I was not close to Chitrasena, but he was close to me

Amaratunga Arachige Maurice Dias better known as 'Chitrasena' died on the 18th of July 2005. This article was written for the Sunday Island and was published in that newspaper on the 24th of July 24.

I sent a text message to a beautiful friend, Nayana, whose childhood was made of a household visited by and which visited Panibharatha, Chitrasena, Amaradeva and others that defined an age and indeed the rarest kind of cultural blossoming this country has known in recent times. Those encounters, for her, had been unsolicited visitations. These encounters had also been accompanied by factors that did not leave unblemished marks and markers in her memory screens. I just said, "Chitrasena died last night". She replied with a question, "Were you close to him?" I answered, "No. But he was a root." I never saw him dance. He was, to me, "Chitrasena Maama". He was someone who turned up at our one-room annex down Pedris Road in the early seventies to go sea bathing at Kinross on certain Saturdays with my Appachchi. Years later I learnt that in fact he was a distant uncle of my father's and as such he should have been "Chitrasena Seeya". Appachchi called him "Chitra" so he remained "Maama" to the end, even though he was not a Maama whom I saw frequently. My next significant memory of him was in 1978 (I believe) when "Ustad" Podiappuhami gave a sitar recital at the Lionel Wendt. This was the second time I attended one of his concerts, the first being in 1977. Appachchi took us. I liked North Indian music, but I always fell asleep. In fact I fall asleep at all classical concerts, perhaps because I didn't really understand what it was all about, even though I found it pleasant to the ear.  Anyway, at that recital Podiappuhami was bested on the tabla by the late Shelton Perera. Appachchi took aiya and I to the Arts Centre Club where all the artistes had gathered. The "Ustad" was livid and was drunk. Chitrasena Maama was quite high as well and for some reason was angry with the "Ustad" who I believe was staying with him at that time. I remember his sauntering across the tennis courts of Women's International berating the Ustad in the choicest filth. All I knew at that time was that Podiappuhami "did" music and that Chitrasena Maama danced. I didn't see why they should quarrel. I have never actually talked with him. I have for the most part been just another person in the same room. I never danced. Never really understood dance either. No, I wasn't close to him. I interviewed him on the occasion of his 80th birthday for the Sunday Island during an exhibition of his memorabilia at the National Art Gallery. But the closest I got to him was in the last couple of months when I took him to get some tests done and when I visited him at Durdans Hospital a couple of times. We just talked the things people usually talk in such situations. "How are you feeling today?" I would ask and he would respond honestly enough. He showed irritation but never complained. The last time I saw him was a few days before he passed away, at his daughter's place in Bambalapitiya, Appachchi made one comment which I believe said all that needs to be said of the man known to all as Chitrasena: "The way he has borne his illness and his suffering tells just one thing: he will not have to go through anything like this throughout sansara." His expression did not change, not the eyes that said he knew much and not the half-smile that placed him several strata above the rest of us in spiritual terms. These were elements that described a condition he must have inhabited for many decades. In fact, from the early seventies to the early 21st century, that was a constant, come to think of it. I was not close to him. Those who were will know more. Those who also knew his stage presence in its many forms will say much, I am sure. Even those who didn't but know about this country, its history and heritage will have much to say by way of appreciation. My friend Anuruddha Pradeep, lecturer in Political Science and one of the most perceptive readers of the political scene I know, for example, told me, "He was the person who took caste out of the dance equation; he lifted it out of those tight frames and kept it in an exalted place." But was it just "dance"? I have lived much in the years that followed the incident at the Lionel Wendt, long enough to know at least instinctively that art is without bounds, and that dance and music and even theatre are not separate or separable forms of experience. Anuruddha recently told me about Nadeeka Guruge who is probably one of the brightest composers of his generation. He had met the man at some workshop and asked him to sing an old Hindi song, the title of which escapes me now. Nadeeka had said, "mama sindu kiyanne nehe; mama vindinnam, umbala kemathinam ahagena hitapang" (I won't sing for you; I will experience it, you may listen if you like), and had proceeded to whistle the tune while strumming his guitar. Anuruddha and the others present had been mesmerized.  The true artiste, I believe, must play to satisfy himself/herself, for the personal need to discover self in and through experience. Chitrasena, by all accounts, was like that. And it is for this reason that he became who he was, and will continues to be long after the memory of the man is obliterated by time. It is also for this reason that we are "close to him". He did things to figure out "self" and therefore, and therefore alone, he was able to "give". I was not close to him, but he was indeed close to me, because he was a root in the fullest sense of the word. He drew from the soil in which his feet were firmly planted, he did not distinguish art forms from one another except in their trivialities and in the practicalities of compartmentalisation.  Watching a re-run of an interview of the man in the program "Uragala" the day after his death, listening to his descriptions and recounting of his work, his philosophy and his time, I realised the depth and the limitlessness of his creativity. I also realised how hollow is what passes for "dance" and "music" and "drama" today. Much of it will not reveal us to ourselves for the simple reason that the exponents are not interested in self-discovery or the pursuit of perfection in the broadest sense possible. My father, Chitrasena's nephew, friend and companion in the long hours prior to departure, was right. The man had somehow gone beyond our reach, as per our current capabilities. The man was a root, and by this very fact, imparted a simple but profound lesson in terms of what anyone, even one ignorant of dance and music like me, can do to shed mediocrity. Let us lament the passing of a great one. Let me remember always his half-smile and his gaze that looked back into millennia and so could produce for generations to come something that enhances that which we casually and carelessly call "life". READ ALSO: Chitrasena's Gift: to be preserved and nurtured to perfection The Chitrasena magic Vajira at 85: a story of inexpressible grace Thaji on Vajira: a granddaughter's gaze Devanjali: a window unto permanence through impermanence

