An Odissi Practitioner’s Journey

Interviewer:
Okay, yeah. So, how was your day?

Interviewee:
Good, yeah.

Interviewer:
So, before I begin the conversation, I’d like to tell you about the project for your part only.
If I talk about Relearning the Nautch, the name of the project is Relearning the Nautch, which talks about the “nautch” community. The term nautch was an anglicised version of the Hindi word naach.

Within that term, several kinds of communities were grouped together—what we today call classical dancers, as well as communities like hijra performers, theatre traditions like Nautanki and Tamasha. All of these were included under that umbrella, because the British did not differentiate between them.

Through this initiative, I am trying to study these performing groups and archive them, using whatever sources I can access.

For that purpose, I have been interviewing different performers and scholars in this field. So far, I have had the opportunity to speak with professors from Delhi University, Swarthmore College, and CSDS (Centre for the Study of Developing Societies), as well as practitioners from the Dhrupad tradition, Kathak (which I also practice), Bharatanatyam, and Odissi.

So yeah, that’s a brief overview. Let’s begin the conversation.

Can I ask how you came across my work?

Interviewee:
I was just scrolling through Relearning the Nautch, and I saw your reels in my suggestions.

Interviewer:
Okay. So, let’s start with your journey as an Odissi practitioner.

Interviewee:
Sure. I have been practicing Odissi for about 21–22 years now. I started when I was six years old, just as an after-school activity.

Initially, I trained under Sharmila Mukherjee, and for the past 14–15 years, I have been learning under my Guru, Srimati Devjani Sen.

I’m not a professional Odissi dancer in the sense that it’s not my primary profession. I’m actually a visual artist—a painter—by profession. But Odissi has always been a significant part of my life.

It gives me a sense of community and also a space to step away from everyday routines and simply dance. So that’s been my journey so far.

Interviewer:
When we talk about being a classical dancer, there are certain expectations—like learning a fixed repertoire and practicing it rigorously. In Kathak, for example, there is often a structured repertoire designed for performance.

So as a practitioner, how do you view Odissi? Do you see it as mainly learning a set repertoire, or do you find space for personal expression within it?

Interviewee:
I think there are two aspects to it.

One is that Odissi does come with a structure. Initially, what you learn are the pure dance sequences—what we call pallavi. These are based on ragas and focus more on movement vocabulary rather than storytelling or abhinaya.

Learning these helps you build the necessary skill set.

Then comes abhinaya, where there is storytelling. Even there, while there is a defined narrative within each piece, I’ve been taught that there is room for interpretation.

For me, there is enough flexibility within that structure to express how I understand the story.

Also, I am not pursuing choreography or a professional dance career. I am not trying to establish myself as a teacher or performer in that sense. So for me, the existing framework already offers enough space.

Even in pure dance, expression exists—in how you connect with the audience. My teacher often emphasizes that it’s not just about steps, but about eye contact, presence, and engagement.

So even within simple movements, there is a lot to explore. And for me, that is enough.

So, for me, there is that flexibility in expression.

Interviewer:
Yeah, beautiful. So, yeah, of course, you can't just express yourself only because you are an Odissi choreographer or a professional dancer. I think it is present in everyone who is practising—the expression comes out naturally, not by forcing it.

My next question is: you mentioned your teacher. Usually, in classical dance forms—especially from what I’ve read about Odissi, Bharatanatyam, and Kathak—there isn’t a very clean or linear history as we are often told in books.

So, in your classes, were you taught about these histories beyond just referencing the Natya Shastra? For example, about the Maharis, or what was happening during the colonial period, like the anti-nautch movement? Was there an environment in the classroom to engage with these critical historical nuances?

Interviewee:
Not as much, I would say, at least not in a broader, critical sense. We were told bits and pieces, but theory was not the main focus.

If you go through exams or formal academic routes, you might learn more theory, but I didn’t focus much on that. Where I personally learned more—and what interested me—was through storytelling.

For instance, my teacher, Devjani Sen, trained under Guru Kelucharan Mohapatra, who is considered a central figure in the revival of Odissi. All Odissi dancers look up to him.

So, we learned a lot through stories about how he taught, how he conducted classes. One story she often shares is how he would personally help students get ready for performances—he would make all of them stand in a line and do their makeup himself, one by one—right eyebrow, left eyebrow, eye makeup.

He was not just a dancer but also an artist and a pakhawaj player. Through such stories, I feel I understand the art form more deeply. I connect more with these personal narratives than with formal historical accounts.

Interviewer:
I see. That’s beautiful.

Now, as you mentioned, you are also a visual artist. So, when we talk about the body—not just in a biological sense, as something made of organs performing functions—but within the humanities, dance, or art, the body is interpreted differently.

For a dancer, it might be a medium of expression. For an artist like you, it might mean something else. So, what does the body mean to you?

