While looking around on YouTube, I found a video described as a new “History of Kathak dance” which turned out to have a slightly different purpose. The real mission of this video was to praise Roshan Kumari and, as the narrator, himself, asserted, “to propagate and popularize Roshan Kumari’s dance style.” Now, I guess we could say that the video was framed in a slightly misleading way (although it did talk about the history of Kathak a little in the beginning), but I was actually pleased when the narrator revealed its true purpose (slightly beyond the halfway point) because Roshan Kumari is one of my absolute favorite dancers. (Actually, I would guess that she is one of many people’s favorite dancers, thanks to her incredible performance in Stayajit Ray’s Jalsaghar.) Additionally, I would say that it was about time that I had the chance to present another substantial source of information about her.
[This is the documentary video. The dancer in the cover pic is Mukta Joshi.]
I did write a little about Roshan Kumari just a month and a half ago in my post Favorite Scenes Showing Kathak Footwork . . . But the last time that I discussed this great dancer in detail was in my post, Finally, A Little More Info About Roshan Kumari, which I put up on November 28, 2010. In that post, I relayed some information that I had gotten from a couple of Web sites devoted to Roshan Kumari, including one set up by her student, Mukta Joshi. (Unfortunately, that site has disappeared, but, as you’ll see shortly, there are plenty of other reasons here to mention Ms. Joshi.)
Following that post, I was treated to a very informative string of comments and conversations that went for a couple of weeks, then picked again more than a year later, at different points in 2012, and then again at different points in 2014. By the end of 2014, the post and comments, taken together, really did give a good amount of information about Roshan Kumari. In addition, at a point in time during the middle of the long conversation here, Cassidy Minai published her own informative and highly descriptive post, Film Classical Dances of Roshan Kumari.
After all of that, I certainly knew a lot more about Roshan Kumari than I had a couple of years before (and I would like to think that a number of people reading my blog had learned a lot more, too). But now, several years later, I am delighted to say that I have learned even more, thanks to this documentary.
[Mukta Joshi with Roshan Kumari]
The part of the documentary where it becomes clear that this really is a video about Roshan Kumari starts at 9:10. At 9:15, we get to see a brief statement being made by the contemporary Roshan Kumari. I appreciated that, because I remember that during the time of the old post, neither I nor several commenters could find a contemporary picture of her. But now, the contemporary Roshan Kumari certainly is visible, in this video and in the others that I’ll get to. Unfortunately for me, Roshan Kumari only speaks Hindi here (and I really have lost most of the Hindi language skills that I acquired when I tried to learn the language a few years ago). But within a couple of minutes, the narrator returns, speaking English (albeit in a way that I don’t always find easy to follow), as he delves into discussion of Roshan Kumari’s past, including her parents and her gurus. During this time, we see some very nice photos, including an excellent one of Roshan’s dance guru, K.S. More. (Yes, that is the same K.S. More who may have been Cuckoo’s husband at one time, as speculated by Tom and Mel in our long conversations under the Cuckoo posts). And that is all wonderful stuff, but the best part of the video follows shortly thereafter, as we are treated to a piece of Roshan’s dance in Jalsaghar, while the narrator mentions some of the qualities that makes it so good. These, as he says, include: “forceful footwork . . . clear, elegant body movements, speedy chakris, use of complicated, rhythm-based compositions . . .” It is shortly after this description, at the end of the excerpt from Jalsaghar, that the narrator asserts, “It is our aim to propagate and popularize Guru Roshan Kamari’s dance style, and with this intention, we have started the work on this video.”
As the narrator tells us toward the end of this Kathak documentary, Mukta Joshi founded a school, the Nrityadahara Kathak Research Institute, where she specifically teaches the Jaipur Kathak dancing traditions that she learned from Roshan Kumari. This actually is not the first of Roshan Kumari’s students whom I have heard about or from. A few are obviously happy to talk about their famous teacher, whom they always recall fondly. In the comments thread a few years ago, I received some nice words from a former student of hers named Shelina Verani. And I have also been very familiar with the dance work of another Roshan Kumari student, Aditi Bhagwat (in fact, I posted her very sweet dance cover of “Dil Cheez Kya Hai” on April 3, 2013). But I don’t have a specific recollection of exploring the dances of Mukta Joshi, and I don’t think I have presented any in this blog before. So, I am very happy to present a dance of hers in this post. I am particularly glad about finding this dance, because it also includes Roshan Kumari, who sits on the side with the musicians, doing the parhant (that is, vocal recitation of the syllables – bols – that make up the taal/rhythm). This dance comes in two parts (from a broadcast on DD national TV aka Doordashan), and while the first part is good, the second part is even better. Mukta Joshi proves to be a fine successor to Roshan Kumari, and I bet that we would be able to say the same about some of her students, too.