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They dance, they live!

Pic by Dominic Sansoni

This was written for the Sunday Island by way of tribute to Chitrasena, the father of modern dance in Sri Lanka whose 95th birth anniversary falls on January 26th, 2016..  

There will never be another Shakespeare, this is true. Does it mean however that theatre and literature has remained where it was the day he died in quality, content and style?  We remember, we honour and we are always grateful to the greats that came before.    We learn and re-learn from them.  We revere them even. 

And then we decide that the best tribute is to build on foundations painstakingly laid.  This is how legacy is preserved.   And that is the story of Amaratunga Arachige Maurice Dias, who will always be better known as Chitrasena, who, had he lived, would be 95 years old on the 26^thof January.  More than 10 years after he passed on, we need to appreciate this man who not only popularized traditional Sri Lankan dance forms both here in Sri Lanka and abroad, but created a modern version of these forms.  We need to remember him and his work, but as importantly assess what’s happened to what he developed and ‘left behind’. 

As always there are those who are utterly devoted to the particular art form and those who mimic.  There are those who can be said to flirt with art, picking up bits and pieces that could deceive the uninitiated, seek to compensate for the flaws that invariably flow from a lesser commitment to perfection with props that are now in great abundance.  We have them all and all of them, including the mimics and the quick-buck-makers have roles to play in keeping traditions alive, for even the ‘lesser thing’ helps set apart the real deal and thereby strengthen the legacy-edifice that is constantly under construction.   

Chitrasena was an artist and like all true artists he was an inspiration and a teacher.  Thousands have at his feet learnt the rudiments of graceful movement.  That’s what the Chitrasena Kalayathanaya was established for way back in 1944.  More than 70 years later, the dance school is run by the Chitrasena-Vajira  Dance Foundation.  Today there are students of all kinds.  There are courses for the very young who, if interest is sustained and talent is evident will move to different and more strenuous programmes of training.  There are also classes for adults, the logic being that rhythm is resident in everyone and there’s nothing to stop exploration.  

These courses are conducted by the matriarch of the school, Chitrasena’s wife, Vajira, their two daughters Upeka and Anjali, and also his granddaughter Thaji who is now the principal dancer.  Heshma Wignaraja, another granddaughter is the artistic director and choreographer of the Dance Company.  A great grandson and a great granddaughter have also taken to dance and took part in ‘Kumbi Kathava’ (Story of the Ants), the third version of which was performed recently. 

What is important is the loss of Chitrasena has not seen the energy and love and the commitment to what could be terms his watchword, ‘to truly dance is to live’, has not abated.  There have been seven dance productions after Chitrasena’s passing.  The school has close to 300 students.  The training and performances, the energy and discipline, the dedication most of all, constitute the best tribute possible.  And it’s not only about some kind of dancing gene.  There have been many professional dancers and drummers whose contribution to the Company has been invaluable.  

