Natya Vriksha heralded a most memorable start to its two-day celebration of World Dance Day in association with the India International Centre in New Delhi, with the screening of arguably one of the best films on an Indian classical dancer’s journey. Having remained one of the most passionately committed topmost Bharatanatyam artistes for over four decades now, Malavika Sarukkai could hardly have wished for a more sensitive documenting of her artistic journey, revealing with such finesse the inner dancer’s evolution, than what Sumantra Ghosal has achieved through his film “Unseen Sequence”.
Totally uninformed about classical dance, the filmmaker’s labour of love spread over a two-year period, undeterred by any commercial ideas of structuring a work for cosmopolitan viewing, has created a work of unbounded conviction and passion where the unobtrusive camera just moves with the dancer, capturing her artistic quest for those spaces not revealed through mundane living. What the process involves is giving up “me-ness”, that sense of the self, as the dancer so aptly mentions.
What are those spaces available to the devadasi of old, whose connections with the dance and the ultimate Divinity she was wedded to, are so tellingly underlined in the film through the observations — brilliantly pithy, full of gentle humour and empathy for the subject — of dancer/scholar Lakshmi Vishwanathan. Conversing with her knits the whole story together, linking the past with the changed present, making for one of the finest touches in the film. Also seen are Malavika’s deep philosophical introspection into the dance and life lived at so many emotional levels: her spiritual immersion in the presence of the God in the Chidamabaram temple complex, her poetic intensity in a sequence like “Astam gatho Ravihi” where the sunset becomes metaphor for the woman who has lost her only son, her ideas of how dance needs to capture the inner core — reaching beyond just an outer description of poetry (“treeness rather than tree”) — as her experience while portraying Hanuman, when she unconsciously tugs at a non-existent tail to sling it over her arm walking majestically.
Then there are intimate exchanges with her great abhinaya guru Kalanidhi Narayanan and with mother Saroja Kamakshi, both of whose support formed such a significant part of Malavika’s artistic growth. Apart from the non-intrusive presence of the mother during her daily rehearsing, Kalanidhi Narayanan’s exchange reveals the honesty of a dancer who keeps away from rendering padams and javalis calling for an approach outside of her conviction. The visual aspects of technique and virtuosity Malavika is known for would be empty prettiness without that pulsating spirituality so ardently caught in the film. Ghosal’s “frightening but so fulfilling” venture, with superb editing, stringing so many facets into one integrated story, needs to be strongly supported.
Equally gripping was the lecture supported by visuals, by light expert Gautam Bhattacharya. His visuals illustrating how too much light and colour can destroy the dance was an object lesson for dancers. Also calling for repeated reminders to unimaginative organisers, was his mention of the need for an uncluttered plain black canvas as a backdrop for the dancer — with the love for logos and overworked backgrounds being legion. The Indian skin tone clad in bright colours needs minimal lighting, a light blue with yellow occasionally providing the warmth of texture. Lighting learnt as a craft needs to be used as an art. How to use the spot was also pointed out.
Not to be left behind was Sandhya Raman, with her talk with slides about costuming for dance — certainly a most important and not always understood aspect of performance. The dancer’s body and personality, the theme of the dance which can determine the costume colours, the performance space, and the material used for the costume were all aspects Sandhya spoke about. Aesthetic considerations include ways to manage perspiration spots which in a discipline requiring such physical effort can pose challenges. Costumes were meant to aid the totality of the dance experience and her approach was to use Indian textiles.
With clashing programmes, one missed the evening performances by Sharanya Chandran (Bharatanatyam) and Anuj Misra’s Kathak. The second evening’s Mohiniattam recital by the now Bangalore-based Vinayana Narayanan, a disciple of Bharati Shivaji, was a graceful delight proving why this dancer has won the Priya Lasya award. Commencing with the “Unni Ganapati Tampurane” with Parvati ‘s imagined tender exchange with her son, the dancer showed her nritta command incorporating rhythmic sequences set to typical Kerala talas in mukhachalam. The ashtapadi “Dheera Sameere Yamuna teere”, interpreting with conviction the sakhi’s urging of Radha to join Krishna awaiting her arrival, again had the authentic Kerala stamp, with the influence of the Kotti paadi seva ritual of the temples of the region. The dancer’s swaying grace, as singer Sadanam Rajagopalan sang a melodious Bilahari sequence from Tauratrikam in ragamalika and talamalika, concluded the recital. The melodic support with Bharati’s nattuvangam was well rehearsed.
Ebullient Kuchipudi dancer Prateeksha Kashi, daughter/disciple of Vyjayanthi Kashi, began with the lasya/tandav aspects represented by Vishnu and Shiva, going on to demonstrating the dance of Shiva and Natesa Kavutvam — all subtly underlining the ‘’Deham Devalaya proktam’’ concept of the body as the temple embodying divinity. Prateeksha certainly understands the Kuchipudi spirit, which her dance catches in its lively agility and spirited presence. The Jhanuta sabdam in Mohanam, addressed to Pratpasimhadeva as tribute to his personality and achievements, was full of sprightly energy. But thereafter in a recital which posted an original look without the much-rendered usual Kuchipudi repertoire, rhythmic exactitude went haywire with Kesavan’s mridangam, Vyjayanthi Kashi’s nattuvangam and Uma Kumar’s vocal support (found wanting in the higher notes), not finding coordination. And Prateeksha’s tarangam in Amritavarshini raga, “Paahi paahi Jaganmohana Krishna” was found wanting, with the plate dance not bringing out the rhythmic combinations with clarity. Sringaralahiri in Neelambari in the solfa passages had the same problem of laya not being impeccable. The abhinaya for the ‘Makhanchori’ bit with Yashoda’s astonishment at what is revealed in the open mouth of the mud-eating child Krishna was evocative.
