Thought of you...

Hallucinations

It was a day to be remembered...

Rajkumari was standing somewhere at the crossroads of the famous Broadway alleys, when a speaker announced loudly 'And now ladies and gentlemen the students of our prestigious academy shall sing a song in praise of Google God'...

What? Rajkumari thought that she misheard the announcement, but no... they brought a huge computer on stage and put a garland of flowers on top of it and then the kids stood around it and began to sing praises of the Google God of XXI century....

Orwell at its highest, thought Rajkumari, or maybe I have fallen ill again and began to hallucinate...




Nawafar woke up in the mouse-hole in a village far away from the first world. Her eyes were red... I think she cried all night.
Was it really possible that Mr Timothy Leary did enter her story after all? Was it really possible that she ate some hallucinogenic mushroom and all she thought about the forest creatures was just a picture of her imagination? A projection of an ill mind? Were all her clothes lying scattered on the floor and nothing was ever stolen secretly???

She picked up this dreadful small box with numbers and buttons and threw it against the wall... Had she had a hammer with her she would even smash this monstrous machine into small pieces, but since no heavy object was to be found she put all the pieces of a mobile phone together and pressed a button... DELETE it said. She pressed it and a name and number drifted towards non-existence. She had already sent the same number and name towards the black hole a number of times, but each time her innermost feelings made her bring it back as somehow the very presence of that name around her made all the spirals and twists of life seem a bit easier...
But not this time... she promised herself... if the archenemy, who is in fact the only medicine she wants in life, ever wants to find her he will do it himself.
Wasn't it he who told her once that 'Men are like hunters. They like following their prey'?  She always thought this statement to be one of the most idiotic things she ever heard, but if the menfolk and the archenemy did believe in such unbelievably stupid things then let her pretend for a moment that she is not a tigress but a delicate deer that's hopping around the forest fluttering her eyelashes and pouting her lips...
The thought of becoming a deer to be hunted made her shudder with repulsion... Disgusting!
She was neither a deer nor a man-eating tiger. She was a woman who believed in partnership and equality. And since some gnomes were trying to talk to her about whatssup generation she wanted to tell in front of the whole world that she belonged to the generation that had buttons in the mobile phone, loved pink floyd, piano and cello, had watched Kieslowski's films more than hundred times in her life, went hitchhiking to some festivals in her youth and believed that Martin Luther King was right.
She looked around the room. It looked messy today and the walls were full of holes made by the stones that somebody threw at her last night through an open window. One of the walls had a deep visible crack. She went towards that wall and found a small piece of paper tied neatly around the stone 'revenge on some... from your past' it read. She could neither understand its meaning, nor comprehend why was the stone lying there.
Revenge? what revenge??? she was not the person who would want to take revenge on anything or anybody in life. Love and peace. Ahimsa paramo dharma...
Past? What past? There was no past. There was only present. Past was something that she dealt with long time back. She was very much at peace with her past whatever it might have been like.
Some... Some what? Some potato? Some cabbage? Some tomato? Some what? There was nothing.
She looked at the ruins of her house... She really wanted to build this house in a nice way, make it beautiful, make it brim with laughter and happiness, with the sound of his steps... but the walls were falling instead...
She lied on her bed, buried her face into a pillow and began to sob.

Curiosity killed the cat...

Curiosity killed the cat... or so they say, for this time curiosity did not exactly kill the cat but left it with a mild heart attack and a feeling of panic that made it run around the house in an attempt to dig a mouse-hole in one of the walls...

You see, one day curiosity took over the cat and so it decided to wear its tiger costume and march towards the forest in search of some new berries... As soon as the cat entered the forest it saw that one of the trees had been badly hurt by an ax... The cat felt really sad on knowing this, for it imagined that the wound must be rather painful for the tree... It even contemplated for a moment asking the tree if the wound began to heal already, but it knew that talking to trees won't make much sense - they speak a different language after all... 

Don't you think it's funny that one of my theatre teachers used to make us sit in front of trees and talk to them for hours until they finally responded. How silly that exercise was... Ridiculous...

But the cat did feel sad and did not know what to do, so it run around the forest in search of some medical plant that it could put on the torn bark...

You know... when I was a child I used to imagine that all the objects in my room live with their own life and have their own feelings. I used to think that when I close my eyes my teddy bears start moving around the room, they exchange gossips and have their toy parties while I am asleep...  Sometimes I would even try to cheat them by closing my eyes for a moment and pretending that I'm sleeping and then opening them fast to catch a glimpse of their movement, and whenever it was cold in winter I would put all my dolls and teddy bears under the quilt so that they would not fall ill.

Anyways, the cat was scrambling through the forest as it suddenly stumbled against a log that was thrown at it by some invisible hands... The cat began to examine the log very carefully and for a moment thought that it found some magic mushroom growing on it... but no, Mr Timothy Leary was not meant to be a part of this story and the cat came to the conclusion that it's not hallucinating after all...

How? What? Why? No! What for? Meow! Oh God! Dlaczego? - all of these came at once to the perplexed cat's mind and it did take it a rather long moment before it could move again...

You see, the log was covered with runes and pieces of cloth that had been stolen on the bank of the river...