Currently, in addition to Thaji, there’s Nuwan Ranjith Priyanga, Geeth Premachandra,  Dayan Champika, Sandani Sulochani, Akila Palipana and Upekha.  Then there’s also Susantha Rupatilaka (drummer), Udaya Priya Kumara (drummer/teacher), Prasanna Rupatilaka (drummer and rhythm composer)and Waruna Sri Hemachandra (drummer).  They’ve work together for a long time and following Chitrasena’s tradition, have performed out of the country too.  The last major production, Devanjali: Ritual-rites-reflection (‘Dancing for the Gods’), was performed at the Sydney Festival 2015 as well as in other cities in Australia.  Devanjali was also performed in Jaffna. 

The Dance Company also works with CARE International’s youth programme, handling the dance component of the project.  This has seen the Company’s trainers spend time with university students in Jaffna and Batticaloa, conducting workshops.  A collaboration production with these students is next on the cards. 

There’s no Chitrasena today.  When will another come?  That is not even a legitimate question.  All that matters is the task of living.  For those whose hearts are pinned to rhythm and movement, this means ‘to truly dance’.  If they truly dance, then live they will.  In terms of ‘legacy’, then, the task is not to produce another Chitrasena or a Vajira, happy as such an outcome would be.  What’s important is to dance. To learn.  To fall, to rise again, to chase that impossible-to-catch fugitive called ‘perfection’.  The Chitrasena-Vajira Dance Company is all about such pursuit.  The legacy is safe. 

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Devánjali: A window unto the permanence within impermanence

Devánjali. A word, a poem, description of a way of being, a dance performance.  This is the latest production put together by the Chitrasena Vajira Dance Foundation, especially choreographed for the Sydney Festival and scheduled to be presented to the Sri Lankan audience at the Lionel Wendt on December 19, 2014. 

On Wednesday, December 11, 2014, the Chitrasena Dance Company had a special show, a preview of sorts.  If this was ‘preview’ and one performed more than a month before the ‘big show’ audiences in Australia are certainly in for a rare treat, so close to perfection did it seem to be, albeit to a ‘lay’ spectator.  It is the first time that the Dance Company has been invited to participate in what is now considered the premier cultural festival in Australia. 

Previously, that is in 1963 and 1972, when the names Chitrasena and Vajira were synonymous with ‘dance’ as it pertained to unique Sri Lankan traditions, the Company had performed at various festivals in that country.  Today, several decades later, it is the third generation of the family and their contemporaries that take stage. 

Upeka, the principal trainer of the dancers now that the legend Chitrasena is no more and his decades long fellow-dancer and fellow-guru Vajira is in virtual retirement, spoke with The Nation about Devánjali, the themes depicted in each dance sequence, the artists, the philosophy that drives the Dance Company and of course the energy and love that produce movement, beat and their union in ways that thrill, delight and prompt deeper self-reflection. 

The word Devánjali is a conjugation that refers to the worship of gods or deities.  Worship in the form of dance of course or more precisely the intricate interweave of drum and dance.  It begins with the age old tradition of seeking the blessings of gods and gurus with the ritual master (kattadiya) summons the Gara Yaka to bless the performance, the performers and the audience. 

There is sequence but there’s a seamlessness to it, for one phase yields to the next with very little pause either in time or in movement.  The next piece is a solo by Thaji in a re-make of an original sequence choreographed by Vajira for her daughter Upeka way back in 1998, ‘bera nada chalana’.  The adjustment is for youth and less experience as well as the younger dancers and drummer who perform with her.    It is principally a mix of Kandyan and Low Country dance and drumming traditions with some movements from the Sabaragamuwa tradition worked into the sequence. 

Next is a celebration of Lord Ganesha, God of Knowledge and Remover of Obstances, derived and re-choreographed for three male dancers from the Ganapathi Vannama by Heshma, who by the way not only choreographed the entire production, but is also the artistic director and lighting director.   This is followed by a dance with revolves around the folk instrument pantheruwa, believed to be anklet of Goddess Pattini, worshipped by Buddhists and well as Hindus.  The pantheru dance is traditionally associated with celebrating victory.  The dance, according to Upekha, is driven by the pantheruwa, its shape and the ideologies behind it. 

