Tulsi
Badrinath

It's A Man Thing There are many reasons to read this book. That it is a book on Bharatanatyam is not one of them. Nor that it is about a famous dancer, V.P. Dhananjayan. It is worth picking because it talks about a person—a male dancer—whose story mostly remains untold. “My guru created a space where none existed earlier,” says Tulsi Badrinath, talking about Dhananjayan. “There was no tradition of men in Bharatanatyam. He had to battle prejudice. The old-timers would say who wants to watch a sweaty man dance?''

Badrinath's book chronicles the life of Dhananjayan—one of the first men to make a successful career in Bharatanatyam. “The dance was performed by women in the temples,” says Badrinath. “Male children of the devadasis were instructors. Many of them became renowned musicians. There really was no history of performing as a man.”

The notion that there is nothing aesthetic about a man dancing is something that Badrinath—a dancer herself and performer—challenges. “It scares me,'' she says. “It implies that all people watch when a woman dances is her body.”

While the book is primarily about her guru, Badrinath also weaves in stories of other men trapped in an image because of the art that they chose to specialize in. One of them is Charles Ma. Born to a Naga-Assamese mother and a Nepali-Chinese father, he was brought up in Bangalore. Like lots of young boys, he was into drugs and rock and roll before learning to ‘dance like a man'.

Badrinath also talks about the struggles her guru faced in making a living as a dancer. “How do you support a family by being a dancer?'' she asks. “It was only later in his career that he could command a fee for his performance. I remember when I started learning dance, the fee was Rs. 20. How could you manage a family on that?”

Engagingly told, the book is about traditions that are fast disappearing. Time is just one of them. The guru-shishya parampara is another. “When I was learning dance, we would go to class immediately after school,” says Badrinath. “There was no fixed time for the class to end. Now, there is constant competition between the mobile, iPad, iPod, and computer for your attention. The mind is restless.''

In her book, however, it stands still.

Master of Arts: A Life in Dance

Step in Time Like many dances, this novel has a double narrative streaming through it. Both stories are of journeys into dance, but generations apart. One is the writer's personal journey into dance and the other is the story of the lives of her teachers, the well-known and remarkable dancing duo Dhananjayan and his wife Shanta. This device of two simultaneous parallel stories makes for an interesting juxtaposition of perception through different generations. The life experiences of the Dhananjayans are presented as if being recounted to students including the author.

Through this device, we learn of the couple's necessarily clandestine and subtle courtship in contrast to present perspectives on life, dance, and the changing norms of acceptable behaviours. Apparently, although Shanta was attracted to a young Dhananjayan, she never revealed it, until she was about to be married to someone else. Her courage was to be rewarded. Fast forward to many years later when Dhananjayan is recounting to his students, now all dancers themselves, his early experiences in America. When he and Shanta would arrive the hosts would be surprised to find that the partners on stage were married. They would ask Dhananjayan how long he had been married. He would respond 20 years. "To the same wife?", people would incredulously ask. This, of course, has Tulsi and her colleagues convulsed in giggles. But the book is more than a gush fest. The reflexivity of the writer makes it readable, as she interweaves her memories with those of her protagonists.

While gender is invoked, the book presents an uncomplicated and rather one-sided view of dancing males, despite including interactions between Dhanajayan and his male students, such as the talented Narendra Kumar, B.K. Shafeequddin and Aspi Mullah. But these shortcomings are to be expected from an authorized biography. However, these interactions with dancers bear witness to the changes in the dance scene.

Worthwhile reading Tulsi Badrinath learned Bharatanatyam from Shanta and VP Dhananjayan in a different time from now (when resumes were not given much importance), and in Madras (a bastion of the classical). She never left them, or it, barring a few years spent working in a bank.

