As always and in spite of using Microsoft's very helpful "sticky notes" application, I got the timings for an exam screwed up in my head [at least I had the right exam this time] and I ended up waking really early. Now I have half a day to while away and since I'm awake anyway, I thought I'd write something here. What am I going to write about? My phone alarm just flashed on my screen imploring me to wake up and "Exercise!" but fat chance that I'm going to do THAT! [I should actually change the greeting to something else coz NEVER since I established that alarm have I EVER woken up and exercised. In fact I've probably slept longer :)] So what do I write about then? Well today is the first day of December and as any true blue, classically inclined, expat Madrasi [and I say that with the utmost pride] December brings memories of sabhas [auditoriums], kutcheries [performances], beautifully dressed men and women [I used to admire the simple yet elegantly dressed Kalakshetra girls more than the silk and diamond maamis. There was something always more earthy and beautiful about those simple cotton saris draped to perfection and accessorized with the most minimum of but most exquisite pieces of silver or junk jewellery] and of course, my own dance practices!! So I'm going to take you through snippets of my December "season" and hopefully have you just as nostalgic as me by the end of it [I’d even suggest cuing up some Indian classical music to get the “setting” right].
By the first of December all the performances I was going to give would've already been planned well in advance. The beginning of December would be the time when I'd decide what costumes I was going to wear for which performance [Master please naan pant costume potukkuren master!] and if anything new had to be stitched. This would then first be followed by several rounds of frantic rummaging through my mother's and grandmother's cupboards to find the perfect sari. I say rounds because everyone right from my sister to my dance master had an opinion and saris I simply loved would be brutally rejected since it “just wasn't fit for the stage”. If all this failed, my mother would trudge to the silk sari shops in T.Nagar until we could find something that finally pleased everyone aesthetically and monetarily. Oh but the costume ordeal didn't end there. Just when we were all super happy and relieved that the perfect colour and fall were found, the tailor would cast one critical glance at it and say "Idhu work out aagadhu madame. Indha thalappu poraadhu. Blouse-kku oru contrast colour vaangittu vaanga, indha material-le, indha width-le, indha kadai-le" [This just won’t work madame. The pallu is too small. Go buy some contrast colour in this material, this width for the blouse, in this shop]. The tailor and said shop keeper would usually have an “understanding” and the former would get a “cut” for every customer he brought to the shop, but we won’t get into that now. When everything was finally to the satisfaction of the tailor, he’d throw the bomb at us and say he’d take a month to stitch the costume when in fact my program would be in 3 weeks! Rounds of begging, and bugging, the tailor would ensue until periya manasu vecchu he would deliver it a day before the program. But of course there’d be problems with the fit-an extra tuck, an extra stitch-and we’d have to literally sit with him in his shop until we got it altered and fitted perfectly.
In the meanwhile, I would be spending most of my waking hours in dance class. On some days I’d wake up bleary eyed on cold December mornings with half a mind to fake an illness and just sleep through the day but of course, as do all teachers, Master would know I was bunking and then I’d never hear the end of it [Thookama onakku? Andha araimandiyeyum vecchindu, program-um vecchindu thookam vendi kedakka onakku?]. Not wanting to risk my life because of my laziness, I’d get dressed and armed with bottles of kanji and buttermilk, I’d drive to dance class [Adhunaala daan nee vandi ottara maadriye aramandi-le okkandindu irukke. Kaala piri! “That’s why you’re sitting in araimandi like as though you’re driving the car. Widen your stance!”]. Master’s living room was where dance classes were held and even he’d have just woken up and so the bunch of us would all “Arise! Awake! And stop not till the goal is reached!” while catching up on the latest gossip or discussing the previous day’s kutcheris even as we were stretching and warming up. There would be a scramble to push the other person to start his/her practice first even though we knew that at the end of five minutes Master was going to ask us all to dance together so that whether we were performing that piece or not we’d all warm up, practice and most importantly, not waste his time. Once the pace was set though, even 4 or 5 hrs in dance class wouldn’t be enough. The constant beat of the thattu kazhi and our feet, all of our attempts at singing [and staying in tune] for the person who was dancing, learning new pieces from someone else- all of it would seem to go by in the blink of an eye. We’d have to be pushed out of there by a tired Master and calls from our mothers asking that we come home for lunch.
Since Master was so busy, sometimes some of us senior students would go back in the evenings and take class for the kuttis [the younger kids] or if some senior artiste or fellow dance mate was performing, we’d make plans to car pool. Dressed in all our finery we’d brave the heavy peak hour traffic and go all the way across the city. The interesting thing that should be noted here is that just as much as people would come to watch a performance, a lot of people would come just for the sabha canteen. In fact, in any canteen that you’d go to, there’d be passionate discussions on which sabha was serving the best food that season, which canteen’s pongal/dosa/vadai was the best and even what was the best time to go and try out the food there! All of this would be discussed in the same breath and with just as much passion as what ragam the last varnam/kriti was sung in and whether the dancer’s abhinayam was up to the mark or not. These were the topics of discussion of not just the elders but even of the many youngsters, Indian or NRI. In fact, just as some of us would go sabha hopping because there were a number of performances we’d want to see in one day, many others would sabha canteen hop!
Since we would all religiously and rigourously practice for our scheduled performances, we’d be confident until the day of. Imaginary fevers, muscle pulls and bouts of amnesia would befall us only on the morning of the performance. Fortifying ourselves with bottles full of Gatorade or Electrol and a strictly fruit diet (because we simply couldn’t stomach anything else), we’d go to the sabha a few hours ahead of the performance, get our make-up done even as we were trying to balance being polite to the make-up artist and running through forgotten parts of an item and then it would be time for our moment of glory [or downfall]. More than the fear of performing in front of the very critical and discerning Madras audience, we’d be afraid of the critique Master would give us the next day. I’m not sure if all performing dancers feel the same way as I do, but I would usually go through my performances on auto-pilot. My mind would be completely blank, only my ear tuned in to the music and the familiarity of having danced the piece a number of times would get me through. Not unscathed though. Sometimes I’d make a mistake, miss a beat or even my body would go blank during a particular section and based on what I’m hearing, I’d either have to quickly recollect what it is I’m supposed to have been dancing or use my years of experience and come up with an alternative step. Anyone who has danced before will know that this is NOT easy at all. At the end of it though, everyone from my parents to the orchestra and me will have let out a huge sigh of relief and proud and ever forgiving aunts, uncles, grandparents and well-wishers will have over looked any minor mistakes and praise the performance like as though they had just witnessed Lord Nataraja himself dance :)
Thus with our days filled with music and dance and our bellies filled with the best canteen food, we’d all head back home to awaken to a new day and a new beginning the next morning.
This is my December.