The sound and energy that color these segments yield to a more sober performance, ‘Moksha’ where once again Thaji takes center stage.  Perhaps the thinking behind the entire production is best captured in a quote by the maestro himself, read out by way of introduction: ‘Why do you repeat?  To emphasize, to bring home a point.  Why do you hold on?  Because you know it will otherwise change. How can you grasp something which is elusive? This is the beautiful paradox of the dance and of life.  When you know it, you can glimpse the permanence within the impermanence.’  There is violin, flute and female voice.  There is reference to the Buddha.  It is an exercise that seeks to show permanent-impermanent unity.  A challenge which the dancer takes on as something sacred. 

Finally, there is the Kankaari Aara or the way of the Kandyan Ritual where dancers and drummers challenge each other and through this demonstrates the union of drum and dance.  It is at once a celebration of the Kandyan Dance as well as the Chitrasena legacy.

The group, made of 3 female dancers, two of whom (Sandani and Upekha) are performing for the first time, 4 male dancers (Priyanga, Geeth, Dayan and Akhila, the last another first timer), and 4 drummers (the brothers Susantha and Prasanna, Udaya and Varuna). 

Watching the performance one is stunned by the synchronizing where only a trained eye if at all could detect the slightest mis-move.  The slower sequences were exquisite with even the breathing appeared to have been choreographed. 

‘That’s all Heshma,’ Upeka explained. 

‘She makes notes.  She writes down the slightest mistake, even finger movement that is not quite right will be noted.  She is meticulous.  As I said, she is the artistic director and also handles lights.  She designed all the costumes too.’

The hard work put in can only be imagined.  Upeka who is the main trainer (supported by her niece and the lead female dancer Thaji), and who will be accompanying the group, says that they’ve worked hard for almost a year. 

‘We take this work very seriously.  There’s a lot of research that goes into this.  This after all is all we have to say “uniquely ours”.  Nowhere in the world will you find this dance, these drums.  We have taken the essence of that which is ours, given a contemporary touch so that the entire world can enjoy it.  It is not a reproduction of the kankaariya but it certainly contains its signature.’

That it does, clearly.  There’s continuity, change and through it all something that endures.  A fitting tribute to Chitrasena, Vajira and all the traditions that made them who they were and inspired them to create a legacy that continues to inspire, entertain and educate.

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Chitrasena's Gift: to be preserved and nurtured to perfection

A giant did not fall on the 18^th of July, 2005.  A giant went his way, left stage as gracefully as he always had, left a signature as formidable in its absence as in its presence.  That was Chitrasena; Deshamanya Chitrasena, the honorific probably not one which he would care much for today if he were a live considering the kind of people it has been conferred upon.  

Nine years is a short period in the time-scales of tradition, but glitter and frill, the subterfuge of costume and other trappings readily available for the camouflaging of sloth and mediocrity has certainly done its destructive work.  This is a world of short cuts and get-by-as-we-cans.  Chitrasena probably saw it coming, but like all true students of art forms to that which he held sacrosanct he was devoted and so too the more gifted of his students, ‘gifted’ not only in the exercise but in the ability to comprehend the sacred embedded in the art. 

Not many among those present today would have heard of Maurice Dias Amaratunga.  Some still know the name Chitrasena.   Few, though.  He was described as follows a short while before he died: ‘Chitrasena was the teacher of teachers. The guru of Arjuna of the Mahabharatha; in fact one of Chitrasena’s most memorable performances was of Arjuna; a great teacher who use(d) a variety of languages, all of them, where appropriate, subsumed in dance.’ 

Chitrasena as Othello

In the end, however, an artist’s remains, if any, are not found only in territories of recall but in traditions preserved, ethics endorsed and fidelity to the notion of seeking perfection.  That’s what the Chitrasena Vajira Dance Foundation is all about; a commitment to elevate Sri Lankan traditional dance to a globally recognized classical art form.  And like all projects of that nature endowed with sobriety, the current custodians so to speak of the Chitrasena legacy are focused on the fundamentals, work, hard work, practice, practice, practice and an endless pursuit of greater refinement in step and movement. 

