It has been literally a few hours since I stepped off the stage with
the 21st performance of NAACHIYAR NEXT, the fifth iteration of the
stage production on the life of the teenage mystic poet ANDAL. The
evening in Coimbatore was magical and the night for me was restless.
Coimbatore is one of the favourite cities for me. Generational
friendships, great food, timeless hospitality is a given when anyone
visits. To see friends of 40, 50 years in the crowd - endless hugging,
many teary eyed, loud laughter and chatter and posing for innumerable
photographs. The feet are always tired after a show but the body hums
with the vibrations and the applause. It is at moments like this that I
remember what a gift it is to be a dancer. As I wipe off the makeup,
remove my hair-do with the numerous pins, take a long hot shower, change
into a comfortable cotton kaftan and put my feet in a bowl of warm
water with rock salt and lemon, I think of my mother who fought so
hard to give me (and my sister Pritha) the opportunity to dance when
she was denied the chance by her strict father. I send a prayer of
gratitude for her stubborn fortitude and to my father who endured years
of censure from his elders for permitting his daughters to be on stage
and the object of the male gaze. In their eyes, NOT to learn dance or
music was like curtailing our chances to becoming the best versions of
ourselves.
How strange and wonderful life has been for my sister and me. Me on
stage and she, now a full fledged successful corporate, watching from
the front row with such pride and joy - tears flowing from her face at
the final moment of ANDAL's "becoming" a Goddess.
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