You see... Nawafar, who was the owner of the cat that enjoyed rambling through the forest under the disguise of a tiger, took pleasure in taking her everyday bath in the river on the outskirts of a jungle... She would slowly remove her blouse and skirt and then she would open her hair and swim naked in the river that had the magic capacity of helping her to wash all those thoughts that were hiding in the strands of her hair. She would then come out to the rocky bank and sit naked in the sun while casting secret glances towards the forest... She would wait for her hair to dry and then she would wear her clothes again and silently go back to the village where she lived. It happened that why for many years until one day Nawafar discovered that some invisible hands had stolen her clothes and that she is standing naked in front of the forest creatures who are looking at her with their strange eyes...

She was scared. She could picture the creatures to be rolling on the ground laughing at her humiliation. She could even imagine being dragged into a university room where a blase know-it-all professor would give her a lecture about 'imaginary future' and ask her if she takes medicine against this and other ailments... If the professor knows so much about education he should also know that if he tells a six-year old child not to do something the child is going to do exactly the opposite with not only double but triple determination to annoy those who give it some demeaning orders.

 Why was she scared? you might ask, after all she did sometimes dream of running naked through the forest with her hair flying wild...  But thinking and desiring is much different from knowing that somebody simply stole her clothes... There is nothing wrong in dreaming about nakedness and the soft touch of the leaves against one's hair, but it is a totally different feeling when you know that you've suddenly been stripped naked against your will.

It is different when you invite somebody to dance with you through your thoughts when you think that somebody might have been interested in watching your improvisation, or when you ask somebody about the critical opinion... but nobody was interested in the length of her hair so she allowed it to grow long and wild freely... and to know that she was standing completely naked without all those spears and arrows that she used for protection in the other world was a really scary thought...

Knowing all this the cat unzipped its tiger's costume and run fast towards the village to dig a hole in the wall of a tiny house so that it could hide there Nawafar, itself and a few skirts out of which mouse costumes would be stitched, so that nobody could recognize any of them in public anymore.

whining

I am ill. My nose turned into an elephant's trumpet, head is paining as if it was stung by hundred bees and mood is as low as Mariana Trench. If you are reading it, then let me warn you from the very beginning that it's not going to be the most eloquent post on earth but a monologue infused with whining and grumbling at its highest. Some people claim that that's the only thing I know how to do in life. So you can stop now... Don't say that I didn't warn you later on...

Dear world... I am really ill, and even the chocolate treatment didn't work, so please do have mercy on me and love me a bit today. I'm sitting with the hood over my head, socks on my feet and huge handkerchief next to me... And feel bored (books don't work today), and unhappy (please hold me somebody, give me tea and rasam and chocolate and pastry and read to me, and show me some film I haven't seen before).

The chief enemy of my army wasn't dying to trip over himself recently. Well... I understand.... Poor fellow...  After all a fall onto the pavement would give him a broken nose for sure and plastic surgery is expensive... But it's the crooked mannerless nose we are talking about! And I swear, someone should finally teach that nose a lesson, for he does rankle everybody around and thinks too highly of himself, despite the fact that it is in a rather low position in relation to the ground...
Oh... don't you think that idioms are the most incredible part of speech!!! I love them! And I love putting them on my plate and tearing them into pieces with a fork of my imagination.

Anyways... even imagination is refusing to cooperate today. The royal tiger turned its royal tail on me again... He should understand finally that half of the household job should be done by him.... But the lazy creature refuses to serve tea in the morning and doesn't want to wash the dishes... How ungrateful of him!

Dear world... will you please have mercy on me...  And if you could add some tasty pastry you would prove your magnificence today... but I guess you are just a grey XXI century world and you must be too busy with marketing and politics to notice a humble human being that I am.

Guru

My grandmother used to amaze me with stories of her youth that seemed much more alive in her than the events happening around her. I think I am also gradually becoming more and more like her as I slowly discover that these are all those people who came into my life for a brief moment only who left me with incredible memories and who shaped me into the person I am today, and that I often miss them more than the faces of people surrounding me at every step.

It was many years back, if you like mathematical puzzles then let me tell you that it was half my age back, that I had a friend whom we used to call Guru. Guru, I and many others were classmates in that grey early post-socialist school that I told you about before. We both wore coarse long sweaters that we got from the second-hand shop, and if you would look at me closely you would notice that even today I often wear my sweaters inside out, just like I did those days.

My hair was growing back after I had cut it short as an act of rebellion against people who would only look at my body, while I always wanted them to look somewhere beyond that. I always struggled for that... Even now, though it did feel nice when you liked seeing me in that blue sari, but I would much prefer if you would lose yourself in my thoughts rather than my apparel, but none of my words ever find their way to you. Inability to communicate. And do you actually really exist, or are you just a projection of my mind? The queen of projection...

I was busying myself with reading Morrisson and listening to Nirvana in the evening. I discovered Rimbaud and savoured on all possible books of Wharton and Marquez, while Guru gave me my first introductory lessons in Hobbit, The Witcher and fantasy.

Guru had short curly hair that always seemed to be living their own life irrespective of what Guru wished them to do. Like many of the boys of his age he had pimples and was far from being a person one would call a handsome face or muscular body. I was never a beauty among my peers myself, so much of my youth was spent in feeling miserable at seeing all those perfectly beautiful girls being adored by numerable suitors, while I would sit quietly with a book somewhere in the corner.

We were staging 'Taming of the Shrew' with me as Katherine and Guru as Petruchio. (As I look at it now - dear B. you were perfect with casting as never in my life could I possibly play sweet and beautiful Bianca... although it might be a good theatre exercise for a change) The rehearsals were full on and we reached a scene where Katherine slaps Petruchio in anger. It was the first time ever in my life that I was to hit somebody... We tried our best and poor Guru had to walk around the school for 3 hours with a red mark of my palm on his cheek...

