A Celebration of Feminine Power

Photo courtesy: Leelangika

Shakti – a performance depicting feminine power by the Muscat-based Kathak dance group, Leelangika, was presented at the Auditorium of the Oman Convention and Exhibition Centre on 23^rd November to a full house. 

Although a classical Indian dance form, Kathak has moved away from temples and courts and has blossomed in national and international arenas. 

At Leelangika, dedicated pupils are guided by their dance guru, Jhumpa Chakraborty, who was recently awarded the title of Natya Sharadi for her contribution to the field of dance. Jhumpa is also a member of the International Council of Dance which is a part of UNESCO. Leelangika’s performers have also excelled in their presentations overseas. Earlier this year, at the Dance World Cup held in Canada, Leelangika’s young disciples along with their guru, won several medals and also the Crystal Trophy for highest score in three categories.

The evening began as the guest of honour, Prof Dr Issam El Mallah, who teaches Ethnomusicology at the University of Munich and is also an Adviser to the Board of Directors for Programming and Events at the Royal Opera House in Muscat, lighted the auspicious lamp. He lauded the efforts of the communities who strive to preserve their cultural arts and encouraged the young generation of dancers. 

A presentation of international certification was then made to some students of Leelangika from the International Dance Council.

In the present social schema in which women all over the world are realizing the true potential and power of their individual and collective voices, Shakti, which means Strength, comes as a timely inspiration for young women of the new generation. 

Each dance module in Shakti was meticulously composed by Jhumpa and skillfully taught to her disciples who brought her noble efforts to fruition. The performers were –  Anika, Diya, Dishita, Jahnabi , Juana , Suhana , Sinchan , Rupsa, Anna, Ananya, Anushka, Forum, Kena, Purvi, Rutuja, Sangamitra, Aditi Guru, Aviva, Manvi, Mitali, Maheeka, Sehar , Shaivi , Shreya , Vyatiba , Aditi Bahuguna, Zanam, Shrabosti, Sasha, Geetika, Anushaily, Dona, Mahua, Preeti, Rashmi, Vidya, and Dilna.

The first part of the programme included an invocation to the divine. The Guru Vandana, an energetic rendition by Aditi Guru, set the pace for the evening. It was followed by Saraswati Vandana in which the youngest dancers in the group brought forth tiny lamps balanced carefully in their cupped hands. These lamps lined the outer edge of the podium for the rest of the evening invoking guidance from Goddess Saraswati through the performances that unfolded. 

Next, young dancers in batches, depending on the number of years they had practiced, presented Kathak Nritya in three variations – Teental with 16 beats, Jhaptal with 10 beats, and Dhamar with 14 beats. The undulating folds of silken hemlines in shades of red and gold mesmerized the audience as they kept time with the intensive footwork and chakkars or spins. 

The final part of the programme had vibrant themes related to feminine power, catchy musical scores and a variety of ethnic costumes. A tribute to the motherland, Vande Mataram, had a theme of blue, white, saffron, and green costumes, and was rendered by Jhumpa and her senior disciples.

Drawing inspiration from Nature, solo, duet and group dances explored the theme of strength through elements of Nature – rain, clouds, thunder, and sunlight.  They also brought to life mythological stories of Mother Goddesses – Ganga, Parvati, Kali, and Durga. The stories of Radha- Krishna, and those of nayikas who adorn themselves and wait for their beloved, displayed the distinctively feminine strength and belief in the power of love. Vibrant fusion music saw young performers dance to ‘Jiya re jiya’ – a highlight of the evening that brought an infectious happiness to the audience. 

The evening ended with a dramatic presentation on the strength of the female victims of today’s society who fight back those who harass them. As the protagonist of the story, Shrabosti exhibited her brilliant acting skills coupled with the grace of this dance form. The show came to a close as Jhumpa, one of the participants, gave a hand to help the girls who had collapsed after fighting their oppressors, and led them into a bright new world where Shakti – the feminine power reigned supreme and the future held hope.

