Dance

Only use for one-on-one students as an example. Do NOT use it publicly on the blog.

“Gender is a puppet show; every time you call me ‘he, boy’, I feel you tug the strings…”

Bam! My foot slaps the floor as another imaginary string forces me to lose balance, the haunting verses of spoken word reverberating through the room. I am a distressed transgender woman, drowning in expectations of “normalcy.”

“Gender is a stage – -” Bam! As though the figurative stage might simply disintegrate if I could beat the very real one under my feet hard enough.

Twelve years ago, strolling the streets of rural India with my parents, the pungent stench of cow dung thick in the air, we met a Hijra selling fruit. I looked to my parents, oblivious to my own rudeness, asking “Why is that man dressed as a woman?” They brushed past my question and the Hijra, and continued down the road. Growing up in India, they’d been taught being transgender is a disgusting crime. In India, corrective rape is not only accepted, but sometimes “prescribed.” I think we just might be criminalizing the wrong people.

“Depression is applying a clown face, pretending everything is cool and content when you know you will explode…” I become a middle-aged man, coping with climbing a mountain called Depression, hiding tears and pain in fear of society’s disapproval.

Bam! In a typical Indian Bharatanatyam dance class, it’s customary for preschoolers to be yelled at for not hitting their feet on the cement floor hard enough — I know from experience. But as the years went on, and as calluses formed, Bharatanatyam became not only less painful, but a means to release my frustrations. Bam! I was angry Indian society considered it shameful to see a psychiatrist. Bam! I was ashamed Indian society encouraged shunning human beings who deviated from the mold: straight, mentally sound, “normal.”

Another frustration I had was that Western society often viewed Indian dance as an ancient form with outdated ideas, with choreographed ballads about various heroines withering away, crying, waiting for their husbands — still worse, I felt that Western society wasn’t, and isn’t wrong.

These frustrations morphed into choreography. I wanted to change these stigmas that held back Indian society and prove that Bharatanatyam is capable of more than outdated storytelling. Through choreography, I wanted to make the struggles of the LGBTQ community and mental health issues more relatable to an Indian audience, but make the art accessible to Westerners by setting pieces to spoken word poetry instead of traditional Indian music. The non-traditional dance videos I worked on with two collaborators started to get millions of views worldwide. We were far from famous, but suddenly we found ourselves invited to conferences and dance festivals across the globe.

This included an invitation to the 2018 World Government Summit, where we opened for Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s keynote speech in Dubai. A Hindu dance form presenting liberal ideas in a Muslim country raised a few eyebrows. But the response was incredible, from Australian professors telling us they’d seen a new angle to the use of performing arts, to conservative Arabs jokingly remarking that we were the only Indians at the conference who weren’t annoying. By sharing Bharatanatyam with diplomats, politicians, and influencers, I had the opportunity to spread awareness of my art form and the issues I stand by. Soon after, we shared our work at America’s oldest dance festival, Jacob’s Pillow. As our feet hit that legendary stage, we showed a Western audience that India’s art forms were progressing.

I plan to study international relations, and continue raising awareness across the globe about mental illnesses such as clinical depression through Bharatanatyam and spoken word. I believe dance is capable of sparking conversation and starting debate. After all, only when beliefs are challenged can change be made.