Vaibhav Arekar’s ‘And She Spoke’ is by dancers, of women and for everyone

This wasn’t a path-breaking performance. It dug up entirely the paths of all conventions to bare the lava inside. It went fearlessly into dark gullies and alleys. It treaded the rocky terrain and the slippery slopes on the way. It waded through murky waters and swamps on a dark rainy night. It was the path less taken, and an arduous one at that. So don’t be surprised if you meet some demons and ghosts long buried. If a poisonous bite leads to agony or if a scar you thought was healing gets stamped upon. Be wary of what you are going into, lest you slip. 

The fifth edition of the Madhavi Festival by the Madhavi Foundation and Rama Vaidyanathan was organized at the IIC Delhi in honour of Rama’s mother, Madhavi Gopalakrishnan. It was an evening sultry with heat and humidity. 

Rama Vaidyanathan with Medha Khanna

In the foyer were photographs by CA and wildlife photographer Medha Khanna. The pictures were mostly of birds in the wild. Each picture was given a tagline and the mood of the pictures was reflected in the performance. 

The production, presented by Sankhya Dance Company, was conceptualized by Bharatanatyam exponent Vaibhav Arekar and directed by him and Sushant Jadhav (who also did the lights and costume design), with narratives and choreography by the dancers – Deepika Potdar, Eesha Pinglay, Indu Venu, Keerthana Ravi, Meenakshi Grama, Prachi Save Saathi, Rama Kuknur, Reshma Shetty and Shruthi Gopal. The narratives were inspired by poets and authors Amrita Pritam, Maya Angelou, Bahinabai, Jayaprabha, Periyasaamy Thooran, Vedam Rajkumar, Preeti Bhardwaj and Ishani Doshi. The name ‘And She Spoke’ was right on the money because finally, ‘she’ gets to speak and be heard also. But she has been speaking for many years and trying to put it in words, but has been failing time and again. So best of luck to her for being heard this time! 

Meera Khanna, the daughter of Madhavi Gopalakrishnan and Rama’s sister, introduced the festival and spoke a few words about their mother. ‘Dorothy Fisher the educator said, “A mother is not a person to lean on, but a person to make leaning unnecessary.” Our mother was like that. She was a strong and individual personality, with a great sense of the dignity of womanhood. She didn’t talk the feminist jargon but she was a feminist and hailed from the matriarchal clans of Kerala. In fact, we four siblings learnt feminism from her womb itself. She was a great cricket enthusiast – today would have been a double joy for her, with India’s win. So it is with great satisfaction that we present this production “And She Spoke”. It is a journey expressed through dance of the struggles, strife, resilience and triumph of women across the world. I think it was Virginia Woolf who said, “For much of history, ‘anonymous’ was a woman.” This production talks of those women who face adversities, address challenges and create an identity, thus defeating anonymity. It is an expression of freedom from the shadows.” 

The production opened with a preview, which also showed how the work came to be – during the COVID-19 lockdown. The dancers depicted a couple of girls going through their everyday activities in a dimly lit space. The songs playing were ‘Zindagi kaisi hai paheli hai’, ‘Zindagi mere ghar aana’ and ‘Aaj jane ki zid na karo’, all popular songs and Bollywood numbers. One dancer lay on her stomach, feet raised, browsing on her phone, occasionally rolling. One munched on a packet of chips, another lay down with her bag, two painting their nails and playing cards. One lay in the centre with a pile of clothes. One dancer, with her hair braided into two, tied with pink ribbons, walked across carrying something in her hand, crying and squirming a little. 

With a screeching sound, the train they were travelling in comes to a halt. They complain: ‘Eyebrows kiye zamana ho gaya’, ‘suitcase please go and unpack yourself’, ‘promotion or no promotion I just want a vacation’, ‘why is it that one sock from the pair disappears’, ‘money is not building rest is building, team, trust’, ‘coffee is needed but not because I will have to make it’, ‘chart paper raat ko kahan se milega, why do you remember it in night’. The songs and dancers depicted the mundane, everyday life of a woman, the layers of her life suppressed under it. Only the pregnant-looking dancer acting like a child reminded you of the vagabond women that you encounter on the roads begging, appealing to your mercy. 

 

Vaibhav Arekar

Sushant Jadhav

The preview ended and the lights came on to reveal Vaibhav Arekar, who introduced the production and recounted how it was during the first and most severe phase of the COVID-19 lockdowns that the production started as a thought process and discussions between Vaibhav and other dancers. ‘One thing that always nagged me when I watched dance, and also performed as the nayikas, the heroines that we dance in Bharatanatyam, (was the question) can we ever go beyond the Radhas, the Rukminis and the Rambhas? Beyond their stories? (That is) Not to say that their stories are invalid – they are absolutely beautiful, but can I talk of the contemporary women of my life around me, struggling, laughing, enjoying, can their stories come to life? As a creative artist, I wanted to work (on this) and approach a few of my own dancers to come across and think about this, or actually to reinterpret the nayikas.’