VP Dhananjayan, one of eight children, born into poverty in Kerala, made his way to Kalakshetra in Tamil Nadu, in search of a better future than what his native village promised. In Kalakshetra, because he was a boy, he was taught kathakali intensively, not Bharatanatyam, because the temple origins of the dance dictate that it be performed by women. But Kalakshetra being Kalakshetra, and, run by doyen Rukmini Devi Arundale, its rigorous training and schedule ensured he absorbed Bharatanatyam as well, performing small roles in productions where men were required. It is here he met his future wife and partner on stage, Shanta.

Badrinath chronicles their acrimonious parting from Rukmini Devi and Dhananjayan's choice of a future in Bharatanatyam as borne out of pragmatism and harsh realities. We learn of the couple's early struggles with money and lack of opportunities to display their talent; their setting up of a dance institution; the subsequent fame and recognition achieved; and the training of innumerable students in the guru-shishya parampara.

All this is told with sensitivity and an insider's knowledge of the unique relationship between a student and guru that classical training instills in a person.

Interspersed with the story of the Dhananjayans is the author's own journey, as a north Indian daughter of an IAS officer posted in Tamil Nadu, in the world of Bharatanatyam. From her first day at the dance class to the punishing and relentless practice that improves posture, gait and position of hands, feet, knees and elbows, that spans years of hard work, culminating in the "arangetram" or the first public performance that a mature dancer presents to the public, it is evident that Badrinath was captured - spellbound a little, even - by what she was learning.

This feeling is similar for many young dancers, and it is what keeps them going, keeps them with it, rather than it being a summer course, or something to be finished before a child enters academic-oriented school years before proceeding to enter a profession.

Badrinath describes with rare candour the difficulties of pursuing the art professionally, and even if one has "connections". These are not things written about in the art community, for fear of angering patrons, or for the danger of being disregarded for insufficient gratitude at being given an opportunity to perform.

The only offense Badrinath can be accused of is a mild overreach in the title of the book - for it is about much more than men in classical dance in India (anecdotes and experiences are provided by Charles Ma and Navtej Johar, among others). It is more about the Dhananjayans, about the journey of any ordinary student who enrolls herself/himself in any dance class, about the uncertain highs and lows of an artist's life, about the poverty of our cultural institutions, and how the art cannot be let go of once it has captured the heart; each topic deserving a book of its own. Certainly, to paraphrase the author herself, this is no limp literary excursion by an ex-banker. Instead, it is worthwhile reading for every practitioner and would-be practitioner of the form.

A lovingly detailed, if breathless, ode to Bharatanatyam exponent Dhananjayan Akhila Krishnamurthy It has probably got to do with the fact that Chennai-based Tulsi Badrinath, author of Master of Arts: A Life in Dance, is also a dancer. In many ways, the cover — a mirror with V.P. Dhananjayan looking into a reflection of his son, Satyajit, lining his eyes with kohl — is its central imagery; a peek into the past from the present; an introspective commentary on a world that was, and that is; a narrative that attempts to string together stories that have common links in terms of incidents, issues, concerns or identities. In a sense, the cover is also indicative of what the book sets itself out to be: a “narrative about male dancers and the world of Indian classical dance”.

Only, male dancers are mere mention, occurrences, incidences, flitting in and out of chapters, sharing stories and struggles of the world of a male dancer in classical dance in Chennai, and India. The book’s real preoccupation — obsession even — is its hero, V.P. Dhananjayan, the ‘Sir’, who emerges in all his fierceness, finery, fieriness, and frankness, through every chapter.

The book’s rhythm — alternating between Dhananjayan’s story from the time he as a “14-year-old, penniless and unproven, boarded a train at Payyanur for Madras in 1953” and the author’s own induction into dance as an eight-year-old into Bharata Kalanjali, a school of dance founded by the Dhananjayans — allows its readers a comfortable introduction into the world of Dhananjayan and his dance. If one chapter is about Dhananjayan’s fascinating journey in dance, the next is the author’s fascination for her guru and his dance. Often, Dhananjayan’s principled, overpowering voice overshadows that of the author.

