Dancing Debut

-Hetty Borinstein

Her feet are sure and graceful, following their chosen patterns even as the rhythms become impossibly complicated. There is no part of her that does not participate in the dance—even her eyes and fingers have a design to follow. Still more complex are the stories her dances recount. The audience watches as freshman Swetha Kotamraju blurs the line between the dances and the stories they tell. She becomes a warrior goddess, a girl waiting for her love, and even a young butter-thief. She displays a profound mastery of her body and her craft. She is inspiring.

On Sept. 1, Swetha performed the intensely intricate Arangetram. This deeply significant ceremony demonstrated her mastery over the more complicated aspects of Bharatanatyam (a classical Indian dance form) for more than two hours. It was her début into the world of professional dancing. Four hundred of her friends and family came to see her perform.

A “serious hobby” is the way Swetha describes her 10-year passion for dancing. Swetha began dancing when she was four to keep her in touch with the roots of her Indian culture. As she progressed through the training, she found not only a cultural safe-haven, but a creative release.

  “Dancing helps show your version, your take,” she said. “It’s like writing in a diary,”   

Watching Swetha dance at her Arangetram, I saw an enthusiasm and fire that seems to ignite only on the stage.

“I love being able to express emotions and drama that I can’t in real life,” she said. “On the inside, I’m a drama queen, I just don’t show it.”

The sheer maturity of her commitment to the physically-demanding and time-consuming art is impressive in its own right. During the year it took Swetha to prepare for her Arangetram, she worked up from one hour of practice, to three, and then, by the end of this summer, six hours every morning.

A straight-A student who dreams of being a pediatrician, Swetha also has tentative plans for teaching dance on the side. She wants to leave her mark on the world of dance. Recently, in light of the daunting and extensive organization required to set up such a performance, she’s considered creating a website to help people plan their Arangetram.

“It’s like planning a wedding, except you have no groom, or in some cases, no bride,” she said, laughing.

For her big performance, a rare case of stage fright snuck up on Swetha, who usually finds dancing a stress reliever.

“I was shaking,” she said “I was just so nervous to be dancing in front of 400 people!”

But her thorough and extensive practice and years of dancing on the stage allowed her to push through the fears. Planning her debut in the Indian musical world, however, was rather stress-inducing itself. It was only accomplished with the cooperation of countless friends and family.

“It takes a lot to get up to where you want to be, but once you get there, it’s the most amazing thing,” she said.

The preparation for an Arangetram takes a year and, in Swetha’s unusual case, six gurus to guide the student. A guru acts as the student’s mentor, overseeing the student’s progress and teaching the dancer. Swetha was fortunate to be able to learn from others who taught her more individual lessons like conditioning, distinct dances, even alternate styles. She was even taught by her guru’s teacher.

“My great-guru,” she reverently teases.

There is a format that the dances must follow, but the individual dances are chosen by both the guru and the student to accentuate the dancer’s skill while allowing her personality to shine. Once chosen, dances may even be re-choreographed to emphasize an individual dancer’s strengths.

Swetha’s favorite dance was the Bhavayami, depicting baby Krishna (an incarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu, the human embodiment of love and joy) sneaking butter when his mother leaves the room. The beautifully exaggerated emotions she displayed during the dance attested to her love for it.

  “It’s my favorite because I could relate to it,” she said, “there’s a side of me that’s still a kid too.”

Bringing the beautiful dances to life, the costumes and music are designed to accentuate Swetha’s every movement. She had a live, six-person orchestra with various instruments ranging from a flute to a veena, a long, stringed instrument.

“The live musicians were like working with a tape that kept adjusting to you,” she said. “They’re there to cover for you.”

The vivid and intricate costumes were bought and custom-made for Swetha’s performance in India. Although they were tight-fitting and semi-sweltering under the stage lights, the outfits were made for dancing and therefore allowed her surprising mobility. However, the complicated folds and patterns could be overwhelming to maintain.

“It took about a day to iron all of my clothes,” she laughed.

A stubborn smile slips over Swetha’s face when I asked if she will continue dancing.

“Oh yeah, I’m not gonna stop!” she confirms, intently. “But I don’t really know what I’m doing next. It’s open ended.”  

As the music decrescendos, the audience catches a last glimpse of the dancer that has mesmerized them. Still part of her dance, she steps rhythmically from the spotlight and disappears through the curtains hanging on the edge of the stage, back into the world.