Original Article published in Creative India, April 2019
Eroticism is a gift to Bharatanatyam. Sringara is known as the raja rasa. The
Samgitaratnakara describes sringara as follows:
By determinants (vibhavas) such as the lover & the beloved (and other exciting
determinants or uddipanavibhavas) created by the poet in his work and brought
before the eyes, as it were, by the actor by means of his performance, the
permanent mood of love (rati) is made palatable to the spectators; by means of
the consequents such as the kanta glance exhibited by the actor, this (permanent
mood) is made very intense; The permanent mood of pleasure with identity of
feeling between a young couple of the highest type arising from perfect
happiness, pervading from the beginning till fruition, and filled with sexual love.
The sentiment of sringara is relatable by every human being who has been in love and
felt the resultant joys of union or pangs of separation. At this basic level, the intense
emotions of two people in love are the simple reasons for sringara to exist. Sringara is
also a yearning that surpasses all others. Rati or the erotic sentiment is the sthayi or
foundation for this type of sringara, comprising of sambhoga (union) and vipralamba
(separation). The choreography process is the transference and location of this basic
human emotion into performance, a delicate development that can create myriad
emotions in the performer and spectator. Generous in its offering of sub-emotions such
as happiness, jealousy, regret, sadness, anger, and multiple others, sringara presents a
palette for dramatic interpretation and improvisation in dance.
Radha is arguably the most erotic among heroines. Jayadeva gave us dancers plenty to
work with by creating this strong, sensuous, bold, self aware heroine. I personally enjoy
the freedom that an ashtapadi gives me, I feel unsurpassed joy in being able to express
with abandon a love that is almost surreal, the love between Radha and Krishna.
Kshetrayya and other padam composers present to us some intense nayikas, while
javalis give us some spirited heroines as well. In Varnams, the heroine can
communicate her love in a luxurious manner that is if the dancer or choreographer
focuses on the slow progression of emotions of the protagonist rather than the
description of the sought.
What are the challenges of dancing sringara?
One has to have a strong sense of self when portraying sringara. Letting go of inhibition
which is an indication of ego is integral to depicting characters in love. Penetrating
deeper than the skin of any character needs an intuitive sensitivity. As much as the
dancer must allow the character to enter her or him, the dancer must also allow herself
or himself to enter the character. This requires a certain courage as it means baring
ones soul to strangers. When I am on stage getting ready to do a Varnam for example,
the moment I stand in that light, I am her, the nayika. but I am still me. Who she is in
that composition enters my being, and who I am colors her being. When the character is
set as a combination of her and me, the ensuing conversation becomes humanized
even if addressing the universal being. Were she to be the only one present, the
conversation would be distant and what sringara needs distance? Were I to be the only
one present, the conversation would be in danger of losing the withdrawal that
performance art requires.
So the challenge lies in allowing myself to enter the skin of the nayika as well as allowing her to inhabit me and embodying a combination of the two. For this a deep understanding of the lyrics is the first step. Then I take the entire composition as one long intimate conversation, the universal energy becoming a person in my physical and mental space listening to my monologue intently. While choreographing it, I am conscious of ideas that perceive her as myself and as the other. I am also aware of the threads that link it from beginning to end. When rehearsing and subsequently performing it, I develop these threads into strong ropes that round out the character in my mind. I see love as supreme among emotions and therefore do not feel any self consciousness in its depiction. All this gives me the conviction to dance her with honesty, and if I am convinced, the audience will be as well.
Is sambhoga or vipralamba more challenging?
With union comes joy but a yearning for more. With separation comes pain. The bliss of
togetherness in a Kuru Yadu Nandana for example is all consuming. Radha and Krishna
have made love, and Radha continues to make intimate demands on Krishna that only
she can. Her character is bold, satiated, in command, yet demanding. Does dancing her
need me to be all those? Yes and no. Each of us has qualities that mirror Radha’s even
if our experiences weren’t replicas of hers. I am an actor when emoting on stage and
must tap into those sources to be Radha convincingly. I must enter her skin though I
must also remember that I am not Radha, or there is a danger of crossing the line in
portrayal of the all consuming love between them. Them. So she is still the other. I
merely inhabit her temporarily.