But it was not the fact that I could express all my anger towards the male race on Guru's cheek that made him special. It was for the gifts of words and images that I shall remember him till my last days. You see... Guru used to write letters to me... Not even letters but stories of various kinds, and each year as the summer would begin my mailbox would be invaded by stories written in his messy handwriting and pictures drawn with pastels on black sheets of paper. I never knew what to think of those letters, but I loved reading them during lazy summer afternoons. I think I still have most of them in a box in my old bedroom at the attic.

It was the last day of school and I was already on my way out when Guru stopped me and gave me a box. I opened it to see two silver bracelets lying inside. I went home, sat in front of my mother and began to cry... I never wanted to get expensive bracelets from anybody in my life. I know I was rather unfair to my friend but that gift made me feel as if was an object in a shopping window that somebody could try to buy with a shiny piece of metal. I never wanted that. I took the box and gave it back to him the next day. I don't think we ever met after that.

It was almost eighteen years back, and I have no idea where Guru is these days. I don't think any of our classmates knows either... but if you ever meet him somewhere at the crossroads, do tell him that it was not that expensive gift that made him a special person in my life, but all those stories, letters and pictures that I would find in my mailbox every summer. Ask him if he still writes, and if he does tell him that I would love to read a story and see a pastel drawing on a black sheet of paper...

You

Hi...

My voice is slightly lower than normally.
I lower my eyes and try to hide my palms in the pockets of my dress so that you would not notice how i clench my fingers around my thumbs to hide my embarrassment, and then I finally muster the courage and look straight into your eyes...

How have you been?

I sometimes think of you.... I try to imagine the expression of your face when you are reading all these letters, words and sentences... Do they mean anything to you? Do they turn into images in your head or do they enter your mind as a more or less logical stream of words that I stitched together into a sentence?

What are you thinking  about while running through my innermost thoughts? Do they remind you of the images from your life? Do you try to imagine who I am? Or do you simply laugh secretly at a silly girl with her naive imagination?

I wonder who you are and which roads brought you here... Have you come here before? And if you did then what made you come back?

Would you recognise me in the street? Would you be able to feel the energies hidden in my words? Would they make you drift towards me? Or would you just pass by looking blankly at this not very sophisticated face of a girl standing somewhere in the corner of the room far away from the crowd.

You sometimes come to me to say that you enjoyed my writing... Sometimes you even comment and ask if i managed to find solutions to the things i'm talking about... But i always wonder how much of it really reaches your being... Are you really the person I wanted to tell all these?  Can a person really become engrossed in another person's existence?

I always wanted you to touch my thoughts... To stand naked in front of you and feel the touch of your hand on those innermost impressions that i painted with my mind... but your indifference always make me wear an extra layer of silence or anger and pushes me more and more towards the corner...

Conversations with myself... Conversations with you...

Who are you? Do I know you? Would you come up to me to say hi... i understand...

Silence all around...

That terrible void that nobody can fulfill... This deep void that is dying for you to come and share those tiny bits of life... Loneliness in the crowd of people... How come only some people experience it?

Where are you?  You know... I sat on a threshold again today... The caterpillar is still there... I watch it everyday as it savours on the leaves of my plant... I read today that for some it may take a few weeks before they turn to butterflies... I didn't know... I always thought that this process is much faster... I'm tired of waiting... I would want to see the butterfly on my leaf... And I would like to finally strike a good note after so many false ones...

I'm looking into your eyes... I'm scared to say anything... I want to say something, but then I just turn and walk away...

Will you stop me? Will you stay? Will you come here again?

Salon des Refuses

Have you seen Monet's paintings? I love him. But did you know that his works were rejected by the Academie as not good enough for the Paris exhibition? And it was only seen by the public when Napoleon III declared that the rejected works by various painters shall be displayed in the Salon des Refuses...

I would never dream of seeing myself as equal to impressionist painters, but I also have my own private Salon des Refuses... of the work I wanted to do, proposals I have written, performances I wanted to give... You may laugh at them, I don't care... But they were an important part of what I wanted to do in life and somehow never did...

Application for performance in a festival in the North - rejected:

Motivation letter for scholarship for attending workshop by the sea side - rejected last year and this as well:

There once was a parrot that lived in a small cage up on a big green tree.

Everyday she would hear other birds singing songs, or see them flying high in the sky. But she didn't know how to sing. When she opened her mouth she would only squawk. Flying came to her only in her dreams. I do not think she even realised she was a bird.

The parrot's cage was small, and she did not know what to do, so she kept nodding her head over and over again and everybody around was happy to see such a polite and obedient parrot. One day a storm came and the cage fell down and broke. The parrot thought that she was badly hurt as she felt strange pain on the sides of her body. She looked at herself and saw her green wings for the first time in her life. The cage she lived in was so small that she could never spread them before.

She still does not know how to sing, but now the parrot wants to learn how to fly...

I began my journey as a dancer with the classical dance form of Bharatanatyam, and the martial arts based form of Seraikella Chhau. For many years these two formed the core of my training. I was happy with the bodily discipline imposed on me by these forms, the aesthetic beauty they provided and the fact that they were deeply rooted in Indian literature and culture. However, in the course of time, I experienced a sense of dissatisfaction with training that laid so much stress on the outer beauty of movement and expression but seemed to lack an inner awareness of the body. I felt the strong need to connect with my body and the way it wants to move rather than being forced to move in a way imposed by the grammar of the form. Thus I began to search for “the thinking body” (using the terminology of Mabel Todd) in terms of both emotional and somatic awareness.