 

 But he was worried about taking the nayikas the wrong way, so he decided not to do that. ‘Hence I also didn’t work with the dancers whom I’m used to around me. As a dancer, choreographer and director, I wanted to put myself in an uncomfortable zone, so I invited these amazing dancers whom I knew – young, established names who have danced, choreographed their own pieces, thinking bodies.’ 

He said that this was followed by six months of intensive workshops – ‘six months of churning’. ‘Along with the initial six dancers, there was also Sushant Jadhav, who has directed this work along with me – the observer who directs me, kept nagging, pushing; it became a space where we just spoke of a lot of things. And today we have a work, “And She Spoke”. During the pandemic (lockdown), we had this small break (when) we all met – we desperately wanted to meet – for a 14-day intensive in Bengaluru. And one Saturday evening and Sunday morning, we did a studio performance of what we thought was a process. We put up many stories, many processes, many ideas of these women and said, let’s put it up. I should also say that the script is not borrowed from anywhere; these scripts come from lived experiences of people around us, the dancers themselves, and many such experiences have been collated to present “And She Spoke”. And with this studio performance, we became confident and, in fact, we were nudged and told, you should go and make a show out of this. That is how “And She Spoke” happened.’ 

The performance then started with the poem ‘Phenomenal Woman’ by Maya Angelou. The dancers enacted the poem, depicting the confidence of a woman who is beautiful as she is and in whatever she does, whether it is household chores like drying clothes or working, marching on her clicking heels or when lecherous men swoon around her, whistling and teasing. The act was very well presented, with the dancers dancing to the bols of ‘jham tari ta’. Finally, the girls went past like flitting butterflies or fireflies, all of them laughing. 

The next poem to be enacted was by Amrita Pritam, ‘Nivala’ – ‘Jeevanbala ne kal raat sapne ka nivala toda’. It is a poem that talks about the violence women face when they try to act independently, or try to get a piece of the cake of their life. The dancer enacted the flight of a small bird that is caught and mauled by the vultures. She stifles a scream in her throat. It was an impactful portrayal.

Janabai’s abhang ‘Yeg yeg Vithabai’ was sung next, showing her working in the household of Sant Namdev. She cleans, sweeps, draws rangoli, blows on the fire in the chulha and makes rotis, rolls cotton to make baatis for the diyas. With all the dancers on the stage doing various household chores with sarcasm, it was related that Maharashtra has produced many female saints who have been strong women. The women saint poets of Maharashtra are very well-known.

They depicted the story of a girl, Bahinabai, who was born in the 17th century. She was 4 when she was married to a man who was 30, ‘a good man’. The audience chuckled at the undertone of sarcasm – ‘a good man’ because he provided for her, gave her food, took care of her. But she had a calf she loved, Gauri. ‘Mi ani Gauri’ – they were friends. They bathed together, went to the temple together, walked together. But he did not like that. He beat Gauri till she died. The little girl cried, did not eat anything or sleep for three days, and on the fourth day, Sant Tukaram came to her in her dreams. The chants of ‘Ram Krishna Hari’ filled her life. He did not like that too and he beat her up too. The sounds of utensils and sticks being used to beat someone up resounded. And yet, she had to serve her husband. This was followed by very fervent kirtan by the dancers, ‘Ram Krishna Hari, Pandurang hari’; the rhythm of their footwork caused goosebumps and the childlike narration filled you with helplessness.

The next episode was that of a woman travelling in local train. As she stands comfortably, she starts to get fingered and clawed from behind. How it was portrayed was very powerful: the dancers standing behind her with their backs to her, each jutting out a hand to show a gesture. Usually, a formation like that is used to show the various hands and weapons of gods. But here, it was used to show the gestures and actions that lewd men use on a hapless woman in India. A tinge of humour was added by reciting the bols for the jostling and boarding the train. In the absolute silence of the night, all women can tell the haunting tales of needle-sharp stares. How you keep trying to cover yourself when you see these drooling, animal-like stares from men. It was a powerful portrayal by the dancers, standing around the woman and chewing gum or tying their laces. They all sang ‘Thottu thottu pesa varan’. A girl is shown playing and each time she stops on ‘Thottu’, she is shown being abused. A girl who is just 13. Clicking their fingers, the dancers spoke ‘Tales they abound reasons not known, not the face not the breasts not the hips, it is the molester who knows the reason.’ You go to a tailor for the measurements of your blouse or you go to a doctor in pain. Why they molest you, the reason does not lie in you. They ended with a clapping rhythm. 

The next story could shake you out of your bearings: a mother with an infant to feed, trying desperately to lactate. But no lactation occurs. It could be due to various reasons. On top of that, the older women of your household commenting on it as if it were a physical impairment or as if you were not being a proper mother. The woman uses a breast pump and feeds her baby and is slandered for being modern. The older women say that she must eat panjiri or that the child goes hungry this way etc… This was not a dance piece or a natya piece, this was real life laid bare. In the background were sung and hummed portions of the song ‘Thumak chalat Ram Chandra’ – ironically, a bhajan that embodies motherhood. 

