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Where the Artist Disappears, the Art Lives On - Dr. Sunanda Nair


W hat does a five-decade sadhana give to a practitioner? The sadhaka disappears, and the art speaks through the artist. What Dr. Sunanda Nair gave at Rose Theatre Brampton was a riveting 30–40 minutes of performance. The program, held on November 17, was part of the Umang Festival – Light of Hope, organized and curated by Mrudanga by Enakshi Sinha from Canada, supported by the Department of Heritage Canada and the Ontario Arts Council (OCAF). Sunanda Nair brought 'Adharam Madhuram' and 'Kubja' to the stage. When the artist speaks about what she is bringing to the stage, it feels better than an emcee reading it out. It is the emotions of the artist about the item, in their own voice, that come out, thereby giving life to the item even before it starts.












Adharam Madhuram began by beautifully expressing Krishna's sweetness, slowly transporting us to the details. When he came to console a frightened Gopika, pangs of lost love could be felt in some hidden corner of the heart. When Krishna stretched out his arm, taking his friend and showing the world around, I wanted to place myself under his arm and see the world.

While she started the item lightly, it was when the avil pothi was opened that the feeling of 'sakhyam' hit hard, and the show took a different turn from here. Emotions overflowed. It wasn’t about a fun Krishna anymore. The way Krishna opened the avil pothi made me envious of Sudama for being able to witness it. Tears of joy started flowing. It was not only Sudama's avil pothi that was opened, but also little pothis of all the meager stuff that I could manage to offer him, too.





Being a dance student, I tend to look at everything about dance—from costume to adavus to expressions, from makeup to synchrony with the song. However, with such a harmonious flow, instead of dissecting it with academic interest, my otherwise overactive brain decided to rest and got immersed in the show.



As if one visual takeaway from the event wasn’t enough, Sunanda Nair mesmerized with another one immediately. It did not require a vishwaroopam to be enacted by her, but portrayal of Arjuna's 'adbhutham' itself conveyed the change of Parthasarathy to Vishwaroopam. It looked as if Arjuna had Vishnu’s reflection on him. What we witnessed was pure artistic finesse that brought two characters on stage by depicting a single character.

Next one was 'Kubja'. As soon as she announced the next item was on Kubja, I was only expecting a hunchback woman to be depicted on stage and her Bhakti. Not having watched Kubja in Mohiniyattam, I was wondering how much more bending is she going to do, after bending so much already that Mohiniyattam demands. Alas, it was Kubjas heart that was depicted and not the hunchback.



The finer aspects of humans are always hard to understand, let alone bring them on stage. Kubja carried the helplessness of being a mere dasi to Kamsa, cursing the fate that reduced her to a state of helplessness, and turned numb. How does one express numbness? One can show emotions, but the absence of them? I don’t know, but Sunanda Nair could. Kubja’s emotions were very touching as a woman, having lost all emotions, and later the mixed emotions of Bhakti. Bhakti is a complicated emotion. The more one thinks she has Bhakti, the less Bhakti she has. It is a question of self-worth to have impressed Bhagavan. The depth of Bhakti, and at the same time Kubja’s self-questioning of deserving Bhagavan coming to her, finally made me pour my heart out even though I was seated in the last row. One felt a Kubja in them.





What one watches as a live performance reruns through one's mind for days after the performance. One thinks about it, feels it again, re-imagines it, wonders how, feeling the bliss of watching something ‘fine.’

I could not see Sunanda Nair after she rested the mic at the podium after giving the intro. For the 35 minutes, she took us to a different world where the audience, the artist, and the auditorium ceased to exist as different entities but became one, and the story flowed, taking everyone along.

Like any sadhana speaking for itself, turning the sadhaka into an instrument, one cannot see her on stage but only the art and nothing else. Pure bliss.

Do I remember what her bindi was like? No. Do I remember how many necklaces she had? No. But I do have the images of Krishna opening the avil pothi, the waves her hands turned into while depicting Kubja’s story, and an imaginary arm of Krishna across my shoulder very fresh in my eyes.



Written by
Smt Meenakshy Sriram Author is an Indian born inmigrant living in North America for almost a decade, who likes to describe herself as a connoisseur of Indian arts and crafts.

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