Standing on an Apple Box

by Aishwaryaa Rajinikanth Dhanush

  Before my blood pressure goes through the roof at the actor’s clumsiness, I turn away, looking for a quiet spot, and notice a chap working silently. He is in charge of the monitor on which the shot taken by the camera can be seen or played back. His only job is to align the monitor with the camera. He picks it up and positions it near the camera but outside the frame, and plugs it into the electrical board. This happens every time the camera moves. He also plays back whatever has been shot for the director or the actor. He does this without engaging in any conversation.

  The guy with the clapboard runs in front of the camera and calls out the take number and I come out of my reverie. My dear husband moves away from the camera. He doesn’t stand still for a single moment, not even taking time to sit while the camera is rolling. I have never seen him more focussed or as serious as he is right now. Later that night, he tells me it’s a totally different experience for him. As an actor, he isn’t responsible for anything other than his acting. Now the whole movie rests on his shoulders. It is a huge responsibility.

  I am confident of his abilities. He lives and breathes cinema. I know he has the whole film running scene by scene in his head. There is a clarity and efficiency in the way he shoots the scene, which is beautiful to watch. He knows exactly what he wants from the angles and the characters. He doesn’t shoot many extra scenes and there is no confusion or doubt. This is where he differs considerably from me as a director. I am constantly beset with doubts and misgivings. I shoot extra angles and extra scenes that may come in handy during editing or if I discover something wrong later. He already has the edited version in his head. In all honesty, I cannot even compare my style with his. I do not have that kind of focus or clarity of thought. I cannot give so much of myself even when I am the director. A parallel reel would be running through my head if things were to go out of schedule or even otherwise—home, kids, kitchen…

  There is an earnestness about Dhanush that has not jaded a bit, even after all these years in the industry. When I ask him the secret, he says, ‘I have had no life outside cinema. I don’t know anything else.’ I know he is being honest when he says this. Except when he is with his family, friends, or on the sets of a movie, he is rather ill at ease.

  The actor still hasn’t got his lines right. Deciding that it’s time for me to head back, I look around, but can’t will myself to move. Then I realize I don’t want to leave. This is where I always want to be, in the midst of this madness called movies.

  A Different Role—Making a Difference

  We are all insulated in some way or the other, but some ground realities are hard to ignore, particularly in our country, where the track record when it comes to women is not something to be proud of. I was fairly young when it first occurred to me that I was extremely lucky to have been born to my parents. My father’s success afforded us an easy childhood and my sister and I were always treated with respect, unlike many girls of our age. My parents and grandparents never let me feel inferior because I was a girl child. My parents had two daughters and they did not wish for any more children, boys or girls. They have never shown regret in word or deed over not having a boy, and my sister and I were brought up to be independent.

  My grandmother was a strong woman who instilled the same in me pretty early in life. One quality that I took away from her was her confidence and sense of achievement. She did not have a career, but what she achieved with her children, with helping others to achieve success, and the many interests she had outside home and family, stayed with me. At the same time, I had inspiring people all around me, who consciously or indirectly drilled into my psyche the importance of financial independence. So, when the opportunity arose to make a difference, I grabbed it.

  Giving back has been part of my family’s way of life ever since I can remember. Appa’s numerous acts of charity that he never spoke about and my mother’s work with underprivileged children taught us that it was our responsibility to contribute to society, especially since we were so blessed ourselves. There is a much used and abused line from Spiderman about power and responsibility. With the little power that I had along with the reflected power from Appa and Dhanush, I decided I wanted to make a difference, however small the impact would turn out to be.

  I had been following the work of UN Women for some time, mostly because of the advocacy done by its goodwill ambassadors from India—tennis player Sania Mirza and actor Farhan Akhtar. I admired the way in which the organization was steadily working towards closing the gender gap. I mostly followed them on social media and in a happy turn of events, the same media helped me connect with them. One thing led to another and on a rainy Monday morning, I was honoured to be appointed UN Women’s Advocate for Gender Equality and Women’s Empowerment in India. Certain things happen without much planning because they are meant to be. This was one of them. And I do not take my role lightly. My husband, my mother, sister and friends were all there to support me at the event. It was they who set the first example in my journey. That of unconditional support.

