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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Thaji on Vajira: The granddaughter’s gaze

It’s just past noon on a Saturday.  I am leaning against a half wall at one end of a long hall.  At the other end, on the wall, hangs a portrait. On the floor there are around 75 students. All eager to learn how to dance or in some case the finer points of the art.  There are four teachers and a couple of assistants, probably senior students or members of the dance company. Two of the teachers have drums. There’s that drumming and the drumming of feet. Admonishment and encouragement. 

i let my eyes stroll from one end of the dance hall to the other and it’s a blur of red and black that I see. The play of drum and feet, the synchrony (more or less) of sets of students following instructions all fade out and I focus on the teachers.

At one end Upekha with a drum, unforgiving, looking out for the slightest misstep or sign of negligence or sloth; she’s training the senior students, those who had the potential to join the Chitrasena-Vajira Dance Company.

In the next section of the hall Thaji, her niece and the principal dancer of the Company, is handling 7-8 year old kids. She’s strict too but kind. Maybe she wants them to love dancing and is teaching them that there are no shortcuts to love.  

Then there’s Anjalika, Upekha’s sister.  There’s a group of older kids, 13-15 years of age. Yes, she’s firm too. They all seem to be. Maybe they have to be.  

All three are totally focused. Their commitment to the matter of nurturing, teaching and perfecting is absolute. I can’t see what’s happening at the other end of the hall, so i walk around the building so I can get a better view. 

And there she was. Vajira. She was overseeing the scholarship students of the Academy. They had to go through what was obviously a grueling set of exercises. She didn’t speak much. She watched. It was as though gaze was voice enough.  [Read also: Vajira: a story of inexpressible grace]

She was sitting on a bench against the wall. Above her hung the portrait of her late husband, the legendary Chitrasena. At first glance it’s as if he’s looking askance, almost ignoring what’s happening just below in that long dance hall. I felt, though, that he was looking beyond it all, at places he’s been or is at or where those below should one day go.

By and by the sound of drums and feet abates.  The classes are done. Most of the kids are taken away by their parents, some of the senior students remain for the afternoon session. The teachers have a meeting, the students have lunch. 

Vajira is not feeling too well, so she’s quiet. She talked enough. Done enough. The dance company is celebrating its 75th year right now and the dance school will reach that mark next year. They have lots of plans for the year. 

In April there will be a special performance by students under seven years of age. In June, there will be a grand three-day exposure, ‘Guru Gedara’.  The name refers of course to a residential facility to be built in the premises of the Chitrasena Kalayathanaya. The event will showcase all arts and crafts associated with dance. It would be a one-stop affair where visitors would get a flavor of everything that comes together to produce the splendid performances that the company is known to produce. It will all culminate in performances by the company and the students. A treat to look forward to, certainly.  This special year is to culminate in the production of one of Chitrasena’s ballets.

Vajira, who will turn 86 on the 15th of March, will be a part of it all.  And rightly so. After all, she’s been a part of that history. Long enough, one might say, but she would probably disagree. The dance never stops and therefore the work never stops.

Every Saturday she takes two classes. There’s one for adult students who began in January and another fitness/dance program for 20-15 students who are beneficiaries of scholarships granted by the Chitrasena-Vajira Dance Foundation. There are over 250 students altogether, but obviously she doesn’t handle all of them.  However, she has a fitness class every Monday which is open to anyone.

“It’s a seven-class program that’s based on Kandyan dancing,” her granddaughter Thaji explained.

“This is a set of exercises she developed in the early 1990s. It was actually something she developed for herself because it helped her in her dancing. It is a complete workout, from head to toes and between these the eyes, jaws, face, arms, hands, fingers, stomach etc.”

Thaji has seen it all. She practically grew up with Vajira and learned at her feet, literally and metaphorically, and not just about dance.

“She lived with us and took care of us.  She would want to feed me, but I was a poor eater. I gave her a really hard time, making her run around the table.”

And of course, like everyone in the clan, she taught Thaji how to dance. 

“I learned from her only when I was about seven. She taught me Kandyan dancing. Later my aunts Anjalika and Upekkha taught me. Archchi was very strict. In fact we were terrified of her. She is still strict, she hasn’t changed much! 

“I remember would make us dance the same step for half an hour.  We had to do it until we got it right. We were just 7-8 year olds in that class. We were naturally playful. I didn’t mind. The other kids in the class were going ‘oh god…!’ but I loved it. I was fully engrossed in it all from the age of 6 or so.”

For her, Vajira was and is the loving, caring and nurturing grandmother.  Vajira, being who she is as teacher and grandmother, taught her much.  

“I’ve learned so much from her. If I were to pin it down to one single thing, it’s discipline. She’s disciplined in everything she does, when it comes to dance and when it comes to day to day things; the way she keeps everything neat and tidy, the way she folds and keeps her clothes, takes care of her belongings.  Not just her personal belongings, but how she preserves even the costumes. We still have costumes from the 1940s simply because of the way Archchi stored, preserved and took care of them.

“She’s always been very particular about her eating habits. She is conscious of such things. She never overeats, but she loves her sweets. There’s always a chocolat kaella after meals, but then again, it’s always in moderation.”

Thaji believes that she gets her discipline from her grandmother.  Discipline when it comes to dancing and teaching, that is.  

“Order is something I would love to have in my daily life, but it is very difficult, but when it comes to dancing and teaching I don’t compromise,” she said. 

And determination, she adds. Maybe that’s part of the discipline, the no-compromise, no-shortcuts kind of attitude, the resolve to treat the vicissitudes of life with equanimity, to treat the art with devotion and pay tribute in the form of relentless and unforgiving training that is as much part of the dance as the performance itself. These Thaji has learned, mostly from Vajira, one feels. 

And now? 

Thaji smiles. 

“I want to give as much as possible to her what she gave to me. I want to take care of her to the best I can. It’s as if the roles have reversed.”

She smiles again. It’s quiet in the dance hall. A young woman who is grandchild and standard-bearer of a rich tradition has, in a few words, has just finished talking about a grandmother she adores and respects.  

The interview is done. I’ve taken down my notes. As I leave, people and images get erased, there’s no memory of drums and feet. There were colors but they are not important. All I remember are the words that Thaji said at the end of the class, words duly repeated by her students: ‘apa guru deguru niduk vethva, nirogi vethva, suvapath vethva…(may our parents and teachers be free of sorrow, may they be healthy and at peace).

What a blessing it is to be thus blessed almost everyday of the year by so many and especially a granddaughter who with love and veneration walks the path you’ve made simply by dancing and dancing and dancing. 

Vajira turns 86. There must be fulfillment. And peace.

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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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