Today there are some 350-400 students attending classes at the appropriately quaint kalayathanaya on the corner of Park Road and Elvitigala Mawatha, Monday through Saturday.  The classes begin at 9 in the morning and end at 6 in the evening except when there’s a performance in line, in which case time is not a factor. 

Upekha, Chitrasena’s daughter, and Janaki, his daughter-in-law, who spoke with The Nation have no illusions about young students staying on and on and on until they are possessed by the dance to a point it becomes part of their everyday.  Typically, children or rather their parents try out this and that at that age.  Some stay, some move to other ‘interests’.  While they are here, though, they have fun and they interact with children from all kinds of social, cultural and religious backgrounds. 

Then there are students who are at the O/L and A/L stages in their formal education.  At school they learn a lot of theory but for obvious reasons cannot spend as much time on ‘practicals’.   

On the other hand, there are about 15-18 students who are different in terms of life goals, dance goals and the commitment of time, resources and energy.  They are all scholarship holders, courtesy HSBC.  The majority of them are university students.  It is a continuation of a tradition in a sense for the great guru also had students he didn’t charge.  He could not give them an allowance. Times have changed, but to the credit of the current custodians of his legacy, these students, many of whom are from places far away from Colombo, do not have to worry about food and other expenses. 

‘It is about performance and it is about teaching,’ Janaki said.  When Chitrasena was in his prime there weren’t many dance troupes, but they started mushrooming in the eighties, she said.  Quantity in these things has an inverse relationship with quality, it seems.  The Foundation will not take short cuts, though.  This is why they want to focus on both performance and teaching.  The objective is to develop a critical mass of accomplished dancers and a set of teachers who can pass on the knowledge from one generation to the next.  All this is captured in the twin notions ‘Gift of Dance’ and ‘Preserve the Dance’, the former being the scholarship program mentioned above and the latter a program to ensure that professional dancers and teacher are assured of a decent livelihood.

To this end, they plan to develop the Centre.  The Master Plan, once implemented, would see better facilities including rehearsal rooms, a mini theater and hostels.

It is no easy task and yet, watching the family, the students and teachers go about their work, it seems that these goals do not weigh any of them down, not the matriarch, Vajira, not Upekha or the obvious heiress apparent to the legacy, Thaji. 

It is almost fashionable to say at the passing of great personalities that there will not come such another.  The stature of Chitrasena is such that few would find fault with that kind of prediction.  Indeed, this is perhaps why they have not even toyed with the idea of performing Karadiya.  There was Vajira and then Upekha and now her niece Thaji to do just to the female portrayal, but both Upekha and Janaki freely admit that they are still struggling to develop a strong male character.  They have no doubt of course about the abundance of dancing talent.  It’s the commitment over which there are question marks. 

No one can tell when another Chitrasena will grace this earth.  But it is the nature of reincarnations to seek fertile birthing ground.  The Chitrasena Vajira Dance Foundation is putting things in place.  The rhythm, grace of movement and ambience certainly make a habitable home for such a resurrection.  In time, as value accrues to the gift of dance and when dance itself is preserved to a point that it cannot be robbed of divine grace, there will be a rebirthing of excellence, one feels.  Others, the slothful and mediocre included, will naturally profit.     

msenevira@gmail.com

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The Chitrasena Magic

This morning I read a piece about 'the new face of the Chitrasena tradition', i.e. the late great dancer's granddaughter.  Made me want to share something I wrote for the Sunday Island almost 8 years ago, on the occasion of the maestro's eightieth birthday. Here goes.

Chitrasena is a national icon. So is Vajira. The people of this country knew this long before the conferring of state honours. For me, Chitrasena was just "Chitrasena Mama", a man with the kindest eyes I have ever seen, who would on certain Saturdays come home to go to Kinross beach with my father. At that time I didn’t know the meaning of the word "icon". I couldn’t for the simple reason that I had never heard the word.

I knew however, even as a child, that Chitrasena Mama was not just someone who visited us now and then.

I distinctly remember my father launch on one of his historical narratives one day at the Kurunegala Railway Station, after I showed him a Ceylon Tourist Board poster depicting the country’s most famous dancing couple. Until then I didn’t know that Chitrasena Mama was a dancer. It took me many years to understand that that too was a paltry description for no single word can capture the versatility of the man.

