Sanjana’s Arangetram Journey, by Sanjana and Anu Puri

Sanjana’s Story

January 14, 2014. That is when I had my first Arangetram practice. I came home, my legs aching after what felt like days of aramandi. I did not think I would make it a month. But I practiced for months and months, sometimes I cried, and sometimes I would wish for it to be over. Finally, the day came. April 26, 2015. It is incredible that an event that took over a year to prepare for could pass by so quickly. I woke up early that morning, and at 7:30, there were about one thousand bobby pins in my hair, and I felt like I weighed a million pounds. The makeup on my face was half an inch thick and there were more safety pins laid out on the table in front of me than I had ever seen in my life. But eventually, everything was secured as tightly as possible, every strand of my hair pulled back, every fold in my dress ironed.

We made it to the auditorium; an auditorium which I had only been in once previously. It was then that I started to feel nervous, a feeling I had not had until this point. My knees started to shake uncontrollably and I sat in the green room, calming myself down, and thinking about each and every dance I was meant to perform that day. Before I knew it, the opening speeches were being made and I was called out to perform my first dance, Pushpanjali.  For many days after the event people continued to ask me “What was it like?” or “How did you feel on stage?” and I replied “I don’t remember anything.” Because it is true, I don’t. It felt like I had just stepped on stage for one dance, and then a minute later I was whisked into the dressing room, changing my costume, having bottles of Gatorade thrown at me and then back on stage for the next piece. Each time it was like this. I would wait for Ranjani Auntie’s nod, I would walk to the center of the stage, and then perform the dance. Before I knew it, we had reached Varnam, the longest, arguably the most important piece of the whole Arangetram. Performing Varnam was like nothing I had ever experienced before. For half an hour, it was like I was in my own little world, forgetting everything except for my steps. As Varnam came to an end, I realized, to my surprise, that I was not tired at all. That, I understood, is the “Arangetram feeling"; there comes a time, in the process of preparing, or on the actual day itself, that you realize that you are not performing this to get it over with, or as a requirement, but that you are performing it for yourself. You forget about what other people think about the clarity of your steps, and you do them the way that you think is the most beautiful. I felt that during Varnam. The second half passed by, and soon I was standing in the middle of the stage, taking one last bow and watching shadowy figures stand up and clap for me.

A year ago, I would have expected the day after my Arangetram to be the most relaxing day of my life, I would feel like a cloud, no more worries. But the opposite happened. Once you completely immerse yourself in something, and spend countless hours aiming for a single goal, when you achieve it, you can’t help but feel a longing for it again. No dance or performance I ever do after this will compare to my Arangetram. Some part of me wishes I was back at that time, performing in front of all those people, and I find myself, almost a month after my Arangetram, watching the alta from my feet slowly fade away, a shadow of a beautiful memory. But, an Arangetram is traditionally the first time a dancer performs on stage, so my Bharatnatyam journey has not ended, it has only just started.

A Mother’s Viewpoint

We embarked upon this journey, a bit nervous and unsure, but knowing that our daughter’s Guru, Ranjaniji, weaves magic from music notes and dance steps. We watched in astonishment as our daughter transformed as the year went by to a more responsible, self-confident young lady, slowly grasping the transformative power of this endeavor.

On her Arangetram day, as she danced to the superb accompaniment of the orchestra and vocalist, we were even more astonished as she performed complicated steps with a smile on her face and no outward signs of fatigue or fear. With a poise we did not know she had, she told stories of Lord Ganesha and Hanuman—through “Mushika Vahana” and “Sankat Mochana”; of the lovely meeting of Lord Rama and Sita in “Sri Ramachandra Kripalu” and of the playful antics of Lord Krishna, in “Murli Manohar Krishna Kanaihya”. The Varnam left us spellbound. As the day came to an end with the delightful Thillana, and the final aarti, “Ambe tu jagadambe kali” was over, the fullness in our hearts was reflected in the dampness in our eyes.

Guests said they loved the performance, asking how Sanjana managed to dance for so long with so much apparent enjoyment--I honestly cannot say. Except that it would have been impossible without the loving encouragement of family and friends and most importantly the blessing of having Ranjaniji to travel with on this remarkable voyage.

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