  As I stood there and spoke, I wished a lot more people could hear me, and know about the wonderful work being done by UN Women. After all, that was the point of being an advocate.

  So here goes.

  Acceptance Speech

  I am honoured to stand here before you and accept this prestigious task. Thank you, UN Women, Mrs Lakshmi Puri and Dr Rebecca Tavares for selecting me as the UN Women Goodwill Advocate. I look at the list of UN Women’s goodwill ambassadors and I can only think that this honour is fortuitous for me. A reminder I will bear as long as I continue to serve.

  As part of this felicitation, I was requested to share my thoughts on the equality of women and what it means to be the UN Women Goodwill Advocate. Bear with me and I promise to keep this short.

  As my first reaction, I thought that I should focus on issues pertaining to inequality, the lack of a level playing field, how women struggle every day, how patriarchy (sometimes assisted by other women) keeps a majority of us subjugated. That was making me bitter. That’s when I paused to reflect.

  I realize we women do a great disservice to ourselves and to all the men who support us by focusing on the grimness of the reality we are faced with. I know it is a hard reality. I know it is unfair where we find ourselves, to say the least. But this is not just about how unfair the world is or how hard our struggles are.

  This is also the time to look back and celebrate how far we have come. I am a proud and happy woman. Given a choice, I would want to be born as a woman again. (That is, assuming there is something called rebirth.) That means something. It means I am not angry and bitter. It means my life has thankfully not been all that bad. It means that I feel respected by the men and women in my life, and that they respect my aspirations and the choices I make. I am conscious of the fact that I am part of a privileged minority. I am also conscious that there are many women who struggle every day to be accepted. Some, or maybe most, struggle for basic human dignity. But my point is this—more than half a century ago we did not believe that this was possible: a room full of women meeting and discussing how to be masters of our own destiny. A meeting such as this, were it to have been held then, we probably would have been considered revolutionaries or faced resistance. Some may have viewed such a gathering as a gathering of visionaries, maybe. Now, we stand here without any fear of persecution. While we do respect and continue to encourage the men who support us, we are now in a position to speak for ourselves. We have come a long way indeed. Some of us might not see this to be much. But I urge you to celebrate. Small victories and quiet celebrations are very important in a long journey. They teach us not to lose heart, they help us to believe that perseverance and hard work can and do take us far. While we focus on the task ahead, it is also important to cherish what we have achieved until now. Remember, when the cause is just and fair, we will always find people stepping up to lend their support. Sometimes women, and sometimes men.

  So, where do we stand? I see that th
e role and status of women in India have gone through many changes through the millennia. From a position of equal standing in ancient times to a decline in status in medieval times and to a push for equality in the modern era. What strikes me as odd is that while women have held high offices and exalted positions such as the Office of the President of India, Prime Minister, Governor, Chief Minister, Speaker of the Lok Sabha, while we have leading authors, entrepreneurs, CEOs, actresses, directors, etc., yet the resistance to listening to a woman continues. It is odd that despite all that women have achieved, we are required to prove ourselves again and again. Not just have to prove ourselves as capable of doing a job but capable of even being considered for a job. I am yet to make sense of that.

  While on that, I do want to mention the environment that we find ourselves in. Rape, acid attacks, forced prostitution, dowry killings and violent victimization. I understand that India is ranked as the worst G-20 country to be born into as a woman and one of the worst countries for women in the world. That is appalling, and it’s difficult to understand how we find ourselves here. How can we be one of the worst countries for women to live in and yet have women achievers in many diverse fields? How can women continue to be the backbone of our rural economy and yet not feel at home in our country?

  So, what needs to be done? Create awareness? Better opportunities? Inclusive education? Force a revolution? Inculcate self-respect? Probably, we need all of that and something more. If we believe that this organization and each one of us are here to make a difference, let’s chalk out a plan. Nothing noteworthy, I believe, can be achieved without a plan, focus and an indomitable spirit. Every action we take has to be measurable and result-oriented. And capable of being achieved within a set timeline. I pledge to do my part. Create awareness, support causes identified by the organization with my time and resources. I will do my best to be the woman I want to see and admire in our country. I will do my best to support and encourage women to push themselves, to achieve all that they want to do.

