Between Erasure and Embodiment

Rtn 058: Between Erasure and Embodiment: An Interview with Faculty at swarthmore college

This interview explores the complex, often contested history of courtesans within the evolution of Kathak, situating the discussion within broader postcolonial, social, and institutional frameworks. At its core, the conversation grapples with a central tension: why courtesans, despite their foundational role in shaping the aesthetics and repertoire of Kathak—are rarely acknowledged as pedagogues or knowledge-producers in mainstream discourse.

One of the key insights that emerges early in the interview is that the recognition of courtesans as pedagogical figures is itself a relatively recent development in scholarship. Historically, they were not viewed as repositories of knowledge, but rather as stigmatized, sexualized figures. This deeply entrenched stigma prevented their acknowledgment as gurus or transmitters of artistic traditions. Even contemporary attempts to “recover” courtesans tend to frame them aesthetically as performers embodying grace, beauty, and refinement rather than as educators who actively shaped and transmitted the form. This reveals a gap in both historical memory and academic framing.

The interview also highlights the methodological challenges involved in reconstructing courtesans’ contributions, particularly their dance practices. Unlike music, where elements such as tabla compositions have been preserved, the embodied nature of dance makes it far more difficult to archive. The absence of video documentation means that scholars must rely on photographs, textual descriptions, and indirect traces in early cinema. Even in these sources, what survives are fragmented “echoes” rather than complete vocabularies. As a result, what remains is often an aesthetic memory—stylized, partial, and sometimes distorted—rather than a fully recoverable tradition.

Another significant theme is the erasure and restructuring of lineage. The interviewee points out that knowledge systems within Kathak were often reorganized along male-dominated lines, which contributed to the marginalization of courtesans’ roles. This restructuring was not accidental but tied to broader socio-political processes, including the anti-nautch movement of the late 19th century. While colonial forces played a role in stigmatizing courtesans, the interview emphasizes that Indian reformers, particularly upper-caste elites, were equally complicit. They sought to “sanitize” dance traditions by distancing them from courtesan culture and aligning them with notions of respectability, morality, and nationalism. This process involved not only removing courtesans from public spaces but also redefining the dance itself.

However, the interview complicates the idea of complete erasure by examining the persistence of certain elements within the Kathak repertoire. Forms such as aamad, which have clear courtly and even Persianate origins, continue to be widely practiced. This persistence suggests that while ideological shifts attempted to reshape Kathak into a more “devotional” and Sanskritized form, the embodied nature of the tradition resisted total transformation. As the interviewee puts it, “they stay in the body.” These elements are not merely remnants; they are active traces of a layered history that cannot be entirely rewritten.

The discussion of costume and presentation further illustrates this transformation. Early depictions of Kathak dancers, particularly male figures, show them in courtly attire such as angarakhas and topis, reflecting the form’s association with Mughal and Nawabi courts. Over time, however, these visual markers were replaced with more ascetic, “classical” aesthetics that aligned with nationalist ideals. This shift was not limited to movement vocabulary but extended to the entire visual and symbolic framework of the dance.

The interview also addresses the evolving structure of Kathak itself. Elements such as vandana and kavits, now considered integral to performances, were not always central. Their increased prominence reflects modern interventions in the form’s repertoire, often driven by institutional and ideological priorities. This reinforces the idea that Kathak, as it exists today, is not an unchanging tradition but a product of continuous reconstruction.

A particularly compelling aspect of the interview is its reflection on contemporary tensions within the practice and study of Kathak. The interviewer observes that even today, Persian and Muslim influences are often under-acknowledged, despite being actively practiced. Concepts like Ganga-Jamuni tehzeeb, which once symbolized syncretic cultural exchange, are increasingly contested. This points to a broader cultural and political moment in which questions of heritage, identity, and ownership are being renegotiated.

Finally, the interview shifts to a more personal and methodological reflection on navigating these complexities as a young researcher. The interviewer expresses discomfort in challenging their guru’s perspective, particularly when it attributes changes in Kathak solely to colonial influence. The interviewee responds by affirming the importance of questioning and critical inquiry while also acknowledging the practical challenges of doing so within hierarchical systems like the guru-shishya tradition. They emphasize the distinction between practice and scholarship, noting that expertise in one does not necessarily translate to authority in the other.