Moving towards yoga was the first step I took. Practicing and teaching yoga did make me more aware of my body and breath but it was still another form of limiting myself and aiming at stillness rather than the free flowing movement I wanted to explore.

The turn towards contemporary forms came with entering the theatre world. An important experience was choreographing and acting the lead in a multilingual play .........., a project sponsored by ........ Although I used traditional forms of Chhau, Kalaripayattu, Bharatanatyam and Odissi I experienced a feeling of freedom from strict grammar as the form was not a goal in itself, but rather a tool to express emotional, textual and conceptual associations. A strange but valuable lesson I learned from this production was that the energy of touch carries a notion of truth in interpersonal relations, while language and external images have the capacity to lie. Another was discovering how strong the connection is between mind and body – how our psychological states influence our movement and vice-versa. This aroused my interest in the concept of expressive therapy.

My next steps in a contemporary idiom were working with a youth theatre group in .........., for which I choreographed and co-directed a play .............. based on the poetry of ............., and teaching movement for theatre in .............. In ............ I worked with three batches of students on devised physical presentations of poetry. In this context I chose the role of facilitator rather than teacher. This allowed the students to build personal connections between the written word, the self and bodily expression. It was refreshing to be able to come out of the Indian classical dance set-up, where a dancer is a tool in the hands of a choreographer rather than co-creator of the work. What was also valuable for me was the opportunity to observe how the individual physical responses of students differed in improvisation tasks based on textual associations. I was amazed once again at the strong connection between soma and psyche. The irony was, that I was not aware of the concept of somatic awareness at that time.

Another powerful experience came with acting in a non-verbal play............. Here the script provided the performer with outward physical clues from which an inner narrative was to be constructed. This work once again involved establishing associative and emotional connections between movement and the emotional self and it introduced me to the aesthetics of slow motion and stillness as well as tai-chi and butoh. It was exhilarating to be in the position of a student exploring new fields after a long time. Tai-chi that allowed me to look at my body and movement from the perspective of searching for inner connections within the body rather than through the prism of emotional associations or outer physical form for the first time.

As an Artist-in-Residence at .................... I choreographed a solo performance "Pocchawali". This was an exploration of my journey through movement training and my relationship with the ideas of death, life, memories and forgetting. Through this process I worked with non-linear inner narrative and applied the movement practices I experienced both in the dance studio and in the theatre space. This production and work-meetings, workshop and discussions with ........., with whom I work at ........, made me realise that there is no dichotomy between the search for emotional connections with the body and the search for inner physical connections. They both lead to exploration of a human.

My encounters with contemporary dance took place through various workshops and classes in Delhi and after experimenting with several movement techniques I realised that it is release technique combined with somatic practice in the broad sense of the term and improvised work with kinesthetic response that I am greatly interested in.

I had a brief experience with contact improvisation while attending the workshop of .......... in Delhi in 2012 and presently I am involved in a project directed by ........, which uses elements of release and contact improvisation to explore physical and emotional connectivity with historical and architectural space of Indo-islamic monuments in Delhi.

These two experiences with contact improvisation left me with the powerful feeling of joy at experiencing self both against the static surface of a wall as well as in harmony with another body while searching for a unison experience. Through being connected to another body I discovered the joy of freedom in the unknown and the beauty of listening to my own and others' bodily responses. I would like to continue to search for other opportunities involving experiencing the give-and-take relationship with other selves.

In addition I feel that until now most of my creative search has been based on exploring connections between emotional memory and physicality, but at this point I would want to expand the scope of my movement work by exploring the interplay between different movement qualities, searching for the inner physical connections, as well as understanding movement principles such as weight shifting and the inner geometry of the body.

Having worked as a solo performer for a long time I feel the need to open up and meet other contemporary dancers and work in a collaborative group settings to sense the group energies. I would like to experience shared approach to creative movement work as opposed to the competitive environment of an urban or classical dance set up. I believe that art should be based on sharing and inner exploration rather that competition and depending on outward physical manifestations.

And then the parrot flew high in the sky....She touched the moon, and the sun, and all the stars... And each day she would happily come back to her green tree because that was the place where she belonged. She even built a nest by collecting tiny twigs scattered around the tree, and sometimes in moments of bemusement she would look at the rusted iron cage lying on the ground at a distance.

Fragments of research project I applied for when I was still studying Chhau - rejected:

Female Performers of Chhau Dance.