In my last post, I pointed out at the end that I was finally drawn into being a big fan of Hindi films when I saw Shree 420, in April of 2008. Of course, that was far from the only thing that drew me into Hindi cinema or Indian cinema in general; it’s just that it was the movie I watched that brought me to the point of becoming an eager consumer of entire classic Hindi/Bollywood films.
But, as I mentioned, by this time, I had already been watching lots of song-and-dance videos and listening to lots of Golden Age soundtrack music.
Going back to the end of 2007, I had been especially drawn into Indian cinema by two of its classic dancers, Padmini and Vyjayanthimala. I know I had seen a Padmini dance or two years before (I had had access to some clips of old Bollywood movies on certain TV stations in the past) and I may have seen a Padmini dance incorporated into a rock video related to something from the ’90s “Asian Underground.” But I wasn’t fully aware of who Padmini was and the great dances that she did until I started watching old clips of her in the fall to winter of 2007. After seeing a bunch of clips, I did run right to some movies, but they were mainly Tamil films (which I could find with English subtitles online). As I recall, the first of those films was Uthama Puthiran (where I also got to witness the greatness of Ragini and Sivaji Ganesan, and where I also found the iron mask that became my blogging avatar). And I probably watched at least a couple more around that time…
But Padmini’s appearances in Hindi cinema were relatively limited – at least compared to Vyjayanthimala’s – and this was especially true when it came to what was available on DVD. (By the way, in case I didn’t mention this – or it isn’t obvious – Hindi/Bollywood DVDs were always much more available in New York than Tamil films.) So, the first dancer who caused me to gobble up lots of full classic Bollywood DVDs – in the spring to summer of 2008 – was Vyjayanthimala, who just happens to be celebrating her birthday as I write this post.
In June or July of 2008, I saw two prominent Vyjyanathimala movies from the ’50s, Sadhna and Naya Daur. Both of these films impressed me on all fronts – dance, music, social themes, song lyrics (subtitled, of course) and acting. But out of the two, the real Vyjayanthimala fest was Sadhna. I can distinctly recall the time I brought that DVD home from the store, put it into my player, and nearly fell over at the sight of her great dances as they appeared within the film.
And when I think of that experience, I recall that the first dance was the one that impressed me the most:
So, shortly afterward – during that summer and early fall – I ran out and grabbed a whole bunch of her films…
And here are some examples of the major dances from them:
From Nagin:
From Aasha:
From Bahar:
From New Delhi:
(By the way, this song/dance is not labeled in the video, so I’ll just add that it’s the Bharatanatyam dance that surrounds the song “Murli Bairan Bhai.” Some people consider it all part of the same song/dance performance, but I like to consider the Bharatanatyam performance separately, since I think that part, alone, is much better than the rest; in fact, I’ve often considered it my favorite.)
Meanwhile, I continued to enjoy clips of dances by her on YouTube without watching the entire films. I never did get to see all of the 1969 film Prince, but in the summer of 2008, I saw some of my favorite dancing by Vyjayanthimala in a scene from that film, the famous competition she had with Helen to the song “Muqabla Hamse Na Karo.” And just recently on YouTube, I saw that someone had excerpted Vyjayanthimala’s parts from that competition and made a video of those excerpts alone. Now, I don’t mean to slight Helen, but I very much appreciate that someone did this and I am happy that I can post such a video here.
And with that, I think I will wrap up this post for Vyjayanthimala’s birthday – her 81st or 84th, depending oh whom you ask – which doubles as Part 2 of my post for the tenth birthday of this blog.
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P.S. Seven years ago, I posted another Vyjayanthimala birthday tribute which included clips of seven dances, most of them actually lesser known than the ones above. One has vanished (and I have no idea at this point what it was) and the other is a repeat of a film clip included here. But if you go to that post and watch the others, that adds up to eleven wonderful dance scenes that you can enjoy in celebration of Vyjayanthimala’s birthday. Of course, you can also go to YouTube and other posts on this blog to find many, many more.
So here we are, ten years… As I mentioned in my ninth anniversary post, the blog wasn’t fully formed into the blog that it is now until about April of 2008, so you could say that it took a full nine months for this baby to be born. On the other hand, after a human baby is born, it will usually take nine months or more to reach the stage where it can start walking, and that analogy might be a better fit. It is a full decade since I made the announcement and opened up this space, and I am personally amazed that this amount of time has passed. So, although I have nothing else to post today (but will have something soon!), I just couldn’t let the day go unmentioned. Happy birthday, dear blog!
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P.S. Did I say I had nothing else to post? I changed my mind. I started to go through the early posts of this blog, and then I decided to describe that evolution a little more, through highlights that I noticed. But I have no great desire to link to most of those highlights, especially since there are too many clips missing and there are a few more posts that I want to take down. (Plus, I don’t really have the time to put in links during the late night/early morning that I am writing this. But I may add some later – when this anniversary will already have passed.) Of course, a reader could also search through the archives, but I think that in most cases, I would prefer that they/you didn’t.
