The word Rasa doesn’t have an equivalent in English. It can be roughly translated as aesthetics, but even so, it doesn’t capture the finely nuanced, reflective, and textured state of being the word Rasa encompasses. Natya Sastra, that wonderful compendium, a professional handbook, on the art of dramaturgy, written roughly between 200 BC and 200 AD, by the Indian sage Bharata, devotes two whole chapters, the sixth, and the seventh, expostulating on the layered meaning of this term and its mysterious resonance in the context of art. There is no parallel to this compendium on aesthetics in world literature, and even today there is nothing new in any art form – East or west – that doesn’t find, at least, an oblique reference in this magnificent work. Classical Indian dances are specialized forms of the theater, and all the traditional dance forms of India are therefore deeply based on the principles laid out In the Natyasastra. Each time an Indian classical dancer strikes a pose, whether it is Bharatanatyam, Kuchipudi, Kathakali, or Mohini aatum – it is a leaf out of Bharata’s Magnum opus – the Natyasastra.
Rasa, as commonly understood, is not emotion. Natya sastra is clear about it. There are four stages before rasa can manifest in the viewer. It starts with the Vibhavas – or the arrangement, the patterning, the catalysts of the events recounted on the stage, in other words, what kind of story is enacted and how it is structured. Depending on the Vibhavas, the performers portray the essence of the events as outward manifestations in the form of gestures, speech, and bodily movements. This stage is called the anubhavas. Actor and dancers crystallize their anubhavas in different ways, and this is the crucial element that differentiates the quality of one performance from another. The quality of the individual anubhavas (a gesture, a look, a bodily pose) then generates a series of fleeting emotional states (vyabhicaribhavas) in the viewer, much like each ingredient in a well-prepared dish is relished separately by the tongue before it can give rise to a more prolonged and persistent taste of sweetness or spice. All these different fleeting emotions, the vyabhicaribhavas, distill and settle down to a dominant mood, a stable state – the sthayibhava – which are more or less universal in human nature. Bharata is clear that a performer cannot force a stable human emotion (sthayibhava) on the viewer, they can only attempt to induce it through their performance. Furthermore, It doesn’t matter whether the performer feels the actual emotion or not, as long as their gestures can evoke an emotional resonance in the viewer, a Sahrdaya (a kindred soul, a viewer with similar emotional and intellectual dispensation), the artist’s job is done.
So, where does Rasa come in? Is rasa the experience of the Sthayibhava, or the stable emotion? For instance, if a performance evokes grief, which is a universal emotion, is that Rasa? Bharata says No. Rasa is the ability to distance oneself from the stable emotion and relish it. If grief is experienced, the viewer experiences the rasa of karuna -compassion. The origins of rasa, therefore, lie in psychologically distancing oneself from stable emotions and enjoying them. Like Escher’s painting, and Bach’s fugues, rasa is self-referencing, and in its very circularity generates a unique joy. In other words, rasa is a sublime meta-experience of experiencing emotion as it unfolds within. Natyasastra originally identified eight rasas: Karuna, sringara, hasya, raudra, vira, bhayanaka, bibhatsa and adbhuta. Later on, one more was added, Shanti, which is reflective of vairagya or dispassion.
The above reflection on the nature of rasa was triggered by the program brochure given out to us during Jahnavi’s Kuchipudi Rangapravesam, the inaugural performance. The lushly printed brochure contains pictures of Jahnavi emoting all the nine rasas with impeccable clarity. Lost in these pictures, I couldn’t help beginning this essay with some thoughts on the idea of rasa and its origins. At the outset, I loved the auditorium to which the event was shifted after a covid episode in the family last month. The private catholic school that contained this hall was spic and span and smacked of the catholic virtues of order, space, and charity. The auditorium was spacious and acoustically vibrant, and the ambiance was filled with serene energy. The Kirkire family are longtime residents of Maryland and active members of the Chinmaya community. The first thing that struck me was the quality of voluntary and willing support they got from friends in organizing this event. It would have been impossible for an outsider to discover who was the primary organizer. The kirkire family is blessed to have the camaraderie, love, and friendship of so many well-wishers. The whole affair was executed in a communal spirit of service. Even though I am part of the family, I was the outsider there among so many deep and abiding friends that Meera, Raja, and the girls have assiduously nurtured and sustained over the decades. It was simply heartwarming just to sit there and be absorbed in the atmosphere of unconditional love and affection all around.
