A real guru - M.K. Saroja

My first visit to India was in 1974, as a part of a group tour organised by the Musée Guimet (the National Museum of Asiatic Arts). Among many other art and culture-related places we visited, it was in Tamil Nadu, on invitation to a house in Kilpauk, that I was exposed to the Indian classical dance form of Bharatanatyam by a young dancer who happened to be none other than Alarmel Valli!

 Back in Paris I formally got initiated into Bharatanatyam under French exponent Malavika who was running yoga and dance classes. I felt a passion for dance which I never knew existed in me. This led me on another small trip to Chennai to study dance from V.S. Muthuswamy Pillai. Language was never a barrier to learning art. But it was the Spring of 1976 that changed the course of my life and brought me into the fold of a guru who seemed to have been ordained for me by Providence. I chanced to go to Centre Mandapa where guru M.K. Saroja was taking classes. It was initially with reluctance that I began practising my footwork, confining myself to the last row in the class, because what I had learnt so far and what was being taught at Mandapa seemed poles apart. Little did I know that Saroja’s teaching (we then used to call her by her name unlearned as we were about addressing a guru) would make a lasting impression on my mind. When she went back to her home in Delhi, I felt an emptiness within and as this began taking over me, I started writing letters to her. The following year, I went to Chennai as part of my study and bonded with Saroja again. We drew closer to each other like guru and disciple, mother and daughter—all in one. During her many visits to France, she would stay with me at my home and this is when I came to see her in many roles that left an indelible mark on me: at Mandapa she was a dedicated teacher; at home a mother who would cook my meal or make my tea with affection as I got home weary from work. She sewed my first ‘practice’ saree with her own hands, not even a sewing machine! So much for her simplicity being my guru.

I was pleasantly surprised when she told me, it was her wish too!

From 1980 began my sojourn with her. Just as she stayed with me during her visits to Paris, I would stay with Saroja and her family in Delhi for months to learn from her. It was not easy in the cold winters of Delhi to teach dance. She would often wrap herself in a shawl with gloves et al to ward off the cold, but not once did she complain about the timing or the weather not being conducive to teaching—such was her dedication to dance. It is here that I met my guru’s vocalist and soulmate Meera Seshadri and also got to know great masters of dance in Delhi. Apart from dance classes, my guru would personally show me around places of interest like Birla Mandir, the Swamimalai Mandir, accompany me to shopping and then come back home to cook a meal for the family. I accompanied her to Chandigarh on a visit to her husband Mohan Khokar’s family. I am eternally grateful to him for making me feel a part of his family too, addressing me as “Vidyu my child”. He would at times suddenly decide to take me around to meet artists or watch tribal performances. In a word, I became a part and parcel of my guru’s family. I realised that I had ‘found’ my master or rather she has found her disciple!

I must narrate a sterling instance of my guru’s compassion and simplicity. I secured a scholarship and came back to India in 1982 to learn dance from Amma as I got used to addressing my guru. We would travel to Chennai, put up with a family in Mandaveli and go daily to a dance school run by Shakuntala Nataraj at Luz by a bicycle where my guru rode pillion and I pedalled. She would teach me four hours a day. I suddenly fell ill; a serious case of hepatitis. It was then that I had an experience of the mother in my teacher. She refused to admit me in a hospital; instead, she would make trips to the hospital with me every day as advised by doctors, nurse me, sanitise my clothes and at times even give me a bath herself. What more could I ask for?

 Back in France, I began to teach and when Amma visited Paris she would teach my students, some of whom went all the way to India to learn from her on scholarship or for a short stay. Many of them like Shalini, Ambika, Maria Kiran, Vanishree, Sabine, and Uday had their arangetram under her tutelage. Caste or creed made no impression on Amma. She was kindness and love personified to all those who crossed her threshold. She respected all religions and all people. It was not unusual for her to offer her lunch box to her students or share lunch with them. Her exceptionality lay in not teaching as a group and also not taking more than four classes in a day. As a guru, she gave her best to her disciples, never denying anyone of anything and made no difference between her students. She would study each student individually and choreograph separate pieces for each one. Where abhinaya was concerned, she preferred to explain orally and made us come out with the expression. She believed each one of us is different and so our expression would also be different. “I can’t be you, and you can’t be me.” She refused to consider herself as a guru, though she was one. Same went with dance; she would often say, “I am not a dancer; I am just dancing.”

During my second scholarship period, I stayed with her in her own house ‘Sri Guru Kripa’ in Palavakkam in 1986. Then it was an isolated place but it was her home where many events were to come in course of time. Amma was a complete teacher, a real guru: she taught me the art of dance, spirituality, behaviour and influenced me through her incredible strength of will and strong sense of independence. She knew me inside out and told me everything from her childhood to adulthood. Her pleasures like herself were simple—her food choices were curd rise, idli sambhar and other south Indian dishes. She loved collecting parijatam and jasmine flowers from the garden. I learnt the art of weaving garland with these flowers for her morning puja. The prasadam would be distributed to all and the cooked meal would first be offered to God and then to birds before we partook of it. I accompanied her on her annual temple visits which would stretch for a week. At times she would go on research for her choreographies with me in tow.

I performed several times in India. My first performance was in 1980 at the Jankar theatre, thanks to my guru’s son Ashish Khokar. Among many, one performance I wish to mention in particular: I performed at the Siva temple in Kattumannarkoil, the native place of Amma’s guru Muthukumara Pillai. Amma performed a padam there with no special costume but just in her regular saree. The entire village came to watch. It was an emotional moment that remains with me to this day. For more than 40 years, I have lived a true family life with my Amma—attending weddings, births, deaths, pujas, making annual Guru Poornima trips to meeting her spiritual Guru in Baroda. She would often say in her sweet, kind voice, “You are my shadow.” So, I was. As time passed and she aged, she became like my child who needed attention and love. During my stay with her, with just the two of us, I did my best to keep her happy and attended to her needs.

 Here are a few gems from my guru that I savour and would like to share:

 “If some people speak ill out of jealousy, let them talk; they make themselves miserable. Don’t dwell on that. Do your work.”

 “If you want to give something, give it. If you think too much, you will always find a reason not to do so.”

 This tribute will remain incomplete without a word of thanks to the entire family—her four sons who are brothers to me, and their families, especially Ashish who did lots for me in every possible way. Amma has not gone; she lives through me, in my everyday living and my teaching. Her presence will remain as long as the art of dancing is carried forward by future generations.

Vidya

 (The author is a very senior French disciple)