My first visible post on this blog that has content beyond an announcement is dated August 4, 2007, and it is about a song by M.I.A. (She was a musical artist whom I was very interested in when I started this blog, though I don’t care much for anything she does now. But I still give her credit for doing great things with samples from Indian film soundtracks, specifically on her second album, Kala, which came out shortly after this blog started. It was by tracing one such sample that I discovered Ilaiyaraaja.)
I think there were other posts near this blog’s beginning that I deleted, and there was some stuff that I took into “private” because it turned out not to fit at all. (Is that cheating? Actually, I think this is the kind of work that I should have done much more of over the years!)
For the next couple of months in 2007, this blog continued to be focused on eastern/western fusion artists, mostly either M.I.A. or Cheb i Sabbah.
In October of 2007, I wrote an extensive post about mujras. I wrote mainly about the contemporary mujras that I saw in Pakistani videos, but this led to a conversation in the comments section with Sitaji (Suzy) of Bollywood Food Club, and that is the point when I started venturing into the “Bolly blogging” community that I later got to know so well.
On November 25, 2007, I posted the song by Ilaiyaraaja that I had traced through M.I.A. (“Kattakkulle Mansukulle,” as I spelled it there.) [Note: Clip needs to be replaced. Will do that soon!] That appears to be my first post here of a clip from an Indian film.
On December 3, 2007, I posted about Parties, Sarees and Melodies, a blog from which I had been able to download quite a few soundtracks from 1950s Hindi films. (I sure do miss that one!)
On December 10, 2007, I posted this blog’s first Hindi film clip, a dance by Jayshree T. Then, a couple of days later, I posted another dance by Jayshree T.
During most of the rest of that December, I spent more time on contemporary fusion artists and also some time on Middle Eastern artists and belly dancers.
On December 24, 2007, I posted my first Golden Age Hindi film clip (which now has to be replaced), a song by Mohammed Rafi from Kohinoor. (I guess I should add that it wasn’t the one that most of you probably think of. I posted the Holi song, “Tan Ranglo Ji Aaj Man Rang Lo.”)
On January 5, 2008, I posted the great Padmini dance to the song “Mannavan Vanthanadi.”
On January 19, 2008, I wrote my post, “Fascination with Kerala.” At the bottom, I posted my second Padmini dance, “Aadal Kaniro.” (Yes, that’s Tamil, but I wasn’t finding Malayalam Padmini dances at this time. Besides, this is one of her greatest!)
On February 8, 2008, I reviewed the CD Rough Guide to Bollywood. (It was an OK reivew, but I have come a long way since then!)
March 2008 has an interesting mix of stuff… Cheb i Sabbah (again), Ilaiyaraaja, and Shobana (with references to Padmini).
In April 2008, along with posting about some contemporary stuff, I started to post more about a few of our favorite classic cinema dancers, Vyjayanthimala, Padmini, and Ragini.
On April 30, 2008, I posted about Shree 420. When I watched that film in April of 2008, I fell in love with it. This was the point of no return; this was probably the film that turned me into a complete, devoted fan of classic Hindi movies. (To clarify here, I had already been watching tons of Hindi and Tamil music and dance clips, but this was the point at which I would start heavily consuming entire films, becoming a bona fide Golden Age Bollywood blogger.)
I had been a fan of different forms of Indian music and dance for quite a while before, and I had gone through a significant phase in that respect a decade earlier. Some of that fondness, as I have mentioned, had been influenced by experiences and relationships (well, at least one anyway). But nobody whom I knew in person had recommended any classic Indian films to me (not even Hindi ones). I started looking at the film scenes online, then looked at some blogs and browsed a lot in the DVD stores in Jackson Heights (most of which stores no longer exist, alas). I picked Shree 420 off the shelf while browsing, took it home, and was surprised at how good it was. Then I went back to the stores and bought more and more DVDs (without spending a lot of money, because so many could be found for $3-$5, $7 at most). It’s that simple. For people who continue to ask me, there’s no great mystery behind my supposed expertise on old Indian movies. I liked some things, so I looked for more, and I got to like more. Though I did search out information and read a little as time went on, too (for the next nine-plus years)…
While I love all the classical Indian dances, I think it’s fair to say that my favorite is Kathak. (Or this, at least, has become my favorite in the past few years or so.) And while watching Kathak, I have often gotten the most enjoyment just from watching the footwork and the parts that focus on it. In technical terms, this aspect of the dance that I love is called “tatkar.” But I hesitate to use that word too much in my own descriptions, because real Kathak tatkar can get very complex, involving strings of “rhythmic syllables” and a very involved interaction between the dancer and (other) percussionists. If I try to figure out what makes genuinely great tatkar, I might end up going out of my element. So, let’s just say that I love the footwork – how it looks, how it sounds, and how it fits in with the music and the dance.