The advice to “compartmentalize” one’s intellectual and practical worlds is particularly striking. It reflects a pragmatic approach to navigating institutional and interpersonal dynamics while continuing to pursue critical research. At the same time, the interview underscores that disagreement and reinterpretation are essential to the evolution of knowledge.

Overall, this interview offers a nuanced exploration of Kathak’s history, foregrounding the complexities of memory, erasure, and reconstruction. It challenges simplified narratives and highlights the need to recognize courtesans not only as aesthetic figures but as central contributors to the pedagogical and cultural foundations of the form.

Rtn 059: TRANSCRIPTS OF INTERVIEW WITH PROFESSOR PALLABI

Interviewer:
Okay, ma’am. So, my first question is that in postcolonial scholarship—especially work focusing on the anti-nautch movement or on Kathak and its institutionalisation—I’ve noticed something. While there are critiques that label courtesans as “fallen women” or claim they made Kathak vulgar, there are also scholars who try to focus on them as aesthetic figures.

But even within that, from what little I’ve read, they are rarely discussed as pedagogical lineages—as women who were not just performers, but also transmitters of knowledge and education.

So, why is that the case?

Interviewee:
I’ll just go back a little bit. Even the idea of establishing courtesans as pedagogical figures is a recent development in scholarship.

Earlier, they were not acknowledged as repositories of knowledge at all. The stigma around them was very deep. So the idea of them being gurus, or even teachers, is a significant shift from how they were previously represented—as merely sexualised figures.

Interviewee (continued):
When it comes to reconstructing their aesthetic expressions—their dance—it’s actually very difficult. We don’t have enough records. There was no video documentation in the past.

If we look at archives, we mostly find photographs, but not moving images. Some traces appear in older films—Hindi cinema, even Bengali cinema—where you might catch glimpses of dance forms that look quite different from what we see today.

The music—like the tabla—sometimes lingers, but the movement vocabulary is harder to trace. That’s one reason why their aesthetic contributions are difficult to fully investigate.

Interviewee (continued):
The same applies to lineage. Much of this knowledge was erased or restructured, often along male lines, which further delegitimised their contributions.

So what remains is often an aesthetic memory. We see echoes of it in Bombay cinema, and even in recent films. For instance, productions like Heeramandi present courtesans in a very stylised, almost exoticised manner.

They are shown as spectacular figures—but rarely as teachers or knowledge-producers.

Interviewer:
Yes, exactly. So, building on that—since courtesans were labelled as vulgar, there was an effort to make Kathak more devotional and aligned with Hindu identity.

In that process, their presence and contributions were often removed or erased. But even today, elements like salami or aamad remain in the repertoire.

So if there was such a strong push to distance Kathak from courtesan culture, why weren’t these elements removed as well?

Interviewee:
That’s a great question.

Salami, for instance, is not used as much anymore—it’s gradually disappearing. My generation still learned it, but it’s becoming less common.

Aamad, on the other hand, continues to be widely used. And even the term itself comes from Arabic—it’s not Sanskrit. Yet, there’s been a strong push toward Sanskritisation in the dance form.

Interviewee (continued):
Some of these elements have remained because their courtly origins couldn’t be entirely erased.

If we think about state patronage—institutions like Kathak Kendra, and figures like Shambhu Maharaj and Birju Maharaj—their lineages were deeply rooted in the Lucknow tradition.

These embodied histories couldn’t simply be removed. They were part of the dancers’ training, their bodies, their practice.
If you look at early photographs of Kathak dancers—like those of Bindadin Maharaj or other male figures who carried the tradition forward—you’ll notice they wore topis and angarakhas.

The dance had a visibly courtly aesthetic. Over time, this changed. Later representations made dancers appear more ascetic, almost sanyasi-like.

So it wasn’t just aamad or salami—costumes, styling, and presentation all shifted.
At the same time, newer gharanas—like Banaras—began to assert different identities, often aligning more with Hindu court traditions.

So some elements gradually disappeared, while others persisted.
But yes, aamad has remained quite strongly. It’s interesting—despite attempts to reshape the dance form, certain elements refuse to disappear.

“They stay in the body.”

Interviewer:
Yes, exactly. I just came from a Kathak class, and we began with aamad—on teentaal lehra.

That’s what made me think about this.

Interviewee:
Yes, we continue to use it. And even in language, many terms have now been Sanskritised. But some words—like nazakat—still remain.

However, even the idea of Ganga-Jamuni tehzeeb is being questioned or challenged in some spaces today.