To the sound of rain, there was nritta to the bols ‘jal jal aaririsa’. The group gathered in break dance-like steps. They depicted women sitting, their faces covered with black dupattas, as the elders in the family taunt the younger ones – no career for you, sit at home, you laugh too loudly, you talk too much. With the metronome ticking in the background, they are stifled, taunted that they ask for all the problems they have.
In the next scene, you see the women managing and keeping the house at one end of the stage, cooking. At the other end were dancers writing, typing, taking calls end exercising, looking after children. They are literally pulled to and fro till they collapse. I am a woman phenomenally, phenomenal woman I am, she says, trying to catch her breath, and laughs loudly. One by one, they got up to say ‘that’s me’. 

In the next scene, one with a lot of humour, they showed the morning rush of a working woman – they run to work, bags on their shoulders. Drivers of their cabs have not come and so they wait for a ride. The dancers later said that was an improvization for the Delhi audience. One of them is carrying a bag with its tag on and wearing shades with the tag hanging from them. One woman reads ‘A.R. Mani’ on the bag; ‘not A.R. Mani but Armani!’ replies the wearer. This was to show Delhi’s obsession with brands. 

The conversation goes on between the women and a dancer posing as an ex-boyfriend. The conversation was hilarious as it was conducted largely in bols and jatis which fit the mood. They used socialite-like air kissing, discussed iPhones, selfies, home loans and personal loan etc., their marital status and that of their children, the very Delhi term ‘rakhi brother’, Ranveer Singh’s ‘Tattad Tattad’ song and ‘Raaahoul, naam to suna hoga’ – Shah Rukh’s name in every second movie etc. It had the audience in splits. The gibberish and conversations using the jatis was a funny mix. ‘Dingu dingu’ were the bols for starting the bike on which one dancer rides wearing a helmet while the other rides pillion. And of course, the working woman who lets her hair down seductively for a personal loan was a satire too. It was a total laugh riot. 

At the office, it is a different story. The girls try to woo the boss, behind the back of the one who is there to work sincerely at her desk. The dancers sang the padam ‘Indendu Vachitivira’, which is about the other woman. A group of dancers chatting happen to mention that this fancy place is IIC and the person she wants to be introduced to is Rama Vaidyanathan, like in the Delhi social circles, where who you are and who you meet are both critical. 

This act tipped a hat to the ‘Heeramandi’ song in which Aditi Rao Hydari’s swan walk or elephant walk became very famous. The maid is asked get two masala chais and she walks in like Bibbojaan, accentuating her curves, to serve the tea and liquor. Name dropping and selfies on social media abound. 

 

What followed was the most amazing music. The dancers used empty plastic dabbas, one half-filled with black gram grains, katoris, plate and spoon, kadchi and kadhai, glass and spoon, mortar and pestle. They sat around in a circle and played some excellent music with these, dancing freely to the calls of ‘hai hai!’ and enjoying themselves thoroughly. This entire episode was about the present day, currying favours with the boss in professional circles.

But that was the fun before the punch. Keerthana Ravi enacted a small girl humming ‘Lakdi ki kathi’ to herself and playing hop scotch. The abuser, the beast, could be a close relative or somebody unknown, who tries to hold her and grab her. She resists, saying pitifully that she doesn’t want it. The dancers in the wings created a rhythm of dread with clapping on walls and stamping. The girl is pinned down as she tries to wriggle free. Her legs are held up forcefully and parted. The hand of the beast covers her face as she screams. She is left behind, violated and in great pain. 

 

Writing about it chokes the throat all over again. Prachi came from the wings to hold her hands and embrace her. All the dancers start moving towards the stage and the imagery left an impact on the mind. One girl trying to pull her shirt down, depicting the feeling that not an inch of you should be bare, one moving with a blank look in her eyes, others making violent gestures. The girl with pink ribbons crawled towards them too, whining. All come together in an embrace, some crying, some with tears brimming in their eyes. And one of them, teary-eyed, standing near the wings, looking on. The entire imagery stayed with you for a long time since it was very disturbing.

The entire production, which is still travelling, is a landmark work. It started as a collaborative work conducted over Zoom calls during the COVID-19 lockdowns and eventually became a full production made up of stories and experiences chosen and crafted by the dancers themselves. It is out of the box thinking, choreography and music. It is relevant since it shows real life situations. Sometimes, in a classical performance, one feels like telling the nayika to take a chill pill and not pine so much. But here, there are actual women trying to narrate their real-life experiences and raising their voices against exploitation. They are not nayikas pining in separation or burning in jealousy. The dancers have made innovative use of their form and the texts.

Pics: Anoop Arora