When I think of this Kathak footwork as it has appeared in movies, the kind of scene that I have most in mind is the one where the dancer is relatively stationary – not leaping around like a ballerina, etc. (which doesn’t happen in real classical Kathak) – and all the fancy moves of the dance are concentrated in the feet. The feet create a rhythm as they hit the floor, and the rhythm is enhanced by jangling of the ghungroos, those straps with numerous bells in them that are affixed around the ankles. The dance, itself, creates music and is therefore part of the scene’s soundtrack. We see this phenomenon in dances from other cultures, such as Flamenco and tap dance (which I also love), but I think it’s most apparent in Kathak. The music that comes out of a Kathak performance would not exist in its entirety without the dance, just as the dance could not happen in the absence of music. And I find that very interesting.
I have to say, I also really enjoy looking at the feet as they’re working. I have joked before that I may have developed a Bollywood-related foot fetish. I won’t speculate as to how true that might be – not seriously, anyway. But part of the fun here also comes from seeing the brilliant work of an instrument being played. In a Kathak film scene, a close-up on the feet is a close-up on the most prominent musical instrument.
So, with all this in mind, I decided that I would try to put together a list of scenes that emphasize or peak with this Kathak footwork, with at least some close-up on the feet and an emphasis on the music that they’re making. But when I started to think about the best footwork scenes that I’ve seen, I kept coming up with the same three dancers: Roshan Kumari, Gopi Krishna, and Sitara Devi. I might have dug up a couple of other examples (Vyjayanthimala could sort of break in with one scene or another), but the list would still be overwhelmingly weighed in the direction of these three people, whom we might consider the Kathak/tatkar royalty. So, finally, that is how I came up with this very narrowed down list and title.
And now, if you have managed to read through all of the overly long introduction above…
For the first scene, here is a delightful number from Parineeta (1953). Here, the close-ups on the footwork are fairly short, but they are prominent, and the scene, itself, is historically prominent because it shows one of the earliest film appearances for both Gopi Krishna and Roshan Kumari. (Actually, it was Roshan Kumari’s film debut, according the info that I have glimpsed.) Both dancers were definitely not yet out of their teens when they danced to this song – in fact, I don’t think they were beyond their mid-teens – but they still were fantastic.
A couple of years after Parineeta, Gopi Krishna made his famous debut as a star, in Jhanak Jhanak Payal Baaje. Here, he was maybe 17 or 18 years old. His co-star, Sandhya, was a bit older, somewhere in her 20s. But it was Gopi who taught her Kathak – just for this film (at the request of Sandhya’s husband, V. Shantaram) – and I have to admit that Sandya (much as I love her) did not excel to being a Kathak dancer on par with Gopi or the other stars on this list. But the scenes of she and Gopi doing Kathak together still are famously wonderful! And among the many dance scenes in this film, I knew right away that I had to include the one for “Rat Basant Aayi Ban Upavan” (aka the “Raag Malika”) because the bulk of this scene consists of the stars’ dancing feet, superimposed over scenes of nature. After a short introduction, it’s all Kathak footwork!
Then, as I thought more about Gopi Krishna’s tatkar in Jhanak Jhanak Payal Baaje, I realized that I could not leave out the following dance scene, which occurs near the beginning of the film. It includes some magnificent footwork by Gopi and magnificent other stuff, too (and, obviously, Sandhya thought so also).
Now it is time to pay attention to Gopi’s aunty, Sitara. Her most incredible footwork scene, in my opinion, was in a dance that was very far from the traditional Kathak or mujra setting. It was the dance for the great snake (?) that she did for Anjali (1957). There is not much in the way of foot closeups here, but the whole dance is centered on the Kathak-style footwork, as you can see in the rapid vibrations of her body and as you can hear in the incredibly rapid jangling of her ghungroos.
There are a couple of somewhat Kathak-based dances by Sitara in Aabroo (1943). The one below contains some brief moments of very nice Kathak-based footwork. Understanding that this is in no way a real Kathak dance (it’s a bit more of a cabaret dance), nonetheless, I think there is enough classical influence here to qualify it. And besides, it’s just so nice!
Now, let’s move a bit ahead in time to include a scene from a classic documentary. Maybe it is cheating to include a piece of a film that isn’t fictional, but I couldn’t resist adding this scene because it is so great, and it does have some wonderful tatkar in it (done with the cutest red-colored toes, I might add). And it is still classic, coming as it does from a Films Division movie made in 1970.
…Which leads me to the greatest footwork scene, within the greatest Kathak scene, in the history of Indian cinema. Of course, a lot of people reading this would know what I mean without even taking a peek at the video below – that is, that I am referring to the dance in Satyajit Ray’s film, Jalsaghar… Within this greatest Kathak scene, I think the close-up on her feet doing the tatkar is truly spectacular. And as you can see, the hero (or perhaps anti-hero) agrees too, as he is totally mesmerized. Maybe the nawabs of yore also understood that there were few experiences as great as watching superb Kathak footwork.
