On January 17, legendary Kathak exponent Pandit Birju Maharaj passed away in the early hours of the morning at his home in New Delhi at the age of 84. Many tributes were issued to commemorate his life as one of India’s best known artistes.
I woke up the next day to an Instagram post by dancer Naina Roychowdhury Green that detailed allegations of sexual abuse and rape against Pandit Maharaj. Green’s post led to several survivors to come forward and share their stories with her – which she posted anonymously.
Many spoke of quitting dance for good because of what had happened with them.
Serial sexual harasser Birju Maharaj, whose unchecked predations drove away so many students from Kathak, dies at 83 without being punished or even formally called out by the Indian classical dance communityhttps://t.co/1WU5ErG9im
— Amba Azaad (@AmbaAzaad) January 17, 2022
“At first it was slight grazes of my breasts. One day he asked me to stay back. I can’t go into details but my underwear was soaked with blood for days. I had not yet gotten my menses. The colour was deep red,” shared a woman who trained with Maharaj at a young age.
The process of reading these accounts has been nauseating. Almost everyone involved in the realm of classical dance is aware of the rampant sexual abuse that occurs within this ecosystem, but have largely always chosen to stay silent.
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It appalls me to look back at my time as a Kathak dancer and the normalised sexist and abusive culture around me.
My guru’s way of shielding her students from such practices was to fix responsibility for such attacks on us. We were constantly burdened by strict social practices. We were only allowed to wear traditional clothes at all times. Any item of clothing which was even remotely ‘revealing’ was strictly forbidden and it was common to slut-shame those who did not comply.
My guru would strictly keep us away from the musicians who would accompany us on tours. She constantly reiterated the threatening conditions of our work space, and sometimes casually joked about it too.
When it comes to abuse, the stench of silence stems from the institution of guru-shishya parampara. Most dancers start learning the art at the formative age of four or five. Through this parampara, a deep sense of fear and power hierarchy is instilled in dancers at a young age, conditioning them to accept and adapt to everything hurled at them.
I started learning Kathak when I was four. My mother was extremely passionate about dance and expected big things from me. She still laughs when she reminisces about how she had to practically drag me to class for the first six to seven years of training.
However, the way I recount the story is a little different and not particularly funny.
I remember feeling extremely anxious and insecure at the thought of going to class. I was born with two left feet, and struggled to learn the art form. Since I was so young, I would often start playing or having fun in class instead of practising. However, my playfulness would always be shut down with disdain.
One day, when I was five, I was horribly belittled, humiliated, and sent out of the class by my guru because I had forgotten to bring my notebook. Soon enough, since I was taking my time to learn to dance, my public vilification became a regular affair.
I was just five, but such behaviour from our gurus was deemed appropriate and normal.
One day, I felt the need to go to the bathroom while class was still going on. I was so terrified of my guru that I could not bring myself to ask her for permission. By the end of class, I burst into tears and peed myself.
As toxic as it was, I still spent years feeling grateful that my guru was at least not physically abusive like may of the other gurus. The problem with imbibing such a narrative at a young age is that it allows the acceptable level of treatment for the self drop to the lowest possible level.
Also read: Legendary Kathak Dancer Birju Maharaj Passes Away
The toxicity in the guru-shishya parampara entails multiple nuances of mental abuse. It can shatter the concept of self-esteem for young children. I grew up yearning for my guru’s approval, but my guru’s refrain would always be: “You are only a good teacher if you never appreciate your students.”
I spent years living by the rules of this institution and sacrificing my sense of self to get just one word of appreciation or encouragement. But after every practice, I loathed myself for not being ‘good enough’. Even when I grew up and became one of her lead dancers, she hurled constant criticism at me. Whenever I was extremely disappointed by this, my peers would tell me that “her criticism is actually her love for you; it means that you are doing well”.
Along with such treatment of students, another normalised practice is body-shaming. Almost every dancer has been objectified over their body, height, weight and facial features. The impact of rejection due to your body by an idealised figure of authority disorients your relationship with the self.
During my early teenage years, my guru once asked me to avoid smiling naturally on stage because I have crooked teeth. She said my smile did not look elegant. I unquestioningly did exactly as she asked.
The system is well-equipped with a balanced injunction of abuse and legitimacy which manipulates the consent of students. The parampara teaches us that the ‘words of a guru are equivalent to words of god and that they have the right to say anything to you. You have the moral right to abide by it.’
Parents are also party to this abusive structure. The age-old outlook towards teachers in Indian society encourages them to completely hand over their children to such gurus. They turn a blind eye to abusive practices in the name of discipline and tradition.
Since there was no physical harm in my case, my mother always placed the onus on my defiant behaviour.
When I moved away for college, I managed to physically distance myself from my guru. In one way, it was heartbreaking to step away from her. I had to denounce Kathak too, but I don’t think I had any other option.
There is a part of me that has blocked some of the more brutal memories of the training because of the constantly fear I felt. Writing this essay has been a difficult exercise. Until two years ago, every time I would talk about my guru, I would say that “it was okay that she had traumatised me because I learnt so much from her”.
Since then, after time getting therapy, I have understood the toxic nature of that sentence and the extent to which I had internalised the everyday abuse. It is imperative that this parampara is reimagined and put at the centre of the debate that has been kicked off by Kathak’s ongoing #MeToo moment.
I am in the process of reconstructing my relationship with dance through other genres, but I still struggle when it comes to my relationship with teachers. Hopefully one day, I shall be able to heal the scars once and for all.
Shubhangi Derhgawen is a researcher with NDTV. You can find her on Instagram @shubhi_ooshee
Featured image: Saksham Gangwar/Unsplash