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.

Read more

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

Read more