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P.S. There is now a pretty perfect-looking description of Roshan Kumari at Wikipedia. It would be nice to learn who put this together, because it includes a lot of facts and speculated notions that have been thrown around here in this blog in the past, but that could never be located together in one place. I think, therefore, that this Wiki entry must be relatively new or newly expanded.
Since the last time I looked, a number of new clips have appeared from that classic communist film from Kerala called Ningalenne Communistakki.
I’ve found clips to replace old ones that disappeared (which I am now doing in some other posts – gradually), clips of songs from the film that I have never seen on YouTube before, and clips of the entire film (which definitely were not posted before the last couple of years). Unfortunately, I still cannot find a copy with English subtitles, but I have found one small song translation – in the comments section below one of the new(er) videos. I’ll get to that in a minute, but right now I would like to mention – for those who don’t know this already – that this film, the play it was based on, the group that first produced it (that is, Kerala People’s Arts Club), and the history of communism in Kerala have been subjects of interest to me for quite a while, going back more than ten years before I started this blog. And I have referred to these subjects almost since the blog’s beginning, before the blog even settled into being a full-fledged Indian film blog (and then some). For these reasons, fairly soon, I plan to post a list of links related to this subject, from this blog and at least one other blog as well. (I will add it either as a postscript or a sequel post. But if you want to give yourself a preview before I do that, you are welcome to search for this film title or KPAC or Kerala, and you will find a whole lot of things.) For today’s post, though, I’m going to give these subjects a somewhat lighter treatment, because I mainly want to focus on the pleasure of finding, hearing, and watching the songs – even though I, myself, don’t know a word of Malayalam and may never learn it, either.
Now let’s start with the song that I just said I was going to get back to, which is “Kothumbu Vallom….”
And let me say, this song would feel uplifting to me even if I didn’t know anything about the meaning of the words, but I do, thanks to the translation that appears in comments below the YouTube post. The comment poster, Vinod KB, apologetically calls this translation “rough,” and it does include some errors in punctuation and spelling (which I have tried to clear up a little here) as well as some phrases that maybe don’t make sense. But despite its drawbacks, I think it does help us to understand the contents of the song – as well as the likely gist of a few of the others.
Rowing the small canoe, you farmer lady, who is the blacksmith lady who made your sickle used for reaping. Blacksmith lady who made the sword for Unniyarcha lady and who also made made the shield for Pazhassi Lord, you made the the shield in olden times, you blacksmith woman. By blowing the wind to the kiln, you spread the fire in red sky when sun rises. You made the anklet for Leo (month), moonlight girl. For the Virgo, Libra (months) rain clouds, you made the rain clouds. You made the fan for the storm in the courtyard of western sea, the rainbow made by you, blacksmith lady. You made the Veena for the singers of revolution, you, blacksmith lady. You made the lamp for the huts of Vayalar, small lamp made by you, blacksmith lady. You bloomed one silver flower, blacksmith woman, in the sky which gets dark when it sleeps.
Vinod also provides an explanation of the symbolism in the song – especially as it pertains to the history of India – but I’ll let readers travel to YouTube to see that. Actually, the explanation was a little (more) confusing to me, though there is much useful information there, too. And much of the symbolism and the social ideas in the lyrics (as translated here) were clear to me from a more general context – as they should be to many people, especially if they know a little about the socialist/Marxist perspectives and history. While I can’t really say anything about the meaning of the lyrics in the other songs in the film, I can imagine that some of those songs also have references like the ones here to the “red sky,” the coming storm (“in the courtyard of [the] western sea”), the “singers of revolution,” and the blooming of “one silver flower” (among a hundred blooming flowers, I assume). These kinds of lyrics capture the excitement and hope that would be present at the height of a radical or revolutionary socialist movement. (And maybe some, like this one, are also heartfelt tributes to members of the agrarian working class.) This is something that I have kept in the back of my mind while I viewed the other clips in the film. Out of necessity (because I don’t understand the lyrics), I do have to give the other songs a somewhat lighter treatment, talking more about their qualities as film songs, my love for the sound of the vocals, and my thoughts about the moods and emotions that the song sequences convey. But they are also excellent songs for those reasons alone – which is why I think they are probably just as impressive as the socially conscious/leftist songs from Hindi cinema’s Golden Age. (If only I could get one good, full translation or set of subtitles… If there are any Malayalam speakers out there who’d be up for such a project, please let me know!)
