More Than a Rangapravesam
“I know very little about Kuchipudi.”
That was my honest thought as I walked into Carnegie Hall, East Port, Dunfermline, on Saturday afternoon for Anjaly Jayanty’s Rangapravesam.
I wasn’t there to judge ragas, talas or mudras. I simply wanted to witness an important milestone in a young artist’s life. Four hours later, I walked out thinking less about dance and more about the people who made that evening possible.
This isn’t a review of Kuchipudi. It’s simply how one evening made me feel.
The evening actually began outside the auditorium. When we arrived, the doors were still closed because a pooja was taking place inside. Nobody seemed bothered. Instead, people stood outside chatting over jilebi and pakodi, catching up after what felt like ages. It immediately felt less like attending a performance and more like attending a family celebration. Looking around, volunteers were already running around making sure everything was ready. Right there, before a single dance had begun, I got the feeling that this wasn’t just Anjaly’s event. It belonged to an entire community.
The programme started exactly at 4 pm. That deserves appreciation in itself! We later learnt that Carnegie Hall had been booked for three days beforehand just for rehearsals. Looking back after the performances, that preparation was visible everywhere. Every transition, every cue, every entrance and every musical change happened effortlessly. That’s never an accident.
One thoughtful touch I absolutely loved was the anchors introducing every musician before each performance. I don’t remember seeing that before. We often applaud the dancer, but classical dance is never a solo effort. The orchestra deserves just as much appreciation. Kaushik’s singing throughout the evening was simply beautiful. His voice didn’t merely accompany the dance; it carried the emotions. Add the violin, mridangam, nattuvangam and the rest of the orchestra, and the entire performance felt alive. In fact, this was the first Kuchipudi Rangapravesam I’ve attended with a full live orchestra, and I sincerely hope it won’t be the last.
The opening item, Alokaye Sri Balakrishnam, gave me goosebumps.
That’s honestly the simplest way I can describe it.
For those few minutes, it genuinely felt as though little Krishna had come alive on stage. The innocence, the mischief, the expressions – everything felt effortless. Then came the famous Tarangam. Watching Anjaly dance intricate rhythms while balancing on the rim of a brass plate was astonishing. Videos don’t do justice to it. Watching it live is something else entirely. Dance, music, rhythm, balance, endurance and expression all came together beautifully. It reminded me just how extraordinary the human body can become after years of disciplined practice.
The second piece, Satyabhama Pravesa Daruvu, changed the mood completely. Guru Smt. Sarvani Yadavalli herself came on stage as Madhavi, Satyabhama’s confidante. What followed felt less like a dance recital and more like a beautifully acted play. Madhavi gently teasing Satyabhama, and Anjaly portraying that lovely siggu while speaking about Rajagopala (Krishna), had the audience smiling throughout.
I don’t know enough to comment on technical aspects of abhinaya, but I know what good acting looks like. Anjaly’s expressions felt so natural that I almost forgot I was watching classical dance. The subtle live music underneath the dialogue, Kaushik’s singing and the conversations between Guru and student blended together so beautifully that I found myself completely immersed in the story.
Before Sandhya Tandavam, one of the anchors, Mithilesh, gave a lovely introduction to Lord Shiva. As he recited shlokas, the violin quietly played in the background, almost like a soundtrack supporting his narration. Such a small touch, yet it added so much. He even sang a portion himself before the dance began. It was one of those details that many people may not consciously notice, but everyone feels.
Another beautiful moment came from Anjaly’s brother, Abhi, who was one of the anchors. He said that while watching the performance, it no longer felt like he was watching his sister. Instead, it felt as though some celestial angel had descended onto the stage. That’s probably one of the nicest compliments an elder brother can give.
One observation that made me smile throughout the evening involved the children. The organisers had requested that young children not attend because a performance like this deserves complete attention. A few little ones were there, doing exactly what children do – walking around, making funny faces and occasionally crying. But what I appreciated was how thoughtfully the parents handled it. Whenever a child became restless, they quietly stepped outside. It’s not easy for children – or even adults unfamiliar with classical arts – to sit through a four-hour programme. Everyone seemed to understand that.
That part struck a personal chord with me.
