The words of praise for Balasaraswati — “abhinaya Saraswati”, “one of the great performing artists of the 20th century”, “the Queen of Dance”, “Saraswati avataram” — definitely puts into perspective my miniscule yet essential role in carrying forward and celebrating her legacy. Balamma is as much of an idol for me as for anyone else.
My grandmother passed away when I was four years old. Although my mother and father have often spoken of how Balamma spent hours with me, singing and shaping my hands as I tried to imitate the hastas, much of my understanding of her as an artiste and as a person has been vicarious.
Thanks to my mother, Lakshmi, Balamma’s music and the discipline and beauty of her dance were imparted to me through teaching and daily practice. As I grew up, a day never passed, without speaking of Balamma’s greatness as an artiste and her strength and integrity as a person. Undeniably, I live in her shadow, a safe haven, even 34 years after her physical passing. And undeniably, I am indebted to my mother and father for assuring that this is so.
The transition
The moving forward of a tradition, particularly in such a fast-paced world, can be of a tremendous challenge. India has lost many of its traditional systems and values, a change that is evident in its performing arts.
Belonging to one of South India’s last actively performing hereditary artistic families, one can feel the hectic scramble to try to preserve a time-honoured practice, and yet move ahead with the times. Today, it seems as though many of us have gotten accustomed to asking impertinent and empty questions on whether these traditions are “relevant”, and creating a mockery by dismissing traditional repertoire. Such questioning has become relentless; being asked to respond to it is exhausting. Why must art, which has stood proud for centuries, be forced to prove its mettle and fight for its very existence? I feel it is society’s responsibility to actively educate itself and celebrate itself, not to indulge in distracting arguments about the relevance and appropriateness of our great traditions.
Each time I perform, I find the solitude to reflect on the challenges of performance. Performing is not a want or a means to an end. It is not a path to fame and glory, or even a claim to a transcendental event. It is the here and now. It is creation in the raw. People wonder why pieces such as ‘Mohamana’ are performed over and over again: “Don’t you find it boring?” “Don’t you have anything else in your repertoire?” “What, Mohamana again!” These are pieces that have been specifically composed for dance with the expectation of repeated performance.
Essence of manodharma
A dance piece is shaped by the composer with the dance in mind; the composer gives only the skeletal shape. When composed, the piece is actually incomplete; it is completed only when danced — each and every time. It is the dancer’s responsibility to create the piece anew, without redundancy, in each performance.
The dancer has to be able to use intellectual and spiritual resources well beyond the dance itself, yet ensure that these resources are bound by the inherent technique of the dance. This is manodharma — and Balasaraswati was its reigning empress.
I am not a student of Balasaraswati. I am a part of a complex web of family, disciples, devotees, supporters, and even opponents, that have ensured the transmission of a familial tradition that took shape well before Balasaraswati’s time and has persisted since her death. Today, many have the mistaken notion that hereditary arts are solely based on the individual artiste’s need for fame, and the audience’s constant reaffirmation of their relevance. The truth is that what Balamma achieved could not have been accomplished without great sacrifice.
Every concert performed, milestone reached, insult hurled, opinion casually passed, and tears of reverence shed, undeniably reverberate through her eternally performed kutcheri. But the truth of dance and music, for those who have been blessed with the sight to see, transcends the artiste, as the Self mercilessly consumes the artiste relentlessly to stoke its own flame. This is Balasaraswati.
