Last week, Swati Seshadri performed a full-length Bharatanatyam show at Rich Mix, to a sold-out-audience of well-wishers, contemporaries, and the plain curious. As somebody who is all of these things, I am pleased to write that she inspired.
The evening was choreographed by Seeta Patel, and once the audience was seated it launched without a single word into the traditional maargam, a structure that has persisted as the dominant roadmap for any Bharatanatyam performance that is keen to remain classical. Seeta’s trademark style was recognisable amidst the adherence to tradition; an emphasis on limb extension, adavus that navigated unusual pathways, fast spins, and isolations that had a single movement reverberate through space while the rest of the body remained completely still. I couldn’t help but smile at those leaps and arm movements that had Swati written all over them; really, this evening was a collaboration and Swati inhabited the pieces as truly and as inextricably as her skin. Her involvement in the devising of the choreography was clear also from her leadership of the musical team. The unusually young ensemble of musicians were fresh-faced, calm and generous, and the toe-tapping-head-swaying appreciation from the audience began early in the maargam. Mistakes were perhaps inevitable from a relatively inexperienced ensemble, but true to the intensity of live performance, the audience watched keenly as Swati effortlessly pulled the team back together.
Her intimacy with music was demonstrated most expertly in her varnam, the central piece of the evening. She chose the iconic Charukesi varnam by Lalgudi Jayaraman, and had to bear the consequent pressure of doing such a piece justice. Sitting centrestage in a spotlight and writing letters to Krishna, she began by singing. She asked why he was apathetic to her love, and how he had forgotten their time together. In interspersing each line of lyric with a soliloquy in English, she found a novel way of introducing the Tamil song but most importantly, by singing the verses herself she actually achieved a seamlessness between lyric and protagonist that is otherwise taken for granted. It was in these details that I thought the varnam celebrated the traditions espoused by the maargam format. Each narrative verse of abhinaya was very emotional; Swati often stood close to the audience, asking vulnerable questions with a piercing gaze. But at the end of each of these verses, an effective lighting design would immediately transform the intense and intimate space into a bright and playful arena, where Swati treated the audience to a complex jathi. Although this juxtaposition is at the heart of any varnam, Swati managed to amplify both the emotional intensity of the verse and the relaxed playfulness of the technical interludes such that both states truly welcomed the existence of the other.
Swati came into her element during the varnam, and the rest of the evening followed with ease. Confident stillnesses were followed by explosive travelling sequences. Fast, clear footwork was followed by the graceful shaping of the upper body. The intensity of the Ardanarisvaram piece was followed by a humorous javali where Swati was extremely convincing as a young and frivolous protagonist, dismayed at the gossip that ridiculed her.
In these twists and turns, the evening took on an undulation that had the audience delightfully engaged throughout. Anybody who knows Swati can confirm that she has a bold personality that makes for memorable impressions. The audacious entrances, the playful nritta, the fearless abhinaya - it all added up to elicit a Swati that was possibly more herself on stage than off. What better indication of success and skill within a classical art form than to become closer to your true self within it.