Bharatanatyam is an ancient, classical dance form that originated over 2,000 years ago in Tamil Nadu, India. As a result of its distinct quality of movement and emphasis on storytelling, Bharatanatyam has grown in popularity over the years and is practiced around the world. In a typical, full-length Bharatanatyam presentation, pieces are performed in a traditional sequence, known as the Margam, which translates to “path” in Sanskrit. This structure is a skeleton that is followed for every performance. A complete Margam is typically made of seven to eight pieces of which there are hundreds of compositions to choose from. It provides artists with a general sense of direction — a foundation upon which they can then rely on when exploring their own creative ideas. The possibilities are endless.
A Margam usually begins with an Alarippu, which translates to “blossoming of a flower.” The Alarippu begins with subtle movements, drawing attention to the eyes, the shoulders and the form. It is a test of angashuddhi: Does this dancer have control over their body? Does their body speak the language of Bharatanatyam with confidence and grace, or does it stutter and hesitate? The movements begin very simply, but, throughout the piece, they gradually evolve to become more complex. By the end of an Alarippu, the audience has witnessed the most fundamental aspects of what Bharatanatyam demands.
I was six when my mom enrolled my sister and me in dance classes. My new guru intimidated me a bit, but I remember thinking she was pretty. I entered as a stranger to the form but left certain that I would love Bharatanatyam for the rest of my life. I would sit on the staircase overlooking the studio floor, watching the older girls, in awe of the way they could move. I wanted to do that one day. But I had to start at the beginning.
Adavus, simple movement patterns that are the building blocks of Bharatanatyam, were boring, and I did not appreciate them while I learned them. Today, I recognize the beauty of the basics. In the next few years that I spent training with my teacher, I learned how to move with more nuance and more intention. Movements that initially took conscious thought slowly became second nature as I blossomed into a Margam dancer.
After the Alarippu comes the Jathiswaram. The Jathiswaram, like the Alarippu, is pure nritta, in which footwork and rhythm is emphasized as opposed to storytelling or expression. However, unlike the Alarippu, the rhythms of this piece are set to a ragam, or tune. Its purpose is to highlight a dancer’s attention to rhythm and music, how they can communicate this understanding through their movement. The Jathiswaram is particularly repetitive, and movement patterns are distinctly clear-cut.
The most important piece of the Margam is the Varnam. The Varnam can be anywhere from 20 to 45 minutes long. It involves nritya, which is the combination of nritta (pure dance) with abhinaya (storytelling through the use of expressions and hand gestures). The length of the piece is undoubtedly a physical challenge but allows the artist time to fully dive into the composition on an emotional level. A dancer can revisit a Varnam composition multiple times in their life and find new ways to interpret and perform it each time they revisit it.
At some point between my childhood fascination with dance and my realization that it could stay significant throughout adulthood, there was a long phase during which I simply did not appreciate dance enough. It was another extracurricular activity. It was where I had to be on Wednesday nights after school, and I was often too lazy to be there on time. I was going through the motions, week after week. I loved it, but I was not giving it the attention it demanded. The music would play, and I would move, but I was neither dancing nor listening. I was too distracted by the other sounds of life that I was discovering at the time. I was also busy trying to be better than the other dancers at my school. I hadn’t yet realized that this was art; humility was of the utmost importance.
Something shifted in my relationship with dance during the pandemic. The only good that came out of the world coming to a halt was that I could finally slow down and reflect on what role Bharatanatyam would play in my life. In my heart of hearts, I knew that, if I could be anything in the world, I would want to be a dancer. But, I think I had always discounted Bharatanatyam as something I could actually pursue. Any time I was in a room with other dancers, something like ballet was taken more seriously and considered something that required skill and attention, while my dance form was dismissed as something that was only valuable due to its exoticism. They did not recognize that Bharatanatyam took years of dedication and training, and, consequently, I also stopped giving it enough of myself.
Following the pandemic, I realized that Bharatanatyam could be as important in my life as I wanted it to be. This was largely due to the discovery of a vibrant community of Bharatanatyam artistes and enthusiasts in various pockets across the United States. These dancers are simultaneously preserving and reinterpreting the vocabulary of Bharatanatyam, paying respect to its origins while making it relevant to a wider, modern audience.
The Tillana is the fiery end to the Margam. It is fast paced and joyous. It is mostly nritta but has a short section of abhinaya. Due to its exciting nature, it is easy to lose yourself in a Tillana.
After fully realizing my love for Bharatanatyam and understanding the role it could play in my life, I felt like I was beginning to learn how to dance all over again. I gave it my full attention. And, this time, I was dancing for no one but myself. Despite injuries and various setbacks, nothing could keep me away from dance. When I was starting college, I was committed to finding ways to stay in touch with Bharatanatyam. My favorite way has been Shakti, the University’s premier competitive Indian classical dance team. Being surrounded by peers who share my love for Bharatanatyam has only made dance more meaningful to me. The team did incredibly well last year, too, ranking fourth nationally among collegiate Indian classical dance teams. Every time we dance together, it feels like a collective expression of pure joy and freedom, an opportunity to forget our worries for a while and immerse ourselves in the magic of joint creation.
The great Bharatanatyam legend, Tanjore Balasaraswati, compared the Margam to the pathway through a temple. Teachers still use this analogy to explain the concept of Margam to their students. My teacher did, too. But today, in many ways, I have rediscovered the Margam as a reflection of my life and the evolution of my dance journey. Though I still have a lot left to learn, every day I am grateful for this art form that has taught me so much about myself.
Maya Britto is a sophomore from Burtonsville, Md. majoring in Neuroscience and Public Health. She is a News and Features Editor for The News-Letter.