When I went to the National Art Gallery on Thursday, I thought I knew who Chitrasena was. Although "dance" was never my thing, I was always intrigued by it and, like anyone who insists that the future has to be built on our cultural past, I’ve been a faithful student of art forms, artistes and their histories. Entering the Art Gallery was like walking into another time. The walls, carrying thousands of artifacts that recorded Chitrasena’s determined, dedicated and fulsome embrace with the traditional and ritualistic dance forms of Sri Lanka and of course the creativity he unleashed to drive these in new directions, spoke of two things to me: character and history.

At the age of 80

Each tiny snippet laid out among thousands of other snippets, cried out for more attention than time could ever permit. Each, I thought, spoke not just about Chitrasena, but was an invaluable fragment of our collective search of origin and our relentless challenge to deal with the present. When a person’s work etches itself to history’s multi-coloured, multi-textual tapestry, then alone he or she becomes historical. Like all true artistes, however, Chitrasena never sought that kind of immortality. All he wanted, I imagine, was to dance and to strive for perfection in dance, which I suppose is another kind of immortality.

Hanging on the walls, there is a ves thattuwa, made of silver. It had been gifted to Chitrasena by his teacher, Bevilgamuwe Lapaya Gurunnanse. Lapaya Gurunnanse, following tradition, offered this niyatha vivaranaya of sorts to Chitrasena, his best student, and not to any of his sons, who were also dancers. In Chitrasena’s case, there was also a genetic factor. His father, Seebert Dias, had been a leading Shakespearean actor, producer and director. It was he who, recognising young Chitrasena’s potential, had sent him to India. The Kathakali, the Tagorean dance drama in Shanthinikethan, the art of Uday Shankar, are among the styles Chitrasena danced through before developing his own style and launching "a dance odessey" in Sri Lanka.

As I said, "dance" is foreign to me. Those who know it have this to say about Chitrasena: "Recognising the vast potentials of traditional dance forms, he experimented with form, sound and colour, steering the dance along uncharted paths. Ironically, the old and the new never appeared to his as two separate or distinct entities. The new was but an extension of the old. In essence, two contributions of Chitrasena are undisputed. First, the infusion of the idea of Theatre, the Stage, the world of audience confrontation and entertainment to the Sinhala Dance; and secondly, the actual work proceeding from this conception, transferring our folk dances into gems for modern theatre. From this transformation he created a vehicle of artistic expression for the Sinhala Dance - the Ballet.

One could probably "trace" the contours that he danced along with his troupe, by visiting each and every ballet he produced, Nala Damayanthi, Karadiya, Kinkini Kolama etc. That is not possible in this space. It requires a meticulous biographer to capture all that Chitrasena has done to enhance our cultural sensibilities and refashion our humanity in more gentle ways through his art. The exhibition itself is a biography of sorts.

Only, "reading" it is not within the parameters of the possible. Perhaps the one way to ensure as complete a reading as possible, would be to preserve all the material and make it available for the general public. For Chitrasena does not belong only to those who conferred honours on him. He belongs to the people not least of all because he embraced this land in the most tender way possible: he drew his strength each time his foot touched the earth and he stole nothing when he lifted it, elegantly, of course.

The organisers of the exhibition hope that it will generate funds to complete Chitrasena’s dream project, that of establishing a new Chitrasena Kalayathanaya on land granted to the Chitrasena-Vajira Dance Foundation. It will take more than an exhibition to do this. We would not be a grateful people if we don’t do something about this. For this is no longer "Chitrasena’s Project". It is, it has to be, a National Project, as or more important than the many projects that "win" the "National" label.

What is heartening to know is what Upekha, Chitrasena’s daughter told me. "My niece Heshma has returned after doing a Theatre Arts Degree in the University of California, Berkeley. She can handle all this. Thajithangani, my other niece, is also a dancer. They will carry the tradition forward."

This is the traditional way. It is easy to be thankful. In this case, we ought to do more. I am convinced that we can be patriotic enough to accept the challenge of ensuring that the tradition lives, by helping build the Kalayathanaya.

It is the least we, as a nation, can do by way of saying "thank you" to a human being who did much more than merely dance.

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