – had agreed that audiences for classical dance were falling at an alarming rate. But this apparently did nothing to change the idea we have all imbibed as students of classical dance: that we are owed audiences and visibility because what we practice makes us somehow superior. So, people of a certain calibre and class should gravitate towards us automatically for their own good.

This is a problematic position (not the only one of its kind in the world) that distances us from a ground reality – and is one of the reasons, I feel, why classical dance and dancers in India tend to be absent from our many current socio-political movements. But things seem to be shifting today as humanity lurches towards self-destruction with unprecedented zeal. Here are two instances – among many, hopefully – where classical dancers have spoken out, taken strong political positions – and danced them too.

Aranyani Bhargav – a Bharatnatyam dancer based in Bangalore – has frequently raised uncomfortable questions about the histories of what we now know as Bharatnatyam, and the erasures of the temple dancer communities in south India at the turn of the last century. She is only one of many voices in this much larger sociocultural and political discourse on the impact of colonialism, casteism and patriarchy that continues to determine how we see and identify our cultures and traditions. Recently Aranyani responded proactively to the prevailing situation in Gaza to set up IDGC – Indian Dancers for Gaza’s Children. The aim was to mobilise the Indian dance community to come together in solidarity with the affected children in conflict zones across the world. And to fundraise for the Jerusalem Princess Basma Centre – the only paediatric rehabilitation centre for Palestinian children with disabilities - by donating the one thing we can all do: Dance! My own sense is that Aranyani – shaken by a certain apathy to the horrific news and images coming in – was only trying to do something small as her contribution. It snowballed. Over the last few months IDGC has galvanised dancers and dance organisations across India (and even abroad) to come together and present evenings of performance that have together raised in excess of 10,000USD. That is no small sum – and given that this comes from an initiative born in South Asia, it is an incredible feat.

Debashree Bhattacharya is a kathak dancer and teacher based in Calcutta – my hometown. Debashree and I have trained together, worked together, danced together for several decades. While her choreographic work has always been inventive and exciting in form, it is not political in any overt way. And then she produced Niravadhi in 2019 – a cry from the heart at the human condition. The first part of the production is a brave departure from her usual restrained kathak aesthetic, almost brutal in its depiction of how inhuman we have become. And yesterday, in this city reeling from a heinous incident of a month ago in which a young doctor was brutally raped and murdered in a hospital seminar room, Debashree – under the aegis of her teaching academy, Brindar – took to the streets to add her voice and her dance to the hundreds of agonised protests that are pouring out from Calcutta’s citizenry. Supported by her students aged 3 to 30 and their parents, more than 20 artists (dancers, musicians, spoken word artists) and activists performed, spoke and demanded justice alongside the young students of Brindar. Through the pouring rain, people gathered under a sea of umbrellas to watch, listen and support as performer after performer reclaimed the rain-drenched street in an upmarket neighbourhood that is unused to experiencing protest of any sort.

It was humbling and inspiring for me to see especially classical dancers stride into this space that we so often sidestep – and stride in with confidence, with ownership, with conviction. And through the dancing, refuse to leave. We are here and we are staying, they say. And you will hear us and see us – because we have a voice!

A voice that has chosen silence for far too long.

Pictures by Subroto Sinha

[Part of my Weekend Musings series]