I remember last meeting Jahnavi when she was five or six years old. I have vivid memories of her bubbly nature, expressive eyes, and non-stop chatter. When I met her last Sunday in the green room to share my wishes for the performance, and the love on behalf of our family, I was immediately struck by how those black expressive eyes I remember so well have grown brighter and more enticing – a great asset for a dancer. When Raja took me to the green room, Jahnavi quickly turned around to greet me with a big smile. What a fine young lady she has grown into? I was there for just a few minutes, but I could feel her enthusiasm mixed with a little nervous energy (understandably so). It looked to me, she just wanted to be on the stage as soon as possible and get going. There was this shimmering creative intensity in her demeanor. Her Guru, Aparna Sathe, was in the room with her sharing, perhaps, some last-minute advice to this young dancer.
When Jahnavi entered the stage dressed in classical dance attire (a beautiful red-colored costume to begin with), she instantly reminded me of the legendary Bharatanatyam dancer Alarmel Valli. Jahnavi has the same kind of profile, and stage presence as Alarmel Valli did during her younger days. Though the dance forms are different, in the sense, that the dance elements of Kuchipudi are much more robust and energetic than Bharatanatyam, eventually, it all boils down to what is being conveyed.
Jahnavi’s decisive steps, good body posture, confident gestures, and good use of the stage conveys a sense of mastery, passion, effortless ease, and consummation of years of good training and practice. Her first piece on the birth of Ganesha conjured the mythical event of Ganesha’s extraordinary creation, right in front of our eyes. The measure of a good dance performance is the ability to invoke the rasas in the viewer without embroiling them in the nitty-gritty of the technicalities of the art form. Jahnavi did just that. The meaning of the story and the emotions associated with them emanated through her art without the need to rigorously interpret it. Kuchipudi, especially, is a physically demanding dance form, and the artist has to be in prime condition to execute the fast-paced steps well and without exhausting oneself too quickly. A two-hour dance performance can be equal to running a marathon. A dancer has to slowly and steadily reach a crescendo without making it look as if the initial pieces were merely warm-up pieces. The invocation of Ganesha is a perfect number to get into the groove. It has a bit of everything in it, before the dancer transitions to performing more elaborate numbers in the program.
I loved the second item in the program, a dramatization of certain parts of Satyabhama’s character in the Bhagavatam (a wonderful Indian spiritual text), This piece is interestingly titled Bhamakalapam or a medley of ideas within a single story. The character and travails of Satyabhama is an enchanting episode among the copious legends of Krishna’s divine life and his relationship with his many thousand lovers and wives. The beauty of this queen, her pride, and her courage, are often juxtaposed with that of Rukmini, who is portrayed as the sedate and confirming counterpart of ebullient Satyabhama. Such a piece gives a dancer ample material to work with. There is love (sringara), there is anger, there is jealousy, there is despondency, and there is self-realization. The many stages and nuances of Satyabhama’s colorful character are suitable for dance forms. It gives a dancer the ability to showcase their dancing acumen and draws forth the subtle skills they acquire over years of practice. A condescending look, a whiff of anxiety, a sliver of pride – all can happen in a single motion, and when the audience can connect to these fleeting moments of human expression and enjoy the derived rasa, dancers succeed in their art. Jahnavi’s performance was exemplary. Once again, she brought Satyabhama to life through her art, and we are transported to a sacred time when Gods supposedly inhabited the earth. The accompanying musicians were extraordinary. All of them are well-established artists in their field. The quality of music was uplifting, beautifully rendered, and undoubtedly, embellished and enhanced Jahnavi’s performance.
This event was also an occasion for me to meet the family., after a long time. Lakshmi, Ruchi, Kavya – all of them have grown into fine, dignified, and confident women. I met Ruchi and Kavya for the first time. It was a pleasure indeed to hear them speak about their interests and the future. I loved Lakshmi’s speech introducing her sister to the audience. It was honest, well-worded, and filled with respect and love for Jahnavi. I got to meet Prasad in person, finally. A wonderful person, well-grounded and poised.!! And Deepa, who I realized has this rare quality of finding joy in everything. If she stood along with her two daughters in a line, it would be difficult to single her out as the mother of two. Deepa remains young in spirit and mature in her thinking. It was wonderful meeting Meera and Raja. I have nothing but admiration for both of them in the way they managed to pull this event together, despite a few obstacles. On the flight back, images of a newly married Raja and Meera from the early 1990s, bubbled up. I have a fascination for writing instruments, and I have a Cross (brand) pen I had requested Meera to get me through Raja. It is thirty years old now. The pen has a warranty for life, and it still writes well.
It will, however, remain one of my deepest regrets that I couldn’t stay through the program. I am sure the remaining dance numbers would have been equally mesmerizing. However, it was worth the trip, and I must thank Mom for making sure I planned for it. Look forward to meeting family soon.
I join the family in wishing Jahnavi the very best in life. This Rangapravesam will be remembered forever.