(Parts of this report were published in the Muscat Daily and The Times of Oman)

The Girl in Red

Sunday after Sunday, on the way to church, we saw the girl with the longest hair in the parish, wearing a red dress. 

It was a straight-cut, sleeveless dress perfectly tailored to the girl’s teenaged figure and made from fine expensive fabric. The colour was a classy hibiscus-red. 

Spotting the ‘Girl in Red’ on our way or in the left wing of the church if we were late, became a sort of a game with us. 

If the girl was my friend, I would have asked her why she always wore the same dress every Sunday. She certainly did not look poor. 

Now, on reminiscing about those days, I feel that she had set some big minimalist goals for girls like me who were younger than her. 

Recently, at the Emmy awards, news reports highlighted another girl in red. She was resplendent in her origami- inspired dress which she had worn again. 

As a celebrity, she made a strong statement – 

“I think in this day and age, we must stop sending the message to young women and girls that we all have these endless closets of clothes we never wear more than once, especially on a red carpet. The hours that it takes, the artisan’s labour, the gorgeous fabrics – all deserve to be worn again and treasured.”

True.

When celebrities, royalty, and role models sent such messages of recycling, it does create a trend of sorts.  

At urban schools and colleges, I have noticed a minimalist taste developing among boys and girls. It reflects a heartening sign that the message of environmental sustainability is reaching future generations who will be the custodians of our planet soon.

Our Father on Earth

Gotya’s Garden

“Katti” said Neelu with an unpleasant pout of her rosy mouth while linking her little pinkie finger with mine.

She said she wouldn’t talk to me. Ever.

She walked away without looking back even once. Her long black plait slithered from side to side on her back.

I had committed the grave sin of playing with Neela that afternoon. Neela was Neelu’s cousin and both were not on talking terms at that moment. Neelu had seen me play with Neela.

I had come home early from school and was scouting around the neighbourhood for a playmate. Bushy-haired Neela’s offer ‘to build’ a kitchen in Gotya’s garden was irresistible.

Neelu had watched us from the lonely blue front window of her house and didn’t like it. 

I felt the unjustness of the accusation. I needed to confide in someone.

After dad came home from teaching at school, he rested as usual on the living room floor. Spreading the newspaper in front of him, he balanced the upper part of his body on his hands and bent his legs at the knee with feet facing the ceiling.

Sitting on his lower back I updated him on the episode that had happened in the afternoon.

“Hmm” he said from time to time.

“It’s unfair, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Of course, it is” he replied.

“Do you think Neelu will ever talk to me again?”

“Do you want her to?”

“Yes.”

“Then she will.”

“Do you think Neela, Neelu, and I can play together sometime?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

The next day,Neela and I work meticulously with our clay pots in the 'kitchen'. Suddenly, Neela gives out a wail. She has cut her foot on a broken piece of glass. 
Out of nowhere, Neelu came running with a strip of fabric to tie around the wound. Holding Neela on either side, we lead her home to her mum's care. 
There, all grudges forgotten, three six-year-old girls played card games together.
 

(Neela and Neelu’s names are changed here to protect identity.)

***

Digha Talav

It was a forbidden thing.

There were unwritten rules for children who played in Digha talav. It was a large pond in our village which dried up in the long summer holidays to provide us an emerald-green cushiony grass-scented playground.

However, little children who couldn’t swim were not allowed to go into the deeper parts of the pond where water didn’t dry up till the onset of the next monsoon. 

A few days before we had spied older boys from the village building a banana trunk raft.

When Neela, Neelu, and I went to the talav to play that afternoon, we covered our gap-toothed mouths with our hands and gazed awestruck at the scene before us.

The boys looked like glorious sun-burned demigods with beaming smiles as they balanced themselves on the banana raft.

“Hop on!” invited one of the boys, my brother’s friend.