Now, there is another activist rallying song in the film that I have known about and enjoyed for a number of years, “Pallanayarin Theerathu.” Although I don’t know the exact context of this scene and I can’t understand any of the lyrics, I have always thought of this as the “campus rally song.” This is one of the songs that I particularlylly like for its vocals and music. I am especially charmed here by the singing of P. Susheela, whom I (and I guess most people) know from her playback in Tamil films. (Of course, I first became acquainted with P. Susheela as one of the Tamil playback singers for Padmini.) The male singer here is M.G. Radhakrishnan, who became renowned in Kerala as both a Carnatic singer and a music director. However, this song was made a while before he would take up the role of music director. The MD for this film is the great D. Devarajan.
The first song from Ningalenne Communistakki that I ever saw/heard was “Neelakadampin Poovo,” which I liked instantly. This is not a rallying scene. I imagine that there might be some political messaging in the lyrics, and I wonder what book this woman is holding to her heart at the beginning (hmm, I wonder if it’s the Communist Manifesto . . . ). But generally, this strikes me as a sweet and romantic kind of scene, made especially sweet by the legendarily melodic voice of Yesudas. (Among a number of songs that I’ve seen/heard by Yesudas, this is certainly one of my favorites.) The scene is also a lot of fun to watch and actually quite amusing, especially because of the exaggerated coyness exhibited by the female character. (I am not all that familiar with Malayalam actors, but from my reading of the cast, I believe the actress might be Sheela. In any event, this actress, all by herself, looks to me like a real bundle of sweetness. And the actor who serves as the face for Yesudas’ sweet voice is Prem Nazir.) By the way, there is another copy of this video that actually has better audio quality (because it comes through both channels), but I chose this one because it includes the beginning and end parts of the song/scene that the other version misses, and I think those parts are essential.
And then there’s “Ellarum Paadathu . . . ,” which repeats much of the music of “Neelakadampin Poovo”. . . I don’t think there was any version of this posted before April of 2015, and I discovered it just now, because I was looking for the second song in the film that was sung by P. Susheela. There still isn’t a video version of this posted anywhere (as far as I know), but I greatly enjoyed listening to it.
Now, getting back to Yesudas ,. . . Here is another song that showcases his legendarily melodious singing, and another sweet scene as well. (And I should add that, like the other song, it highlights Kerala’s beautiful natural scenery – maybe even more so this time.)
And then there is a lively song at the end of the film that accompanies one of the best march/rally scenes that I have ever seen. As with “Eelarum Paadathu,” it took long time before I could find any version on YouTube, and when it finally appeared, it was only in an audio clip.. But it’s easy enough to find in the film, since it is at the very end; it is a fittingly inspiring conclusion. The song is “Aikya Munnani.”
There are a couple of versions of the full film up on YouTube now (which I would not have thought possible a couple of years ago). I am favoring the version from Entertainment Junction, although the video is stretched a bit too wide (warning: bad aspect ratio!). The other version that I saw may have the same problem, or maybe not quite as much (I’m not sure). Both seem to come from the same source… This version, however, is not packed full of ads like the other one I saw (which is a pretty horrendous thing to see in a communist film!). Also, I particularly enjoyed the description of the film provided under the video, which summarizes the context in very good way:
Ningalenne Communistakki (Malayalam: നിങ്ങളെന്നെ കമ്മ്യൂണിസ്റ്റാക്കി, meaning: you made me a communist), is a Malayalam socio-political play by Kerala People’s Arts Club (KPAC). This was the second and most popular stage play of KPAC . This drama propelled KPAC into the forefront of [the] Kerala cultural scene and played a historical role in popularising the Communist movement in Kerala during 1950’s, eventually leading to the establishment of first democratically elected communist ministry in the world in 1957 in Kerala under E. M. S. Namboodiripad.
I may have written a bunch about the historical context also, but I don’t think I could have summed it up in such a concise – and precise – way! But, of course, as I mentioned before, there are quite a few posts, articles, etc. – in this blog and elsewhere – that you might look at to get a more detailed perspective on Kerala’s most famous communist movie.
[5/19] And here it is, the postscript that I promised . . .
There is a post on Ningalenne Communistakki at the Old Malayalam Film Blog. But the songs are a little different – from the original play, it seems, not the film:
And that will be about it for related links for now – but more might follow. There actually is a good amount of writing out there about KPAC and Ningalenne Communistakki.
I think I have mentioned before in this blog that I have become quite fond of seeing what dances people have to offer in spaces in their apartments, such as their kitchens or living rooms. There are a number of reasons for that. One is that I get a little weary of the kind of Bollywood dance scene – prevalent especially recently – that involves a huge amount of production and lots of participants and lots of very elaborate costumes, too. Considering what most people picture when they think of Bollywood, it might seem like a huge contradiction for me to be so fond of Hindi films but also so fond of minimal production. But you’ll also notice that I obsess about the Vintage and Golden Age Hindi films, where production – whether out of choice or necessity – often was minimal. Films from that era most commonly feature solo dances or dances with a lead dancer or two and a small chorus. When there is a crowd dance, it seems kind of special because it is an exception. But these days, it seems that almost every prominently featured dance in an Indian film has to be overcrowded.
