A trait common to Bengali mothers is to ensure their daughter learns either how to dance or sing or excel in any fine art. My mother was no different. She would often tell me her conservative father never let her learn how to dance so when I was born my maa was determined that I learn to dance.
My early childhood memories are about my mother often dragging me to watch dance performances, especially Kathak as she was very impressed with the Lucknawi tehzeeb. My very parochial mother would tell me only Bengalis and Lucknawis have the culture to be polite.
One fine day I was with her at the Shriram Bharatiya Kala Kendra and maa told me that I was lucky to get to watch Birju Maharaj perform live. Panditji stood out not just because he was an excellent dancer but also because he could tell a story with his eyes.
Now Kathak focuses a lot on footwork and fast-paced rhythm. How good you are depends on how quick you are with your footwork. But this is primarily true of the Jaipur gharana. Panditji belonged to the Lucknow gharana, which is why he was chosen by maa. Now the trick was to get him to teach me dance. It so happened that he was visiting Gandharva Mahavidyalaya in Delhi. He spoke to around 50 of us students and asked us to show him some steps. In awe of him, few of us dared to, for fear of being pulled up by him. For us, it was amazing that the stalwart had the patience to watch all of us perform.
When my turn came, I pretended I had a massive body ache and told Guruji so. He looked at me for a couple of seconds. He told me, “You can do Kathak even while seated. All you need is your eyes.” Abhinay or expression was what set Birju Maharaj apart. Then he gently tapped my head and said, “Daro mat, don’t make excuses. Use your eyes”.
I joined Bharatiya Kala Kendra and Kathak Kendra in Delhi and learnt Kathak under him for three years. Thrice a week at 5pm, it became a routine to attend his classes. Not every class was about dance. He would regale us with stories about his father and brother. He would tell us about the pan shops in Lucknow. He once said, “Why do people wear sunglasses? It hides their eyes and expressions. Aap aankhon se sabse acha bolte ho, zubaan se utna naheen.” No surprise that he would capture our moods by just looking at us with his penetrating eyes. He told me once, “You should be an actor. Bahut drama karti ho, aankhon ka galat istemaal karti ho.”
He left by 1998. Time passed. We lost touch. I didn’t become an actor but joined TV eventually. Irony is, in the times of COVID when we are all masked up, it’s our eyes that are left uncovered. Many years later, I remembered Panditji’s words. Eyes can indeed tell a story. I do this as much as I can. And I owe it to him. My naman to my guru who taught me how eyes can be a powerful medium of storytelling.
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