So it’s a complicated moment to think about heritage and what it includes—or excludes.

Interviewer:
Yeah. And even in this rewriting, I feel that certain Muslim or Persian influences are being somewhat neglected. Even though we are still practising them and working with them, we are not really acknowledging them.

Instead, we seem to be focusing more on things like kavits—or perhaps even giving them a kind of hierarchy.

Interviewee:
Yes, definitely. Kavits have become far more popular than they used to be when I was learning. These are actually quite recent changes.

People did perform kavits earlier, but not at the scale or importance they have now. When I was learning, vandana became one of the more important elements that was introduced. That, too, was not always a regular part of the Kathak repertoire.

So, all of these things were introduced over time. The structure itself was created. It’s not something eternal—it was shaped in modern India.

Interviewer:
Yes. And even as someone who is constantly thinking about this—my guru,when I told her about my project, she was open to the idea of studying courtesans.

But she seemed to suggest that most of the changes in Kathak, especially regarding courtesans, were primarily due to the British.

I feel that this is not entirely accurate—that caste hierarchies and nationalist reforms also played a role.

Interviewee:
Yes, you’re absolutely right.

I don’t know if you’ve read my book Bells of Change: Kathak Dance, Women and Modernity in India. It deals with many of these issues. There was a reform movement called the anti-nautch movement in the 1890s, which is deeply tied to colonial history.

But it wasn’t just the British. Indian reformers—particularly upper-caste, Brahmin men—were also involved. They wanted to “reform” society, including dance traditions, which they saw as backward.

Courtesans were labelled as vulgar or immoral, and there was a push to remove them from public performance spaces and push them toward a more “domestic” role.

So this stigma did not come only from the British—it also came from within Indian society.

Interviewer:
Yes. And when I was talking to my guru after class, she said something similar—that the British were the main force behind these changes.

I knew that caste hierarchies and Brahmanical influences were also involved, but I hesitated to say that.

It made me question myself—what is the point of doing this research if I cannot speak openly, especially in front of authority figures?

Interviewee:
That’s a very important question.

And it’s also a difficult situation—especially at your age. Navigating these relationships can be challenging.

India’s past is complex. It’s not simply a matter of good versus bad, or right versus wrong. There are multiple layers, and you need time to read, learn, and also unlearn.

Dance teachers and gurus are not always trained in critical or historical analysis. Their focus is on practice—on learning and transmitting the form. They often operate within a more comfortable framework, without questioning the underlying history.

So, they reproduce what they have inherited. And in India, this is also tied to patronage systems—state institutions, funding, recognition. All of this influences what is taught and how.

Interviewee (continued):
You also need to understand that being a practitioner and being a historian or researcher are different kinds of training. Both require their own riyaz.

If someone has not done that kind of intellectual riyaz, they may still speak with authority—but that authority comes from practice, not necessarily from historical study.

In India, these boundaries are often blurred, which can create confusion.

Interviewee (continued):
If this is the path you want to pursue, you will face these challenges. It’s not an easy path.

But if you feel strongly about asking these questions, then you should continue. Over time, you will find others who are thinking in similar ways. You will build your own intellectual community.

And sometimes, yes—you may have to disagree with your teacher and follow your own direction.

Interviewee (continued):
Our traditions do not necessarily say that you must always agree with your teacher. Knowledge evolves.

What I know today will also be questioned by your generation. That is how knowledge grows—it is not static.

You are young, but you have already started engaging with these questions. It’s a difficult terrain, but you will learn how to navigate it with time.

Interviewee:
Maybe—and I know this sounds a bit uncomfortable to say as a teacher—but perhaps don’t reveal everything to your teacher in the beginning.

Try not to get into too many arguments early on, and don’t disclose too much about what you’re exploring. If you can, it helps to compartmentalise these two worlds.

One is your dance world—what you practise, what you learn.
The other is your intellectual world—what you read, question, and research.

Keep them slightly separate for a while, and build your own circle of people with whom you can share these ideas.

Interviewee (continued):
Over time, as you grow older and develop a clearer perspective, you’ll be in a better position to express your views.

At that point, you can present your work simply as research. It won’t feel like a personal disagreement anymore—it becomes an academic position.

Interviewee (continued):
The challenge is learning how not to turn it into a personal conflict. And that’s not easy.

But I understand what you’re saying—many people go through this.

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