F or many of us culture buffs, artist and path-breaking dancer-choreographer Chandralekha is an enigma whom we have heard of and perhaps seen, but not had the opportunity to engage with or comprehend. The staging of her works to mark her 10th death anniversary, were rare opportunities to do so.
It was not surprising that the rustic open-air theatre in Spaces was overflowing despite the late hour (9-10 p.m.) to watch Chandralekha’s last choreography (2001), performed by poet-writer-dancer Tishani Doshi and Kalaripayattu expert Shaji John. People, including middle-aged women, were perched on the 10-ft compound wall just to be a part of this rare staging of ‘Sharira’.
Journalist, Chandralekha’s long-time collaborator and ace lighting designer, Sadanand Menon, introduced the work as, ‘An abstract work, performed by dancers, who do not come from a dance background; it explores erotica in the male and female body, in slow motion, with no sets and no excitement, only the feeling of slowness accompanied by dhrupad music by Umakant and Ramakant, and pakhawaj by Akhilesh, the Gundecha Brothers, in ati-vilambit (slower than slow tempo).’
The 63-minute show was not a performance in the true sense. Neither were the dancers dressed glamorously — they wore draped cotton dhotis and tunics in Chandralekha’s trademark colours of black and red — nor did they play to the gallery. They were on the contrary, immersed in the moment, as they pushed the limits of their body kinetics. Chandralekha said, ‘I want my work to be like watching a practice session.’ At another time, ‘My dance is for self-renewal rather than frontal projection… potential in the body.’
Most of it was floor work, especially for Tishani. We saw familiar asanas like the danurasana, sethubandasana, sirsaasana, and the upright garudasana, but it was the slowness of the extension within the asana, the precision, the unravelling and the transition, accompanied by music as intense, that was spellbinding. You could feel the audience involvement as they collectively held their breath under the cool night sky.
What about the eroticism in the work? Well, the air was charged with sexual tension as the movements were suggestive of a primal sense of exploration between man and woman. At times your breath caught in your throat as the dancers were treading a thin line, however, it was art and aesthetics that won every time. Only meditativeness came through, not titillation.
At a banal level, Tishani’s gaze was always steady, while Shaji tended to look down. His explanation is that a restless crowd or flash photography that never happens outside India, can disturb the concentration. The inspired lighting that used basic white par cans on the floor with a couple of coloured peach and pink spots on top, hemmed in the choreography and the energy. The focal point moved unobtrusively from the female (Jagat Janani, Bhairavi) to the male (Maha Kaal, Behag) along with the song.
There was nothing new in ‘Sharira’ that has not already been there in Indian culture, in the temple sculptures, in Kama Sutra, in Patanjali’s yoga sutras, etc. Chandralekha was only the catalyst, who did not fight shy of acknowledging our history.
SRI
Excerpts from an earlier work, ‘Sri’, were not so rich visually or musically. What we saw was an experimental effort to re-create Chandralekha’s spirit in a new generation. It showcased the grammar and the holistic understanding of the process. The only support for the dancers was the repetitive beat of 3s and 4s, created from pebbling —tapping two stones together. Baddhakonasana, Sethubandasana, the thattu mettu adavu, were strung together seamlessly, to establish the dynamism and strength of the female energy. The lighting was again off-beat — indirect, with dancers in shadow some of the time.
Wish we could see more of timeless visual poetry created by the trio of Chandralekha, Dasharath Patel and Sadanand Menon.
