Busting Myths About ‘Videshi’ Invsions

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“If India forgets Bharatanatyam, there will always be foreigners to dance it,” remarks Louis Malle in his 1969 documentary Phantom India. As we watch two non-Indian dancers in a Bharatanatyam class at Kalakshetra, a translation of Malle’s French voiceover flashes on the screen. Malle laments the pathetic nature of their dancing, observing that though the dancers have picked up some of the technique, “There is neither truth nor grace in their dancing”.
Calling their dance a caricature, he delivers his damning indictment — it is impossible for foreigners to fit into Indian culture.
Now four decades later, non-Indian dancers still occupy a space where they are at once exotic little ribbons on the “Indian culture” lapel, and surrogate inheritors of hoary traditions. This fetish is often unintentional — it is a body of innocuous expressions of wonder at how well an American can dance Bharatanatyam, or speak Tamil or do the many mysterious things, we believed only Indians could comprehend.
Isabel Putinja can wear a sari. She has trained in Bharatanatyam and Odissi and has learnt to speak a smattering of Kannada, since she moved to Bengaluru some years ago. However, very often people she runs into are not prepared for this. “People tend to adopt a patronising attitude. For instance, they are surprised that I understand a lyric in Sanskrit or are amazed I can wear a sari properly. There is a general assumption that since I’m a foreigner, I won’t know or even, can’t know,” she says.
When Indian-American Bharatanatyam dancer Kiran Rajagopalan moved to Chennai, he hurled himself into the vortex of an efficient public bus service, and spent months travelling in buses. He speaks accented Tamil and finds it galling when he is occasionally faced with the threat of not being found intellectual enough for his lack of pristine Tamil. He observes the body language of people around him to assimilate typically Tamil mannerisms that are easily transmuted into Bharatanatyam.
“You need to understand the nuances of language to do justice to pieces in Tamil or Telugu. Watching Tamil films, especially the ones with rural settings, where people tend to be more expressive, helped a lot with body language. Even the way the maids converse with their hands taught me about emoting vividly,” Rajagopalan explains.
Putinja elaborates on the cultural differences that shape expression and the perceived lack of mimetic skills in non-Indian dancers. She reveals, “There is a general presumption that foreigners can’t do Abhinaya. Of course, each culture has its own expressions and mannerisms. Some cultures are less expressive, and showing emotions is not a good thing. It just takes some time to imbibe these expressions and mannerisms. Sometimes you even adopt them unconsciously!”
Amanda Geroy, an American Odissi dancer who spends a big chunk of her year in Bhubaneswar, finds that she is full of questions about the relevance of her actions. “What do we give up by coming to India? Our families suffer because of the decisions we make, but all of us find a reason to go off track. I am yet to discover whether our decisions are personal or if they concern art. What is the goal of human life? Why do we keep up this cause if it’s not our cause,” she wonders.
Rajagopalan thinks that classical dance reflects what Indian culture may have been some centuries ago, without the slang and Western influence. “It is a return to a pure language,” he says. “But”, he adds, “I want to retain my Americanness because that is who I am. I was born and brought up there. I won’t compromise with my accent because faking one at 25 requires effort. Asking me why I can’t be more Indian is like asking an apple tree to become an orange tree.”
Sharon Lowen, who is trained in Odissi, Manipuri and Chhau, first came to India as a Fulbright scholar in 1973. For six years, she organised a Videshi Kalakar Utsav in Delhi, which showcased non-Indian dancers and musicians to disprove the notion that they were would always remain “students”, and never attain the same excellence as their Indian counterparts. She says, “When I came to India, there was no knocking on the door. It was a solid wall. But I was naive; I banged my head on the wall and emerged on the other side. It takes a long time to train a classical dancer. Naturally, people are sceptical of what can be accomplished in a short time. Learning the technique matters, but one has to understand and internalise the sanskriti (culture) too. My festival showed that it was possible to judge non-Indian dancers on the basis of the same quality and skill, by performing before critical Indian audiences. Both Indian and foreign artistes face a dearth of patronage. But for the latter, it is harder because they have absolutely no support system.”
Geroy points out that her dance qualifications are not always taken seriously back home in the US, because of the sheer glut of dance talent across styles and the unflattering distinction of being a “white” Indian dancer. Lowen echoes similar sentiments as she talks about her experiences as a young dancer. “I enjoy performing in India because the audiences are knowledgeable, and I am judged by the quality of my work. Abroad, it is racist; organisers might prefer a mediocre Indian dancer to a good videshi dancer. They would never have a non-Indian dancer doing Indian dance. They don’t know how to judge the work, so they go by race,” she rues.
Bharatanatyam dancer Nikolina Nikoleski accepts that there are two sides to everything, but is eager to recount the positives. “It is like falling in love. Love is blind. Things are not perfect, but as long as you put your mind to it, they get so much easier. I have spent time living among artistes in other countries too, but I find India suits my sensibilities and aesthetics. Working with yourself is a tough journey, and a lot of dancers drop out for various reasons, but staying with the process makes you more alive as an artiste. Making a positive connection adds to your creativity. It’s not all butterflies and pink stuff, but you
also grow in pain,” she reflects.