Vijayadashmi Thoughts

Yesterday, on the auspicious occasion of Vijayadashami, I had a truly meaningful and inspiring meeting with Paddhuka and Gayathri Akka.

During our conversation, I shared with Paddhuka how the Karanas she has revived and developed have made it possible for me to conceptualize and choreograph my production, *Kalāsangama – The Untold Story of the Silk Road*. I explained the scope of this interdisciplinary project, which brings together Bharatanatyam, Karanas, Chinese Dunhuang dance, and Buddhist narratives to explore the historical and cultural exchanges between India and China. She was very excited to hear about the production and graciously invited me to present my research at her Bharata Ilango Foundation for Asian Culture after its premiere. It was an incredibly encouraging moment for me.

During our conversation, she also shared a delightful story from their Vijayadashami celebration. Her grandniece, Mahati Kannan, had conducted a spontaneous quiz on the relationships between the Pandavas and Kauravas in the Mahabharata. To everyone's surprise, the children performed better than their parents! She attributed this to the Vedic and cultural education the children receive at their institution-Nrithyodaya.

That little story stayed with me.

**The future of our classical arts lies in the hands of the next generation. We are merely custodians, entrusted with the responsibility of learning, preserving, and passing on what has been handed down to us.**

I often reflect on what it truly means to teach Bharatanatyam. Is it enough to teach a child how to execute an adavu with precision, maintain a perfect araimandi, or perform a jathi with impeccable rhythm? These are undoubtedly essential, but they represent only one dimension of this extraordinary art form.

Behind every movement, every mudra, every composition, and every narrative lies a vast inheritance of philosophy, literature, spirituality, history, and cultural wisdom. Our classical music and dance traditions did not develop in isolation; they are deeply intertwined with the intellectual and spiritual traditions of India.

**If we pass down only the physical vocabulary of the art while neglecting the knowledge and philosophy that give it meaning, what exactly are we preserving?**

We may succeed in producing technically accomplished dancers, but we risk losing something far more precious: an understanding of why this art exists, what it communicates, and the worldview from which it emerged.

I also recognize how enormous this responsibility is. I am still very much a student myself, with an endless amount to learn. The deeper I venture into Bharatanatyam, the more I realize how little I know. Each new layer of learning opens the door to another, whether it is Sanskrit, the epics, the Nāṭyaśāstra, Carnatic music, or the philosophical ideas underlying our repertoire.

And perhaps that is precisely what makes this journey so beautiful. **Learning Bharatanatyam is not merely the acquisition of movement; it is a lifelong engagement with an entire cultural and philosophical tradition.**

Yesterday's conversation reaffirmed something I have been contemplating for quite some time: my responsibility as a teacher must extend beyond dance technique.

I feel increasingly compelled to introduce age-appropriate Vedic chanting, stories from the Ramayana and Mahabharata, Sanskrit verses, and the ethical and philosophical values embedded in these traditions to the children studying under me. Not as an additional burden of memorization, but as a way of nurturing curiosity, cultural awareness, humility, and an appreciation for the deeper meaning of what they are learning.

**With this in mind, I am considering dedicating an additional 15 minutes of each Bharatanatyam class specifically to cultural and philosophical learning.** My initial plan is to introduce two new shlokas each month, allowing the children to gradually become familiar with their pronunciation, meanings, and significance. Alongside the chanting, I would like to introduce short stories from the Indian epics, beginning with the Ramayana.

I do not intend for these sessions to become another demanding academic exercise. Rather, I hope to create a small but consistent space where children can listen, recite, ask questions, and gradually develop an understanding of the stories, values, and traditions that have shaped the art they are learning.

Fifteen minutes may seem insignificant, but over the course of months and years, these small lessons can accumulate into something meaningful. A child who learns a shloka today may remember its meaning years later. A story heard in childhood may eventually deepen their understanding of a character they portray through abhinaya.

**My hope is that they will not simply know how to portray Rama, Sita, Hanuman, or Krishna through dance, but also understand who these figures are, the stories they belong to, and the philosophical ideas they represent.**

Even if our students come to us for only one and half hour each week, perhaps we can plant a small seed of curiosity that will continue to grow long after they leave the classroom.

I may not have all the knowledge or answers, but I can continue learning alongside my students, sharing what I know and encouraging them to explore further.

After all, **our responsibility is not simply to train the next generation of dancers, but to nurture the next generation of thoughtful, knowledgeable custodians of this extraordinary artistic heritage.**

On this auspicious Vijayadashami, I am reminded that teaching is itself a form of learning, and that the greatest offering we can make to our gurus and our traditions is to ensure that the knowledge entrusted to us continues to live, evolve, and flourish through those who come after us.

*May we always remain students, even as we become teachers.*