Fortunately, his six-decade-long career dazzles with facts that make for a fascinating read. For example, chapter 15 that details Dhananjayan’s walk-out from his alma mater, Kalakshetra, is particularly gripping. “Yes, you are telling a lie,” retorts a young and unafraid Dhananjayan to Rukmini Devi following a misunderstanding between him and a mridangam player. In a conversation with the author, recalling this life-changing episode, he tells her, “I was branded as the outspoken troublemaker.”

Humour is also integral to the fabric of the book, especially in chapters where Tulsi recounts, with exacting detail, sessions with Dhananjayan.

Almost more than halfway through, an atmosphere of gloom takes over. Central to this is the birth and death of Bhaskara, Dhananjayan’s pet dance school project on a mountain near his hometown (in Kerala). Dancing alongside this grim tale are other nuggets from the lives of male dancers, many challenging, some tragic — like the death of Rajesh Kumar, one of Bharata Kalanjali’s best male dancers; the murder of another dancer Ravi, in his home in Chennai. These coupled with the inherent challenges of being a ‘male dancer’ and its resultant lack of opportunities to dance tug at your heart.

It is the denouement though that is best described. Tulsi describes Dhananjayan as Thyagaraja, with four male dancers looking on. She is one among the audience; an ardent devotee of his dance. The morning after his performance as Thyagaraja, “grey hair freshly shampooed, he enters class at BK dressed in a simple white veshti and cotton jubba… Not knowing how to tell him just how superb he was, we burst into spontaneous clapping. This is my continual good fortune; that the lord of dance whom I beheld yesterday is my guru”.

In an earlier chapter, a Muslim male dancer, Shafeek, fretting over a very revealing dance tour in the UK, makes an interesting observation: ‘If you have money, you can dance.’ It’s a point to ponder over. But Master of Arts is not really about that; it’s simply a glorious ode to a guru; an obeisance to a teacher; a song by a sishya for her Sir!

Review by Narayana Vishwanath Tulsi Badrinath’s book Master of Arts: A Life in Dance chronicles the story of one of the first men to make a successful career as a Bharathanatyam dancer — V P Dhananjayan.

Dhananjayan created space for his dance where none existed, particularly in the late 60s, when there were no male dancers in Bharathanatyam and Dhananjayan could readily follow the path.

The one world famous Indian male dancer Uday Shankar had evolved his own unique style, Ramgopala. But the Kathakali and Bharathanatyam exponent had shifted back to London. Bhaskar Roy Chowdhry, born in Madras, went to find his fame and fortune in America. With Madras hardly offering him any scope to perform, it was a bleak scenario.

The various episodes in this book describe how a great visionary and aesthetic Rukmini Devi herself faced the problem of learning the ‘right vehicle of lyrics’ to carry forth her abhinaya and bhava. It also describes how in Bharathanatyam, ideas expressed in a particular item ride on those contained in the verse or poem, set to raga. The text defines the areas the dancer will venture. While one can expose an idea or use metaphors to convey a basic idea, one cannot introduce ideas, situations or characters that are not supported by the song.

Interspersing this remarkable tale of her guru with the stories of other young male dancers, she pays tribute to their extraordinary commitment, their talent, and courage.

This is an interesting question — what drew young male dancers to dance and held them within its grip? Was it passion alone or the elusive quest for fame? Or was it restricted to low-income families and lack of education?

The initial years of Dhananjayan at Kalakshetra make for an interesting reading. This was the time when his way of thinking, life and identity was entwined with that of Kalakshetra. How did Shanta get married to Dhananjayan?

“I had an image in mind as to how a lady should be ‘Roopeshu Lakshmi’ as I had learnt as a child,” says Dhananjayan.

Shanta interrupts and says, “I always felt that he was a very balanced person as I admired the way he conducted himself as a student. Friends would come and tell me — Oh Dhananjayan loves you, he likes you’. I was happy, but scared. I was shy to show my love. I did not know how to react.”

Dhananjayan, known for his quick-witted retorts at times, was not able to rein in his tongue. The ‘pay rise’ question for him and other students resulted in his exit from Kalakshetra. This changed the course of his life and this brings out his ‘mental frames’.

