Throughout my extensive career as a professional dancer, I have encountered numerous individuals connected to the world of performing arts and have had some truly remarkable experiences that remain vivid in my memory.
One such experience occurred when I was around seventeen years old. I walked into my Kathak class on a sunny Sunday morning, feeling a bit anxious as I had an important show approaching, and this class was a special one before the performance. I noticed a young boy sitting on a bench in the lobby. He was dressed rather shabbily, in somewhat tattered clothing and worn-out shoes. In my pre-show jitters, I paid little attention to him, assuming he might be the janitor’s son responsible for maintaining the premises. As I prepared with my ghungroos, my teacher arrived and warmly invited the boy inside, asking him to start playing the harmonium. To my astonishment, the young boy began singing my guru’s favorite song with a voice that seemed almost divine. I was utterly captivated. That day, his heavenly voice elevated my performance, imparting a profound lesson in humility.
In another memorable example, our troupe was performing in a rural area outside the city. There was no urban ambiance or sophistication to be found, and everything was makeshift, from the tent to the stage and even the lighting setup. Despite these humble surroundings, the crowd was substantial. Mid-performance, I noticed a man perched atop a tall bamboo pole, precariously hanging there and adjusting the color filters on the spotlights. His flawless execution left me in awe. He perfectly controlled every fade-out, fade-in, and tonal change throughout the scenes. He remained perched up there for the entire show. It was then that I realized the unwavering dedication of these “artistes,” who were often underpaid, yet approached their craft with utmost sincerity and love. They were the unsung heroes, their dedication and craftsmanship often overlooked, but their contribution to our art form was immeasurable.