Interviewee:
That’s a good question. I think, in dance, the body becomes a language.

It carries memory—you don’t always need your mind to consciously remember what comes next. You’re not thinking step by step. When the music starts, the body responds.

So, for me, the connection between body and memory is very strong. That’s what comes to mind.

Interviewer:
Yes, absolutely.

Coming back to Odissi—let’s talk about music. I believe the mardala is one of the most prominent instruments used. But since I don’t know much about the ensemble, could you explain a bit more about it?

Interviewee:
I have a limited understanding of music myself, but yes, the pakhawaj or mardala plays a very important role. It defines the rhythm and structure.

It is quite unique to Odissi compared to other dance forms. Of course, other instruments like violin and flute are also used, but the mardala is central.

Interviewer:
So, when we talk about different aspects of dance—pure dance, abhinaya (expression), and combinations of both—does the mardala also accompany expressive pieces?

Interviewee:
Yes, definitely. It can be used in many ways.

For example, it can create sudden emphasis—a sharp beat that conveys surprise. Sometimes there is silence, and then the mardala enters suddenly, creating impact.

In pieces like Ardhanarishvara, when you depict Shiva’s tandava, the beats are essential. Without them, the performance could fall flat.

So, even in expressive parts, the mardala plays a crucial role. It helps shape different emotional tones.

Interviewer:
That makes sense.

So, when you are performing—if you recall from your experience—was there ever a moment when you felt that you didn’t…follow the instrument? Like, was there ever a slip with the instrument and the movement you were performing?

Interviewee:
Do you mean like going off-beat?

Interviewer:
Yeah, it could be off-beat, or maybe something that happened unconsciously, like you forgot a step—anything like that.

Interviewee:
Yeah, off-beat has definitely happened. I haven’t done much dancing with live music though. Most of my performances have been with recorded music.

I think there’s a big difference when you perform with live musicians. From what I’ve heard and experienced a little in practice sessions, the interaction between the musician and the dancer is very different. There’s a kind of synchronicity that develops—you follow the musician, and the musician follows you.

With recorded music, it’s a bit different. But even then, especially during abhinaya, there are moments where you feel like adding a step or doing something that isn’t strictly pre-planned.

On stage, because of rehearsals, you usually settle into a rhythm. But in class practice, definitely—there are moments where you explore.

For example, we were learning an abhinaya recently—Gira Samire. There are moments of silence or flute passages where you find your own rhythm. Maybe not strictly following the pakhawaj, but creating your own internal beat within the music.

Interviewer:
I see.

So, coming back to abhinaya—
In a previous interview I did with Ishna Benegal, she mentioned that when she was younger, there were certain abhinaya pieces she wasn’t taught because she “wouldn’t understand them yet.”

Did you experience something similar?

Interviewee:
Yes, definitely. Even now, there are pieces my teacher says I’m not ready for—like, “this is for later,” or “this is something you’ll understand after a certain stage in life.”

And I think there is a benefit to that.

If a teenager performs something they don’t understand, it can feel superficial. When you start learning young—like I did at six—you first learn basic pieces, then gradually move into abhinaya.

Often, the early pieces are age-appropriate. For example, you might start with Krishna’s childhood stories, which you can relate to at that age.

So there is a sequence. And I’ve found that helpful. You gradually build the skill of abhinaya.

Because abhinaya is learned—it doesn’t come naturally to everyone. Some aspects might, but the subtle expressions, controlling facial muscles, conveying emotion—that takes training.

Each piece builds a certain emotional or technical ability, and that’s how the progression happens.

Interviewer:
That makes sense.

So, like you said, abhinaya is developed—not everyone is naturally expressive.

For example, if I am a male dancer in Kathak and I have to portray something like childbirth or an experience specific to women, I might struggle to relate to that.

Did you face similar challenges—where you couldn’t fully resonate with a character or emotion?

Interviewee:
Yes, absolutely. And I think the way to deal with that is not necessarily to fully “relate,” but to find a way to embody it.

Through working with my teacher, she helps guide that understanding.

For example, when I learned Ardhanarishvara, you have to portray both Shiva and Parvati—their union.

There were aspects of Shiva I didn’t fully understand, and similarly, aspects of Parvati or femininity that I didn’t completely relate to either.

But through discussion and guidance, you begin to understand different perspectives.

That’s the beauty of abhinaya—it allows you to step into different roles and find your own way to express them.

And guidance plays a huge role in that process.

Interviewer:
Yes, true.

So now, after practicing Odissi for so many years—how do you relate to it today?

When you first started, maybe it felt like a hobby, or something structured where you had to learn specific pieces.

So how has that perception changed over time?

Do you see Odissi as something fixed, something free, or something that exists at the threshold of both?