Introduction
I began my training in Seraikella Chhau in 2007 under the guidance of Guru ........ at ........... in New Delhi. I can still remember a discussion with a male classmate of mine, who seeing my eagerness to learn and eventually use Chhau for my professional dancing career told me “It will be difficult for you – after all Chhau is the men’s world”.
It is true that traditionally Chhau dance was performed by males only. However, in the 1930ties few women were introduced into this art form and gradually some women tried to break the taboo of non-female art form and began to join Chhau groups.
My personal experiences with Chhau:
 Throughout the years of my training many women of various ages have joined classes, but most of them would leave after few months of training. I couldn’t stop wondering over the reasons why they decided to discontinue their training. Is it because the rigorous physical exercises are exhausting for the body and require a lot of stamina and physical strength? I do not feel physically weaker than my male counterparts in the class. Is it because of lack of repertoire that women could perform? But Chhau does have a number of dance items that include female characters. Is it because of social conditions? Is it so that because of traditional set up women should not participate in the art that stresses its martial arts background? But there are forms of martial art, such as Kalaripayattu in Kerala that have always been open to female practitioners. Moreover, the technique of Chhau itself apart from boasting of its martial arts, and thus “manly” background, at the same time stresses the importance of women in a household as the core of basic movements depict everyday activities of village women.  In addition – the female classmates of mine did not learn in traditional village setup but had their training in an institutionalized set up of a metropolitan city. There were a number of successful female performers such as ............... who gave a number of Chhau performances. Is it because of their foreign origin that they were allowed access to training in this “manly” form of performing arts? But before these foreign dancers appeared on the stage of Chhau there were some Indian women performers of that dance. My Guru .............. told me that in the 1930ties a group of Seraikella Chhau performers was invited to perform in Europe. Overnight the Ostads, or Gurus, decided that their performance would be more attractive if they include some female performers into their troupe.  Who were they? Why are they forgotten by the history of Chhau dance? 
Some efforts to promote Chhau dance among women:
Recently some efforts have been made to include girls among the students of .............. However, even during the recent performance (13.02.2011) by the center during the ........... Festival at ........., there has not been even a single female artist among a dozen of performers of the group.
In an interview after the performance of Chhau during the .............., a festival devoted to female participation in theatre .........., an artist of Purulia Chhau spoke about her experiences as a female student of Chhau:
 “For 45 days, I waited for my Chhau gurus to agree to teach me as girls are not allowed to perform the Chhau and when they did, they did not allow me to wear the Chhau mask that wears three kilos. Just to gain entry was a long struggle and now that I have been practicing and teaching this style to other girls for 14 long years, I am still not sure whether girls will take on to this style in the future.” #
Chhau – general information:
Chhau is a martial art based dance/ dance-drama form that comes from Eastern India. There are three recognized styles of Chhau: Seraikella (Jharakhand), Mayurbhanj (Orissa) and Purulia (West Bengal). 
It is not certain how old this dance form is and scholars argue about the origin of its name. According to some the word “chhau” comes from the word “chhauni” – the cantonment, which stresses the martial arts background of the dance. Some believe that it comes form the word “chhai” or chhatak” describing clowning, while others derive it form the word “chaya” meaning  shadow.
All these styles share common background of martial art exercises known as Parikhanda (“pari” meaning shield and “khanda” meaning sword), which are supposed to prepare the body for the actual dance. The dance technique is based upon chaalis – basic types of walk that are derived from observing nature, ex. baagh chaali (tiger walk), mayor chaali (peacock walk), khel – variations of sword play, and ufli – 36 movements describing everyday human activities.
 It is true that all the three styles are based on similar technique, however, a closer look at the three styles reveals that there are significant differences in execution of movements, social background of the performers etc. 
Mask is a very important aspect of Chhau. The face of the performer is invisible to the audience and thus all the emotions have to be expressed through postures and body movements. While both Seraikella and Purulia Chhau use masks, Mayurbhanj does not use them at present, although it was in use until nineteenth century. The masks of Seraikella are suggestive and lyrical, while Purulia masks are more elaborate and often have sophisticated headgears.
Seraikella seems to be the most lyrical and suggestive of all the three styles, although some of the dance items do derive from the martial dances of the warriors. The dances of Purulia Chhau are very acrobatic, with numerous vaults and somersaults executed with great proficiency. Mayurbhanj has retained a lot of its martial character and many dance choreographies represent fights between groups or individual dancers.
It is interesting to observe that the performers of Purulia Chhau usually belong to the tribal community (Mura, Bhumij, Kurmi) and that there is no significant royal patronage for Chhau artists of that region. In case of Mayurbhanj Chhau the dance was supported by the royal family, but it was only in Seraikella Chhau that the members of royal family not only provided patronage to the dance form but also participated actively in Chhau as dancers and choreographers.
Chhau performances take place throughout the year, but traditionally Chhau is an important element of Chaitra Parva (Spring Festival) that takes place in the month of Chaitra (March/April). It is festival devoted to Lord Shiva in his form of Ardhanarishwara during which Bhaktas or devotees observe various austerities and participate in religious ceremonies. The festival concludes with Chhau performances, that often take a form of dance competitions between various dance schools. The schools are grouped together under the name of Uttara Sahi and Dakhina Sahi in case of Mayurbhanj Chhau, and Bazar Sahi and Brahmin Sahi in case of Seraikella.
In 2010 UNESCO recognized Chhau as Cultural World Heritage, and thus it is expected that a lot of support will be given for promotion of Chhau dance not only in India, but also abroad.
Female elements/aspects of Chhau:
It is interesting that though traditionally Chhau was performed only by males, 18 of uflis (basic movements) describe the everyday activities of a housewife. Some of these are: Kharikiba – sweeping the floor, Gobar kudha – picking up dry cowdung, Sari Pinda – wearing a sari, Sindoor Tika – applying of sindoor, etc.
It is said that when in 1938 a group of Seraikella Chhau dancers traveled to Europe it was decided that two female performers should accompany them and overnight a new dance choreography: Devadasi was composed for them and from that time onwards female performers started to join some Chhau groups.
Some of female performers of Mayurbhanj Chhau: Sulochana Mohanta, Sharon Lowen, Ileana Citaristi, Kabita Patnaik, Sarojini Das etc,
Some of female performers of Seraikella Chhau: Shogun Bhutani, Rakha Mitra, Roshni Ghosh, Brandy Leary, etc. 
Some of female performers of  Purulia Chhau: Madhumita Paul.
Some of Mayurbhanj Chhau dance choreographies that involve female characters: Sita Svayamvar, Bastra Haran, Premika-Premika, Chandra Bhaga, Lab Durga, Tamudiya Krishna, etc.
Some of Seraikella Chhau dance choreographies that involve female characters: Devadasi, Chandra Bhaga, Radha Krishna, Durga, Nabik, Dasamahavidya, etc.
Some of Purulia Chhau dance choreographies that involve female characters: Mahisha Mardini