I have often had a tendency to flee forms that have been invested with a lot of money and production, into something more minimal and homemade. This goes back many years, to the late 1970s, when, as a teenager, I fled the expensively and pompously produced mainstream rock of the day into early manifestations of the genre that would become internationally known as new wave or punk.
Sometimes I like to see performances by people who are not necessarily stars and have not had huge studios invested in them, who are happy simply to practice and exhibit an art that they love. I also think it’s a lot of fun to see people doing classical Indian or Bollywood dances in very ordinary surroundings, in front of objects as incongruous as, say, modern kitchen appliances. I like the contrast, but I also like that the dancers are totally removed from the elaborate sets and surroundings that commonly go with such performances in a contemporary Bollywood movie or, say, a highly promoted theatrical production.
One example of the incongruous appliances that we might see a dancer perform in front of is a refrigerator. Several years ago, my blogging friend Sitaji (of Bollywood Food Club) wrote a delightful post on the “Refrigerator Mujra.” She actually gave me a lot of credit in that post for my supposed expertise about the contemporary Pakistani mujra (which is definitely very different from the classical mujra). But that’s far from the only reason I liked it… I really liked that Sitaji had noticed these refrigerators in so many mujras, especially by two of the most prominent dancers, Nargis and her sister Deedar. I thought that was terrifically observant, and since that moment, I have looked for refrigerators in many of the dances that I’ve watched.
So, finally, after all this time, I have decided to write a post featuring a handful or so of dances done in front of refrigerators, tables, couches, etc., in kitchens, halls, living rooms… But these aren’t contemporary Pakistani mujras – which have their own particular risqué quality and do get some commercial attention for it, being broadcast on TV, sold by DVD companies, and promoted on tours, etc. No, these are dances – whether classical or more loosely improvised “Bollywood,” etc. – that genuinely look like performances that people – or, to be more precise in this case, women – have taken the time to do at home.
Since I have been writing just now about kitchens and refrigerators, I thought we should start out with this “Fast Kathak,” one of several videos posted under the name Jasmin Bieber that take place in front of a refrigerator. I guess we can say that this is at the low end production-wise and this is someone who is just starting to do these kinds of videos. But I couldn’t help but notice how, most of the time, her dance is beautifully framed by the refrigerator behind her. In fact, this is the video that made me think about the “refrigerator mujras” all over again, and as soon as I saw this, I had to contact Sitaji, who also was very impressed. And the dancing is pretty nice, too.
This next dance is much more clearly videoed, and it is very nice to watch. The song comes from a 1972 film Bawarchi, and the dance was done by the actress then known as Jaya Badhuri. It’s not an easy act to follow, but I think this dancer named Akanksha Sharma definitely does it justice . But as you can see, she is dancing in front of a wall that badly needs painting, in a foyer outside of a room that might very well be a kitchen (and if it is not a kitchen, I would welcome any suggestions as to what it is).
I found the following Kuchipudi dance to be quite beautiful, to the point where I definitely could not watch it just once. The channel is in the name of Naga Durga, which must be the name of the dancer and/or her troupe. Other videos show that she does perform in theatrical settings, but I think the homey background in this video actually adds extra charm. I can’t completely tell if it is in a home, though. A couple of times, you can see that on the right there is an area that looks like part of a small beauty salon. Of course, it could be a salon that was set up in someone’s home.
This next one is a classical dance that probably just appeared on YouTube as I was writing an earlier part of this post. It’s a very pretty dance, but I am also impressed by the fully furnished background, including the plush leather couch, the night table, and the home entertainment system. This is a classic living room dance, by Anindita Neogy.
And last for this post – but certainly not least – I am going to include two dances by Shanelle Bell. I think it is fair to say that I would consider Shanelle to be the queen of home-based Bollywood dancing in the U.S. Her dances can have some very funny and risque qualities, so they might be the closest in spirit to the refrigerator mujras that Sitaji posted about. But Shanelle bases most of her dances on classic Bollywood films, and she usually adds English subtitles. (So, I have actually found her dance videos to be very informative, too.) I have been watching her dances for more than a year now, and I think she is getting better and better as time goes on.
This dance below – for everybody’s favorite Nagin song, “Man Dole Tan Dole” – is done entirely in a narrow hallway, leading to what I presume is the front door of the apartment. At some point, especially past the 4:30 mark, you can see a room on the side that may very well be a kitchen. At first I got excited because I thought I saw a refrigerator, but then I realized that it’s probably just a cabinet.
The next dance (based on a song from Hema Malini’s first film) is positively splendid. There isn’t much furniture here, but I imagine it’s a bedroom or the central room in a small apartment. The tiles are very nice.