Interviewee:
Hmm. I think the reason I connect so deeply with Odissi—and maybe I’m biased because I’ve been learning it for so long—is that it feels like a very fluid form.

There is a lot of torso movement, neck movement, and the tribhangi posture, which is asymmetrical. There’s a sense of flow and curvature throughout the form, and that is what really draws me to it.

Also, for me, Odissi dance and its music go hand in hand. The music is as fluid and melodious as the movement itself. That combination is what has kept me connected to the form, even with its structure and discipline.

There is so much within that structure to explore that I feel like I’ll always keep coming back to it.

Interviewer:
Yeah, I feel the same with Kathak. There are some things that you just can’t express in words.

So, in Odissi, do you feel something similar—something that you can express through dance but not through language? And if possible, could you try to hint at that feeling?

Interviewee:
Just to clarify—you mean something I’ve been able to express through dance that I can’t express in words?

Interviewer:
Yes.

Interviewee:
Definitely. One example that comes to mind is Ardhanarishvara.

I learned it relatively recently and have performed it a few times. There is a certain energy I feel while performing it—something that’s hard to articulate.

The piece begins with descriptions of Parvati and Shiva—their adornment, their presence. And there’s something very powerful about embodying both roles and shifting between them quickly.

It gives you space to experiment, to explore, and to understand both characters in your own way.

There’s a kind of energy that comes from moving between these two identities. It almost allows you to connect with different parts of yourself through the performance.

That experience—of switching, of holding both energies—is something I find very difficult to express in words, but it becomes very clear in the act of dancing.

Interviewer:
Yeah, okay. So to sum up the conversation, I would like to just ask a few small questions.

So, in the Odissi studio where you practise, what is the environment like? How do you relate to that environment?

Interviewee:
So, it’s a group class, and it’s held twice a week. There are dancers of all levels—people who are just starting out, as well as some of us who have been learning for many years.

For me, it feels like a community. There’s an energy in dancing together. During COVID, we had to switch to online classes, and we were all in our individual screens. But when we returned to physical classes, it felt completely different—because we were all moving and dancing together again.

So, for me, the class is a community.

Interviewer:
Okay. And what kind of relationship exists between seniors and juniors in the class?

Interviewee:
Honestly, it feels like a big family. Everyone helps each other out.

Often, my teacher asks the senior students to teach the beginners. And through teaching, we actually develop our own skills—because we start noticing the smaller details and nuances that we might otherwise overlook. It also reminds us of our own learning process.

We build a rapport with the beginners—whether they are younger in age or simply new to the form. And I think they look up to us in some way.

So there’s a mutual exchange—we’re all learning from each other.

Even during our annual showcases or school events, everyone helps one another—whether it’s with makeup, hair, costumes, or getting ready. Seniors guide younger students, take care of them, and even help their parents with preparations.

So yes, it really feels like a big family.

Interviewer:
Beautiful. If you had to describe your Odissi journey concisely, how would you put it—in one word?

Interviewee:
Growth.

It has built a lot of confidence in me. It challenges me, and it gives me a space to step away from everyday difficulties and simply be present.

When I’m dancing, I feel completely in the moment. So there’s a lot of growth, and also a lot of joy.

Interviewer:
Beautiful, beautiful. Thank you, Ananvi, for this amazing conversation. If you give me permission, can I archive this on my website?

Interviewee:
Sure, you can.

Interviewer:
Thank you so much. It was a lovely set of questions—it really made me reflect on my entire Odissi journey.

Also, I’ll be creating a post to inform the followers on my page. Can I add you as a collaborator for that?

Interviewee:
Sure, sure.

Interviewer:
Okay. Thank you. Have a lovely day.

Interviewee:
Thank you so much. You too.

How did your first encounter with Odissi shape the way you understand it today—as a technique, a tradition, or something else?

How do you experience the process of learning Odissi—do you see it as learning fixed compositions, or as entering a system of embodied knowledge?

In your practice, how does the body function—as a site of memory, discipline, or transformation?

Do you feel that movement in Odissi carries meaning inherently, or does meaning emerge through context and interpretation?

How do you negotiate your movement in relation to music—do you follow it, respond to it, or co-create something alongside it?

How do you experience time while dancing—does it feel structured, cyclical, stretched, or something else?

How does space shape your movement? Do you feel your dance changes depending on the environment (stage, classroom, temple, etc.)?

When performing abhinaya, how do you position yourself in relation to the character or emotion being expressed?

How does the presence of an audience influence your movement and performance decisions?

How do you negotiate between what is considered “traditional” in Odissi and your own interpretation or innovation?

Do you experience Odissi more as a system of discipline or as a space for creative freedom—or both?

Do you think Odissi produces a kind of knowledge that cannot be expressed in words? If yes, how would you describe it?