It is interesting to note here that in case of Mayurbhanj and Seraikella Chhau there are quite a few female students and performers, however the number is very limited when it comes to Purulia Chhau. Is it because of differences of technique? Because of differences in the social background of the performers of all the styles of Chhau, or perhaps the lack of proper training centers in metropolitan cities that prevent female students from learning?


The Project:
Not much is known about the history of female participation in the Chhau performances thus a research that would trace the individual histories of female pioneers in the field as well as the collective history of social acceptance of female Chhau performers.

One of the objectives of this project is to document the history of female performers of Chhau, which shall involve gathering of visual documentation of costumes and dance choreographies, and also to examine how the involvement of women in this traditionally male dominated performing art form influenced the tradition of performance and training. Another aim is to explore the process of interaction between female performers and their male counterparts, dance gurus and musicians as well as to look at the history of social acceptance of female Chhau practitioners. 
The research shall be based on participant observation involving personal interviews with Chhau performers (both male and female), dance gurus, musicians, patrons, and dance audiences as well as families of female Chhau performers. 
 The study is also aiming at gathering visual documentation of dance costumes, and dance choreographies performed by female Chhau dancers and thus it shall involve direct participation and observation of the life of community of Chhau performers, their training and performances.
The research is aimed not only at creating a documentation of female participation but also at empowering women to stand against the patriarchal social value system. I believe that by setting the examples of female Chhau performers women of local communities that are connected with Chhau dance would see themselves as equal with men on various platforms. 
Main questions that shall be addressed by the research and conference are:
What is the history of female Chhau performers?
Who are/were female performers of Chhau?
Are there any differences in history/ social acceptance for female Chhau performers in different styles of Chhau?
Have there been any changes in performance/training that happened because of female participation in Chhau?
To what extend did women penetrate the male dominated environment of Chhau dance?
Are female Chhau performers accepted by other Chhau performers and society in general?
What is the history of interaction between female Chhau performers and male Chhau performers who specialized in female roles?
What are the dance choreographies performed by/taught to female Chhau dancers?
Are there any social impacts on community life because of female participation in Chhau dance?






Fragments of application for a performance grant -rejected




I,myself, Draupadi… 





I wish I could say that this proposal was inspired by the events of 16
December 2012, but it was not. The core of my proposal was growing
inside me for a long time, and as I think about it now it might have
been maturing with me from the day I was born, as issues of identity,
sexual oppression and the power structure cross all the boundaries of
geography, age, and culture (I'm referring here to the modern world
of patriarchal societies).  



I have never seen myself as a feminist but a series of personal
experiences, encounters with my male students and few middle-class
families, observation of everyday life situations and  readings such
as: Taslima Nasrin – Shodh, French Lover, Eve Ensler’s
 Vagina Monologues and recently a poem Shrinking women by Lily Myers
made me question my own identity as a woman.


The questions connected with what it means to be a woman, what defines me
as a woman? Is it just about a biology and ability to bear children?
Is it just about having the yoni/vagina (words that I have problems
with uttering even as a 30+ person) and its physiological functions?
Is it about the roles that the society imposes on women?  



As soon as I start thinking about “womanhood” I remember how my
mother used to ask me “have you fallen ill?” each time she wanted
to ask if I'm having my period. I remember how she would cook  my
father's favorite dishes, but nobody remembered to ask what would be
hers.


 I remember the expression “to go and see a girl for marriage” -
nobody goes to “talk” to a girl before marrying her, as if a
woman was to be seen only through the external beauty of her body.
Why do people only want to see women? Why can’t women be also
heard? Is my being limited only to my appearance?  Should I just keep
myself at the periphery of the society and family and allow events to
happen to me rather than take my own life in my own hands?


 I remember that marital rape is still beyond the purview of criminal
law in India. I also came across a newspaper article about a
panchayat in Haryana that decided that in order to fight the
increasing number of rapes the marriage age of girls should be made
lower. Another article was published in Tehelka about the problems
that women face when trying to report cases of rape at the police
station. Why is it that women are being blamed for being raped? Why
is it so that teenage girls should be given away in marriage in order
to protect them from a sleazy gaze of men? Why is it that Krishna in
Mahabharat did not try to prevent the humiliation of Draupadi, he
merely covered her up, but did not stop Duhshasana. Is wearing a
burqa, child marriage, not allowing women to go out unaccompanied a
way of protecting their chastity and honor? Or is it just another way
of oppressing them? Is it right to constantly cover your body in fear
and be subjugated by the patriarchal society or is it needed to use
the body as the act of protest like some women of Manipur who
undressed themselves in front of the army camp in order to protest.


 I remember the photoshopped pictures of “female beauty” staring at
me from covers of magazines. The mask of make-up covering the real
face. Is a female body really only an object? As I look back at my
own relationship with my body I realize how much unfair this
relationship was from my side, how as a woman I felt contempt towards
my own body by not being able to comply with societal norms of
“female beauty”, or rather the external beauty of female form.  I
would like to not here that when I say 'body' I do not mean the
physicality or sexuality of it, but rather the inner somatic
awareness, ability to perceive the body from inside as a thinking and
feeling organism, oneness of soma and psyche.