“I don’t think we are allowed” whispered Neelu.

“Oh, I do want to go!” Neela jumped up and down clapping her hands.

My heart was already sailing.

“Come on, hop on” encouraged the other boys as they rowed the raft closer and offered helping hands for us to climb on. 

The talav, our daily playground, suddenly seemed like paradise as we gently glided over the still water. The feeling was so overwhelming. Nobody spoke a word. We were blissfully unaware of any potential danger. Neela had closed her eyes and Neelu was smiling.

I wonder what we must have looked like to my dad who stood far away silently watching us – a bunch of village kids with little or no swimming skills perched on a threadbare banana raft afloat in the deep end of the talav.

Neelu spotted him first.

“Look, there’s your dad” she pointed out his dark silhouette against the fading skylight. 

I climbed out of the raft.

We walked home in silence – my dad and I.

The short distance seemed like miles. 

***

1...2...3...!

It must have been an interesting bead.

I had picked it up and had taken it so close for examination that I breathed it in.

Friends and family crowded around me.

They crowded my little mind with fears of the possibilities the inhalation of a bead entails. 

I don’t quite remember if Neela and Neelu were part of that crowd.

Anyways, there I was with a bead stuck up my left nostril when my dad arrived.

He swept me up with a flourish and jumped on his bicycle, placed me on the tiny seat he had made, and rushed to the nearest doctor’s dispensary.

Having a bead stuck up one’s nostril was not considered as an emergency so we waited till our turn came. 

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think they will cut my nose open?”

“I don’t know. I am not a doctor but I have thought of a trick to get the bead out without cutting your nose open. Would you like to try it?”

“Ok.”

“Listen very carefully. I will count 1...2...3...! At the end of the count, I will hit the back of your head with my hand. At the same time, you must sneeze forcefully. Can you do it?”

“Ok” I trusted him completely.

“Remember: after I say 1...2...3... Sneeze.”

“Ok”

“Ready?”

I nodded.

“Here goes...1...2...3...SNEEZE!

I sneezed violently and his hand hit the back of my head forcefully.

POP!

Out flew the bead and bounced on the dispensary floor.

It was an interesting bead indeed.

Dad became my superhero.

***

Hello Brother!

In his wedding photos, dad looks like a movie star from the sixties.

He also has the personality to match his looks. Being a teacher and a dramatist, he makes friends easily. Riding on his bicycle around Vasai he always had a tune to whistle. 

I learnt many lessons perched on that tiny seat on his bicycle. He took me to the market, to people’s houses, and on a couple of occasions, even to the bar.

In the middle of Holi bazaar one day as we waited for a watermelon-wallah with a handcart to cross the road, dad said,

“All these people are our brothers and sisters. We must help them.”

“What rubbish. You don’t even know them.”

“Even if I don’t know them, they are still my brothers and sisters.”

I challenged him.

“Alright, you see that watermelon-wallah? How can he be your brother?”

“Let me show you.”

Dad turned his bicycle towards the man.

“Bhaiyya, kaise ho? Sab theek hai na?”

The watermelon-wallah’s wrinkled face lit up with a wide smile.

“Badhiya hoon, bhai, bhagwan ki kripa hain.”

Dad smiled at me with an ‘Aha, there you are!’

***

Today is dad’s 85^th birthday. 

We wish him love, laughter, and light. 

He has an unmatched passion for life as he himself would state in a quote:

Jis diye mein tel hain

Usse jalne ka hakk hain

Diya khud nahi jalta

Diye ka tel jalta hain 

Dad - the charmer, as usual

As I sit down to write this, so many stories come flooding that one blog post is not  enough to do justice to them all. 

God-willing, someday, I will tell the world more about this gentleman, Edward D’Cruz, whom our family is blessed to call our father on Earth.

Unbeknownst to him, he has given us a glimpse of what Our Father in Heaven would be like.