When I Dance, There Is No Dr. Padma Subrahmanyam, says the artist
She’s the dancer who turned ancient sculptures into living movement, the scholar who brought the Natyashastra back into classrooms, and even the cultural voice who helped India rediscover the forgotten Sengol. This August, Padma Subrahmanyam returns to Mumbai with a double offering at the NCPA — a solo performance of the Bhagavad Gita, already sold out, and a rare masterclass where she unpacks the karanas, the thousand-year-old movement principles that still shape the future of dance. Thrilled to return to a city whose audiences she calls “open-minded, sensitive and deeply appreciative,” she shares more in conversation with Indulge Express
Mumbai has seen many chapters of your artistic journey. What does it mean to return here and perform for this city’s audience today?
My first performance in Mumbai was in 1963, when I presented Meenakshi Kalyanam and a mythological dance drama I had choreographed as a teenager. It was a great success and deeply encouraging. Bharata Iyer wrote in a prominent newspaper: “Padma opens a new chapter in the history of Bharatanatyam — not only a visual, but an intellectual treat.” From that moment, there was no looking back.
Mumbai has been a constant in my journey — from repeated invitations by Shanmukhananda Sabha to the Bhulabhai Desai Memorial Institute hosting the first-ever seven-day special workshop on the Natyashastra, which later became my first book, Bharata’s Art Then and Now. The city’s audiences have an extraordinary rasana; they are open-minded, sensitive, and deeply appreciative, making it a joy to perform here.
This time, I return to the NCPA with a solo presentation of the Bhagavad Gita, already sold out, which I chose to celebrate UNESCO’s recent recognition of both the Bhagavad Gita and the Natyashastra in the Memory of the World Register. The performance uses the art of communication that the Natyashastra has taught me, making this truly a celebration of heritage.
After years of reviving the karanas from the Natyashastra, how do they continue to speak to you in your practice today?
The karanas draw me to them endlessly; their extraordinary kinetic and aesthetic principles make them timeless. Like a thousand-year-old sculpture or the Puranas (which means “old yet always new”), they never lose their freshness. They are not mere dance movements; they have a profound communicative power, as Abhinavagupta noted in his thousand-year-old commentary from Kashmir.
Like singers whose sadhana refines their voice over time, the karanas become more polished with practice. Even after 16 years, I still feel like a student, pursuing them for two reasons: to do justice to their beauty, and for the deep aatma-trupti (soul satisfaction) they give me. My reconstruction of them is based on lived experience, adding subtle nuances over time — so much so that even students from 25 years ago return for updates in their learning.
They are often misunderstood as acrobatic, but in truth, perhaps only 7–8 of the 108 could be called that. The rest are graceful, fluid, and demand tremendous body control. This fluidity is why the celestial dancers are called apsaras, from ap (water) and sara (to move).
In a city like Mumbai, where classical and contemporary often collide, how do you see the younger generation interpreting and evolving tradition?
It depends entirely on exposure. When given the opportunity to encounter tradition, I find that the youth embrace it with love and respect. There are thousands of young people who admire tradition deeply and wish to follow it sincerely.
For many, your performances evoke a spiritual experience. Has Bharatanatyam always been an inner journey or a form of prayer for you?
Yes, it has always been an inward journey and a spiritual experience. Rasa is not created in an instant; it emerges from the artist’s inner world. If audiences feel it, it is because I feel it first.
I recall a Moscow journalist — a communist who didn’t believe in God — telling me after watching Krishna Namaha that I was making audiences believe in God. I replied, “If even for a moment you believed in God because of my performance, the purpose of my art and my life is fulfilled.”
The subjects I choose — whether Jaya Shankara on Advaita philosophy, Tirukkural on ethical values, or the Bhagavad Gita — all have an inward dimension. Each project is preceded by deep study, sometimes for years, and my goal is always to communicate even profound philosophy to the very last person in the audience.
With everything you’ve experienced as a performer, scholar, and teacher, what touches your heart the most when you dance today?
When I dance, I am completely one with it. I think of nothing else; I even forget there is someone called Padma Subrahmanyam.