 I remember my own troubled relationships which left me with few physical and a
few psychological bruises, and society's reaction to it:
“har koi purush aisa hi karta hai, yah bilkul normal hai, yah
bardasht karna hai”. (Every man behaves like this, it's absolutely
normal, one has to bear with this.)  But I did not want to bear
anything that would violate my physical or psychological space. I
wanted to speak up for myself. And I finally did, and I guess I am
doing it now too by writing this proposal. An attempt at rebellion.


I feel that I have already succeeded in some of my little acts of
rebellion. I already know that my identity as a woman is not
connected with my body, which is often so wrongly objectified by
patriarchal power structure, but I am still unsure of what it is and
I still have not come to terms with the relationship between myself,
my body and female sexuality. I already know that I want to rebel,
but I don't know yet what stands a step ahead of it, what kind of
self-acceptation or self-discovery would it bring. I would like to be
able to find this answer one day. I guess many women would.


I believe that dance/theatre/any other form of art is not only about
the product, which is a performance, but about a process of enriching
oneself through connecting with one’s inner being.  This
performance is my search for my identity as a woman.  






Why this title?


The character of Draupadi has been fascinating me for a long time. She
always seemed to me so different from the stereotypical “good
Indian mother, wife, daughter”. I often see her as opposition to
Sita, who always passively allows things, such as the fire trial, to
happen to her, while Draupadi tries to speak up for herself and
remind everybody about her rights. 



 She has always been somebody I could feel closely connected to, somebody
I could understand, somebody I could identify with. I guess I could
feel that she and I share the similar experiences, similar approach
to life. But what experiences were similar between her and me?  Who
am I? And who Draupadi would be today? 



I can see Draupadi as a symbol of a woman whose mental and physical
intimate space was violated by the evil male gaze. Her body is
subjected to ruthless behavior of men and then she uses the same body
as an act of protest. It is the use of the female body as an object
subjected to violation and used as a means of protest that links
Draupadi with many contemporary women – Irom Sharmila, as Draupadi,
whose body is equal with the political body of Manipur; Sabitri
Heisnam and the women protestors of Manipur, who undressed themselves
as an act of protest against Indian Army; Drpti of Mahashweta Devi’s
story “Draupadi” and many more. 



In Indian culture the female body is worshiped as divine power of the
Goddess, and at the same time seen as obscene object and according to
rules of patriarchy its vital energy needs to be suppressed and
controlled. In Christianity it is Eve who is being blamed for the
original sin.






My plans for 2015 are not to be rejected - street dogs and cats never reject a bowl full of milk... and they are much nicer than most the people too.....

The war

Relationships with people are like words with multiple meanings. They both confuse me.

Did you know that Mahabharata did not begin over Draupadi's laughter...  It actually began over a cup of tea... and as it lasted for years of the armies of Kauravas and Pandavas throwing stones and spears at each other one fine day the poor innocent cup of tea felt so humiliated that it decided to run to the kitchen and pour itself out to the sink.
It felt that it lost all its taste.

The news of this tragedy spread beyond the fires of Janamejaya's sacrificial altar and reached the Monkey kingdom as well, so that from that day onwards the inhabitants of the lands of Kishkindha no longer drank the poisonous tea brewed by the repulsive men-eating mantis and decided to proclaim water as their national drink.

And relationships with people? They died suffocated under the ruins of the twin towers destroyed by the multiple attacks of the terrorist group that called itself  'lack of empathy and understanding'.

Dead end

She shall speak no more.

Padam

I lied.
I do wait for you to come.

Everyday.
Every sound outside the window makes me think about you.

Anticipation.
Anguish.

Non-existing knock on the doors.

Words.

Unspoken.
Undelivered.

Cowardice of the lips that refuse to speak.
Crowd of witnesses to those thoughts that belong to you only.

Thief enjoying secretly the memories of the touch of your hand.
Would my smile mesmerize you again today?

All the padams I've heard turned to one.
A girl with rosy lips and a dreamy boy.

Would you laugh at me if I told you all this?

Caterpillar

I opened the doors and sat on a threshold. It did have a symbolic meaning once upon a time when I was trying to find my way out of a white painted room, but today it did happen for real. A cup of hot tea in hand and memories of a man sitting in front of me long time back... The cat curled into a ball in my lap. The sound of the flute that played a false note from time to time and determination to finally strike a good one after a long time... A strange long creature with long white strands of hair writhing on a long green leaf right next to me.
Future butterfly or indestructible pest?

Why did you stop? I asked...

 It was only few days back that I made up my mind not to perform anymore. I was sitting there in a corner looking at all those beautiful bodies and all I could think about was the meaninglessness of all that... Ironic that not so long ago I was feeling ashamed of myself for not being able to achieve that perfection... But that day I felt happy to be different... Few days prior to that was a strange night when I stood in the light with this peculiar need of showing off to the people on the other side... It was so embarrassing... So aggressive... So...  A poet once said that all the artists are like prostitutes... and that was the feeling of that night when I discovered an aggressive performer in me... Not the silent actor who knew how to hold emotions inside, but a loud cocotte craving for the attention of the crowd.  An entertainer...