My wife missed the entire evening. Not because she wasn’t interested, but because someone had to stay home with our twenty-month-old twins. Expecting toddlers to sit through four hours of classical dance would be crazy and no way possible. As much as I enjoyed the evening, I couldn’t help wishing she had experienced the goosebumps of Alokaye Sri Balakrishnam, the charming conversations between Satyabhama and Madhavi, the grandeur of Shiva’s Tandavam and the magic of a live orchestra.
Then another thought crossed my mind on the drive home.
Maybe one day, years from now, we won’t be sitting in the audience at all.
Maybe one of our twins or both will be nervously waiting behind the curtains for their own Kuchipudi Rangapravesam.
Who knows?
Now let me talk about a few people who probably watched less of the programme than I did.
Guess who I couldn’t even properly say hello to?
Ranjit.
My favourite community volunteer.
Every time I looked around, he was somewhere behind the scenes helping with arrangements. I genuinely don’t think he managed to sit through many performances. That’s Ranjit. He has quietly supported our community and the arts for years without ever seeking recognition. There are many wonderful volunteers in our community, but for me, Ranjit has always been my favourite. He’s one of my role models when it comes to serving the community.
The same goes for Venkatesh Gaddam.
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During the performance I asked him if I could help with vaddinchadam later. He smiled and said, “I’ll call you after the show.”
True to his word, immediately after the last performance he called me. While the vote of thanks was still happening, he advised us to have our dinner first because “everyone will arrive in a few minutes.” We enjoyed a lovely six-course meal and were then ready to help serve everyone else. That’s experience. That’s someone who knows exactly how community events work.
Talking about organisers, I couldn’t help thinking about Hima Bindu Jayanty – our Bindu akka.
Anyone involved with the Telugu community here knows her. She has done so much for our community over the years. She’s meticulous in planning, incredibly hardworking and never hesitates to tell all of us Indians to settle down and keep quiet when a programme is about to begin!
Yesterday was different.
She was nowhere near the microphone because she was busy behind the scenes making sure everything worked perfectly.
The funny thing?
Nobody needed reminding.
We all knew the drill, but more importantly, we were completely mesmerised by what was happening on stage.
The performances finished, but the evening wasn’t over. The vote of thanks probably lasted close to thirty minutes! Normally, I’d be glancing at my watch after ten min. Yesterday, I wasn’t. There were simply too many people to thank. That’s the nature of a Rangapravesam. It may be one dancer standing in the spotlight, but behind that dancer stand parents, guru, musicians, family, volunteers, friends and well-wishers who have all invested years into the journey.
One of the funniest moments came during the acknowledgements. Shyam Jayanty publicly said that all the credit for organising the event belonged to Hima. Without missing a beat, she replied that there were still a few things that hadn’t gone according to plan and that she had “some scores to settle” with him later! The whole hall burst into laughter. Those unscripted family moments somehow made the evening even more memorable.
My favourite ending, however, wasn’t another dance.
It was Anjaly’s vote of thanks.
Instead of simply reading names from a piece of paper, she sang her gratitude. After expressing herself through dance for four hours, she chose to thank everyone through music. It was heartfelt, original and completely fitting.
As I drove home, I realised that while Anjaly’s dancing was magnificent, what stayed with me wasn’t just the performance.
It was the volunteers who sacrificed watching the programme so everyone else could enjoy it.
It was Guru Smt. Sarvani Yadavalli watching her disciple take such an important step.
It was Kaushik and the orchestra breathing life into every story.
It was Mithilesh’s thoughtful introductions and Abhi’s heartfelt words.
It was Hima Bindu Jayanty quietly making everything happen behind the curtains.
It was Ranjit and Venkatesh doing what they always do – serving without expecting applause.
It was parents respectfully stepping outside with restless children.
It was a community coming together not merely to watch a dancer perform, but to celebrate years of dedication to an ancient art.
A Rangapravesam literally means entering the stage.
Watching Anjaly that evening, it felt less like she was entering a stage and more like she was stepping confidently into the next chapter of a lifelong artistic journey.
Thank you to the Jayanty family for the invitation and for allowing all of us to be part of such a beautiful milestone.
And perhaps that’s what I’ll remember most.
Not just the dance.
But everything around it that made it more than a Rangapravesam.