In dancing sambhoga, the challenge lies in not allowing myself to be affected by the constraints that the spectator’s gaze could place upon me. For this I must enter a bubble that only I have entry to but within which I am visible to the gazer from the outside. In a composition such as Yahi Madhava where a hurt Radha icily refuses to allow the same Krishna even so much as a touch, Radha is still in control. This is self imposed vipralambha if you will, a result of her hurt pride and ego, although she knows that Krishna belongs to everyone. When I dance Yahi Madhava, that universality of Krishna may be at the back of my mind but in that moment I am any wronged woman who has been hurt immensely and reacts from the gut. So I am once again painting my own stored memories on to this Radha. However, she permeates my being with her uttama nature which checks any desire to lash out uncontrollably. If I were completely myself in the composition, I would be experiencing all those feelings only from my point of view. But since I am Radha as well, I can experience the
composition as the other by witnessing her pain as an actor. Almost every time I perform
this composition, there is at least one woman in the audience who cries for herself and
for every woman.
In Sa Virahe, another ashtapadi, she is bereft of him in complete vipralambha but Jayadeva cleverly makes the sakhi the conduit for the ensuing emotions, emotions that would have descended into overwhelming melancholy had the sakhi not been the intermittent go between. The challenge in vipralambha then becomes danger of losing oneself in the sadness to the point of forgetting that I am not experiencing it at that moment, but rather tapping into the recesses of my memory that mirror that sadness. Once again I must place myself both within and outside of her.
Where lies the balance in the portrayal of the erotic?
Every composition comes with its own delicious soul, be it a Varnam, padam, ashtapadi
or javali. Again the first step in understanding that soul is knowing the lyrics and their
meaning. The ragam and musical journey it takes play a big role in my own journey
through the composition. When choosing a composition to perform it is usually
something that I naturally find myself dancing to when I hear it. Next I try to understand
the character as the composer intended following which I infuse her with my own
emotional history. As we mature we accumulate emotional encounters, the more we
open up to life and its gifts, the more such encounters are, translating into a
roundedness in character portrayal. In a younger dancer, the choice of composition then
becomes very important.
If a young dancer chooses say a Ninnu Joochi, it would be a pleasant reproduction of what is taught and not more. The same when emoted by a mature, sensitive dancer contains within it nuanced nuggets of layered richness that thrill in the whole. A younger dancer may also not dare to let go as much in a Ninnu Joochi as he or she may in say a javali such as Apadooru. This baring of the soul requires a certain indifference to the spectator’s gaze, an indifference that perhaps comes with age as one is no longer dancing to please. Therefore the choice of
composition relative to age and experience becomes an imperative part of addressing this challenge. Young or old, if a certain sensitivity doesn’t become a part of one’s growth, there is the temptation to over compensate leading to a superficial character portrayal, or worse, an unwelcome vulgarity. In all this though, the biggest challenge is in staying true to the original composition and not battling its soul in any way. Maturity, living in two different cultures, and above all the many positive and negative forks in this meandering journey called life have infused my thought process with a quality that connects me immensely to my art. I strive to translate this balance in life into my art.
What role does the audience play in the experience with sringara?
The individual spectator, the collective audience comes with preconditioned parameters
that determine how each one receives an honest portrayal of sringara. Gender, age,
cultural conditioning, life experiences, all determine the response. Art is subjective and
what is aesthetically acceptable to one isn’t always to another. Of course we all know
that the performer cannot please everyone, but does he or she cater to the lowest or
highest common denominator? Does the dancer cater at all in any way? We dancers
are actors who engage in role play on stage. In rati sringaram, this role play becomes
more personal as the act of love is not discussed openly or performed in modern Indian
society.
What the dancer gives should be an honest representation that is not conditioned by one’s perception of the spectator’s reaction. I perform to the audience but the audience does not shift my compass for the character I’m dancing. I am aware of the spectator’s gaze and receipt of what I present but I do not allow it alter my awareness of the character I’m dancing. My honesty in the characterization stems from my intimate knowledge of her based on my research and choreographic process. In other words, I know the character I am dancing in any composition best as she is painted by me. Sharing this intimate knowledge with the audience requires courage as I place myself in all vulnerability before an unknown blend of minds. Now the spectator requires a certain sensitivity to receive and nurture such an honest portrayal as well.
The joy of performing sringara in a sensitive, intelligent and aesthetic manner is a joy
that is to be shared and experienced by an equally sensitive, intelligent, aesthetically
developed spectator. This sharing between performer and spectator creates ultimate
rasa, the goal of our dance forms.
“In art as in love, instinct is enough” - Anatole France (French poet and novelist)
In the art of presenting sringara, the performer and spectator must listen to instinct,
must follow its music.
By Vidhya Subramanian