No... My ambition does not go as far as that. My ambition was satiated many years back on a cold winter night in a theatre building that I knew so well... We finished the performance and I stood on the stage looking towards that space in the audience where I used to like sitting so much... I was smiling... It was a good day. House full. Praise from the director. Our light designer was looking at me from the corner of his eyes. I think he was smiling too. Smiling at a little girl lost in the world of her dreams... And that was it... The end of hunger for more... Internal peace.

Maybe I was never ambitious in the first place? Or maybe I changed in all those years...

It's not like I'm giving up, it's just that the paradigm has shifted. Private and internal.
A wise man once told me that my path is right... That the only thing missing is ability to sit and meditate... I'm discovering it now. Internal silence...

How I wish I could tell you that, but my courage always ends somewhere in the middle...

A teenage girl used to think that she could only woo you with striving towards that outer perfection... But you wouldn't even look...

A young woman has tears in her eyes when she thinks you could possibly find her beautiful for her being rather than doing.
She would like to knit a scarf for you for Christmas... Mixture of blue, green and red colour... Like the wings of a butterfly...

A strange long creature with long white strands of hair writhing on a long green leaf right next to me.
Future butterfly or indestructible pest?

Christmas Eve

Kochana Mamo,

it was Christmas Eve yesterday and we all sat together around the table. I never thought that there may be so many of us that we would run out of chairs and some of the younger ones will have to sit in other's lap.
It was a long day cause I had to cook some of the Christmas dishes, but it is such a pleasure to cook when there are people around to be fed, and when every now and then somebody comes to the kitchen to help.
You have grown a bit older ad you remind me more and more of grandma...  Do you remember how grandma used to drink wine with us on Christmas? And she would always ask for another glass cause she thought wine to be evil and she prefered drinking it herself rather than allowing us to taste such a poisonous thing...
We laughed so much at the table... We were teasing each other like little kids and I enjoyed it so much... Nobody was mean... Nobody was telling me that I live in 'uncivilised world'...
I was holding your hand to help you walk those few steps from the table to your room...
My belly has become big and I love all the warmth and affection of everybody around... The warmth of the family life... The feeling of belonging... The feeling of unconditional love...

Kochana Mamo,

yesterday was thousand minutes back...  a minute back a toothless man on the phone told me to shift from Bangladesh to Delhi. They always know better what is good for me...


Kochana Mamo,

I am waiting for the Christmas eve to come...
I started knitting again and I'm making scarfs as gifts for everybody at home... So many scarves to knit... So much of warmth and happiness...
I love Christmas...

how did you manage?

They killed the elf... He did not fit into societal norms... His ears were too spiky and the crooked nose disturbed the sensibilities of everybody around...
They threw the decapitated body onto a railway track for the passers by to watch and comment. The hawks flying above waiting for a piece of fresh elfian meat.
A toothless man on the phone announced his death.
An inquiry into the matter revealed that this was an act of mercy killing.
Only the practical can live.
The plastic mind.
A six year old child shot a butterfly on a newly bought i pad. In the years to come this shall be the the only reminiscence of his childhood.  The i pad I mean, for the butterflies would have become extinct by the time he turns twenty.
An invitation to nowhere.

This dreadful need for normal life that will never be fulfilled.
Give me the scissors and cut me out of all the pictures.
How did you manage...
How did you manage...
Did you manage?
Will I manage?
How will I manage?
How did you manage...

The difference between responsibility and giving up.
You never know which one comes first.

How did you manage?
I don't think I will.

New Year

He woke up from his sleep and looked at me with his big eyes. It was strange to be looking at him as I could not make out their colour. Deep green? Light blue? Brown? simple grey or maybe scary black...

When i was a child I used to try to imagine what my life would be like when I become an adult. I guess I was supposed to be leading a rather arranged kind of life, or at least that's what my memory is telling me now. How silly and naive these images were -  a dog, satisfaction from work, steady relationship.
 I've been an adult for quite some time and I must tell you silly child that none of what you predicted came true. Wait... I'm lying... I am a strange mixture of an adult and a child that keeps dreaming even though the dreams might have changed a bit. Anyways...

He is standing in front of me and I have to make up my mind and decide how to greet him, but somehow the words are stuck in my mouth and I'm standing speechless not knowing what to say.

What would you do if you suddenly realised that you are standing nowhere? That there is no ground below your feet and you can just pack your bags and go... but go where? and what for? It's tiring to be a Nomad in all the spheres of one's life.

Wait a minute... I could here some say... why do you have to complain again... take the dough and enjoy it... get yourself a dress, go for a good dinner, buy that dream camera of yours, a scootie.
It's nice to have money to spend sometimes, but after living for so many years without it one learns how not to get carried away by it, so no... dear friend, the dough is not everything to live for.

It might look a bit different if there was a soul to share it with. But that soul is not there. It is still sleeping in a stone and I'm struggling so badly to find it. To create thousands of magical things together.

It might look a bit different if the place for creation could still exist... but it died buried under the bricks of full time job. It stayed in the messy library and refused to enter the perfect building of innovation and excelling. It refused to compete. It simply wanted to be.

It might look a bit different if there was a sense of belonging to a community. but strangely enough or not surprisingly at all, depending on your point of view, that sense  has been lost again and again I'm not able to comprehend if it's me who is not able to build relations with people around, who is always different from everybody else; or is it the community that prevents others from penetrating its structures.

It might look... or it might not.... but for the time being he is looking at me and I have to greet him somehow amongst all the confusions, fears, dreams and questions that I have...

The New Year.