I have seen quite a few at-home dances that I would consider worthy to post here. (In fact, as I recall, I saw a fantastic classical dance in a bathroom.) Unfortunately, I didn’t bookmark them, and I didn’t have the idea to do a post like this until very recently. When I find – or re-find – a handful more of these dances, I will proabably write a sequel post. I may very well also write a post devoted entirely to Shanelle Bell.
Note on April 6: I have to add another one to the list (I didn’t want to wait for the sequel post). This is Aishu, and I think she is marvelous.
P.S. The title for this post was inspired by Another Music in a Different Kitchen, an album released in 1978 by a British punk rock group called The Buzzcocks.
A few months ago, when I was reading Ted Shawn’s dance travel book from the 1920s, I was very intrigued by his descriptions of the dances of the Adivasi group, the Santals, and also by his mention of the Oraons, a tribe whom a colleague of his had written about. As I mentioned in my blog post where I discussed this book, Gods Who Dance, Shawn had been disappointed in the dances that he’d found by the famed “Nautch girls” but then became completely captivated by these Adivasi dances, which he discovered while taking a break from the main part of his tour. In fact, his response to these dancers was positively euphoric, and because he was a good writer, it is a euphoria that readers can easily catch from him.
Of course, after reading Shawn’s description, I had to look at some Santali dances (and then some dhimsa dances, which I’ll get back to in a little while), and I also was instantly captivated.
One thing that struck me about the Santali dances that I didn’t expect at first was that, while the men – who were mainly the musicians, too – did a relatively free-form kind of dancing (sometimes accompanied by acrobatics), the women did a dance of a very distinct and recognizable kind that I had seen many times before. Of course, if I had paid closer attention to the details of Shawn’s description (rather than just catching his enthusiasm), I would have realized what I would find:
The women lined up according to height, with hands linked and forearms laid against each other. The remained in this closed formation, the steps advancing and retreating, with a continuous progression to the left, and a marked pulse throughout the whole body which proceeded from the knees – not a hip movement or a shoulder movement, as one would first analyze it, but the movement of the body as a whole . . . .
All this time the women kept up their advancing and retreating steps with their arms joined, and by progressing always to the left, described a huge circumference around the dancing field. At times they bent low and made rhythmic motions as of gathering something from the ground.
The kind of dance that Shawn described – and that I recognized – is what’s known as a chain dance or circle dance. I had seen these dances performed mainly by Arabs from the Middle East and also by certain tribes in Turkey, most notably the Kurds.
Wikipedia contains a pretty good description of the chain dance/circle dance and its history:
Circle dance, or chain dance, is a style of dance done in a circle or semicircle to musical accompaniment, such as rhythm instruments and singing. Circle dancing is probably the oldest known dance formation and was part of community life from when people first started to dance.
Dancing in a circle is an ancient tradition common to many cultures for marking special occasions, rituals, strengthening community and encouraging togetherness. The dance can also be enjoyed as an uplifting group experience or as part of a meditation. Circle dances are choreographed to many different styles of music and rhythms.
Unlike line dancing, circle dancers are in physical contact with each other; the connection is made by hand-to-hand, finger-to-finger or hands-on-shoulders. It is a type of dance where anyone can join in without the need of partners. Generally, the participants follow a leader around the dance floor while holding the hand of the dancers beside them. The dance can be gentle or energetic.
For a couple of the reasons described above, I find the circle/chain dances to be refreshingly different from most dances that I have known. I appreciate that they are dances that do not require people to select partners, do not focus on one-to-one romances, and are open to everyone (or everyone of one or another gender, depending on the group that is dancing, etc.). Moreover, though they often have a leader, the circle/chain dances do not have individuals taking the proverbial spotlight more than anyone else. At the same time, there is a constant physical contact between all the dancers, but it is not the kind of contact associated with two people in a romance or anyone having an exclusive connection with each other; it is all-inclusive and community-oriented (but, at the same time, I think, very warm).
The Wikipedia entry goes on to describe many places where circle dances and chain dances can be found, but, unless I’m missing something, it does not mention India. I guess that a lot of people don’t know that there are native tribes in India that take part in ancient chain dances, and it wasn’t something that I was aware of before, either. But after looking at some Indian chain dances, I am convinced that the Adivasis do this best.
As I mentioned several paragraphs ago, in addition to dances labeled as Santali, I discovered a group of dances called dhimsa. The Oraons do dhimsa dancing, but so do several other tribes. And judging by the videos that I have seen, the dhimsa dances are even better – livelier and more varied, but still always kept within very tight chains or circles.
Below is a small selection of both Santali dances and dhimsa dances (alternating). I do not know if any of these scenes are particularly prominent or well known; they are just live dances put on YouTube that I saw and liked. And, of course, I hope the people who are reading this will like them a lot, too.
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