Though stepping into the great unknown beyond the gates of Kalakshetra was daunting in itself, for Dhananjayan, then came the choice of discipline, Kathakali or Bharathanatyam.

How Rukmini Devi took to heart, the departure of Dhananjayan from Kalakshetra when she had invested so much of oneself in teaching the little child and making him a potential graceful dancer, is interestingly portrayed.

How Rukmini Devi was easily swayed by others’ opinions (she loved to be praised) and Dhananjayan was the only person who told her things as he saw it, reveals the inner traits of Rukmini Devi.

Dhananjayan wanted to expand the way Bharathanatyam was perceived and proved that it was not just based on mythology or tied to legends and history. It had enough power in its movements, vocabulary to convey ideas, was free of religious symbolism or laden with spirituality.

The book describes how they performed multiple roles and dealt with organizers taken by Dhananjayan. It also vividly brings out how Shanta visualized, shopped for, and designed costumes and trained new musicians and headed the orchestra.

The year 1973 was great. “We started to get many invitations to dance and started producing shows. One became ten and ten became hundred a little later,” says Shanta.

It is disheartening when we go through the chapter on the role of sabha secretaries and critics. Subudu himself sent a handwritten letter calling Dhananjayan sthitha pragna. This, he considers as the ultimate compliment as it comes from the most feared critic of his time.

What does it take to be a successful male dancer? Men have to have a certain calibre with the necessary physique if they are to compete with women. Unless a man totally invests in his dance, a personal journey, a rigorous self-reflection, it is very difficult for him to click. Of course, the gods need to bless him with lots of luck. Dhananjayan, 73, is remarkably agile. His age matches perfectly the character he is playing — ‘this is the role of his life’.

He now commands the stature to dance alone on the stage, his beloved Shanta on his side, moulding the flow of music to his requirements. It was not always so, this is a space he has achieved.

“I am sad that my father and guru did not live to see my success that came in the seventies with an expressive countenance” says Dhananjaya

All male dancers are effeminate” is a cliché that has been heard for decades and despite many dancers proving it wrong it remains a stereotype that male dancers have to deal with at every stage in their careers.

Along with it is the “who wants to watch men dance?” prejudice.

Choosing a career in dance where the work is hugely demanding and the remuneration paltry is a difficult decision for anybody to make and it’s much more so for a male dancer.

Tulsi Badrinath writes about all that and more in her book Master of Arts.

The three narratives, distinctive yet affecting each other, that run through the book go a good way towards demystifying the male dancer in contemporary society.

The book begins with the story of the life of VP Dhananjayan, a celebrated Kathakali and Bharatanatyam dancer and teacher.

From his entry into Kalakshetra as an impoverished boy from a village in Kerala, it traces his extraordinary life.

Woven into this is the author’s own story as a senior disciple of the Dhananjayans and her experiences as a dancer. The third narrative thread is about the male dancers who have been disciples of the Dhananjayans.

The life of the male dancer is probably the strongest voice in the book with the other two supporting it.

From the success story of one, to the untimely death of another, and the struggle that a third still has ahead of him, what unifies these men are the cultural and social stereotypes they have had to face and the harsh realities of idealism versus commercialization.

Then, there is also the son who let his parents down by choosing to not dance and another boy who disappointed his by choosing to. The stories of these male dancers are not generic tales of woe or all bitter.

In fact, these are the lives of men from different backgrounds and with different struggles to face.

Apart from a common struggle against stereotyping and the lack of resources, another common unifier, and probably most important of all, is their passion for dance.

Some stories are quite inspirational while some left me, as a dancer, quite frustrated with the unfairness of the system that these men have to work within but constantly work against as well.

Another often-skirted-around topic of discussion in the dance world is the lack of transparency of the funding agencies and the selection processes followed by the organizations that host performances.

This book bravely talks of all that a dancer has to go through to get a performance slot, especially one of the coveted December season slots.

On a personal level, reading this book has been like taking a peek into the human side of a larger-than-life figure and to hear him talking about his failures as much as his successes.