  We have covered some distance. Today, we stand by ourselves, believe in ourselves, and are not afraid to voice our views. Those simple acts have taken many years to come true. We often do not see that. Yes, it is a work in progress. Not all of us can claim to be there. For those mothers, sisters and daughters who cannot, we will stand by you. Remember, we can be leaders of men and when we are inspired by a man, we will not hesitate to follow as well.

  I take inspiration from each one of you in this room and from the silent struggles of the generations that have gone before us. What we resolve to do now may not bear results today. Or even tomorrow. But we do it nevertheless, in the hope that it will create a better future. Not just for us as women but also for our men.

  Let us not fail to look back and count our achievements so we can continue to move forward. Let us not forget that many sacrifices were made so we can be here and that freedom does not come easy. This recognition is a way of saying thank you to everyone who believed in us.

  Life is probably art. And in art, the perfect balance is utopian and probably that can never be. But that does not mean we should stop striving to achieve it. Sometimes the balance tilts, sometimes what we ask for and fight for could unfairly prejudice someone. Let us not be indifferent to that. The purpose of any movement is to be an inclusive one.

  I leave you with this quote: never think there is anything impossible for the soul. It is the greatest heresy to think so. If there is sin, this is the only sin: to say that you are weak, or others are weak.

  Thank you for your patience and for being here with us. Godspeed to us!

  Dance with Me

  30 September 2016

  6:30 p.m.

  The lights are blinding. The hall is packed and the dressing room is bustling with children of all age groups and a few adults. Thick makeup is being lathered on faces and eyes are being beautifully lined with dark kohl. Enthusiastic mothers are handing out temple jewellery from bags hanging from their shoulders. Jewellery that will soon sparkle on their children’s arms, foreheads and ears. Fresh jasmine is being braided into hair and red alta is being painted on tiny feet and hands. A mother is supplying coffee and kathi rolls to all the participants. Most of them take just a bite and a sip, unable to eat or drink with just thirty minutes left for the show to start.

  It is my dance guru Meenakshi Chittaranjan’s silver jubilee celebrations and a hundred dancers are prepping to do their bit on stage. A couple of months earlier, Meena Athai (that is what I have been calling her for years now) had asked me to be part of the celebrations. It was almost seven and a half years since I danced. Both of us knew I was completely out of practice. When Linga turned two, I wanted to get back to dancing, but it didn’t happen. I kept procrastinating and would think about it only when I bumped into my guru on various occasions. I would promise to come for class that week and then forget about it. It happened so many times that Meena Athai would smile knowingly every time I said it. She knew I was not going to turn up and had given up on me coming back to dance. So when the call came, I said I would love to be part of it and that I would act as a compère for the show. She did not suggest otherwise and hung up. I was relieved but didn’t miss the slight disappointment in her voice. She had wanted me to dance.

  I still remember the first time I set foot in her home. It was a sprawling house, untouched by modernity. I remember walking through a long narrow corridor that opened into a large hall. The hall had a big old dining table at one end and a brass Nataraja statue standing tall at the other. The space in between was empty. At the feet of the Nataraja statue was a mat with a stick and a wooden board to beat the rhythm when dancing. I was with my aunt that day. When Amma had told my aunt about my interest in dance, she had suggested we speak to Meenakshi ma’am, who was a friend of hers. My mother wanted me to learn the classical form and my aunt Sudha thought Meena Athai would be the best person to teach me.

  She was upstairs when we arrived, and I can still picture the green sari and minimal jewellery that she wore. It was Vijayadashami and she had been meeting students since early in the morning. She looked tired, but her expression was warm and welcoming. She initiated me into her fold and my lifelong affair with dance began.

  Soon that house became my second home. I couldn’t wait to go to dance class. Meena Athai understood my background and the baggage that came with it. She knew exactly when I needed discipline and when I needed some space. As I grew up, I had started to build pretty strong defences against everyone around me who wasn’t family. I was paranoid that they had other agendas when they sought to make friends with me. With my guru, those defences crumbled. I was instantly at ease. I don’t call her my teacher or guru, she became my Athai, my aunt. A support system, guide and friend all rolled into one.

  Apart from the fondness for my teacher, I also adored her mother, Savitri Paati. She was a big woman, full of life and an energy that would light up everyone around her. Not once did I see her sad or low on enthusiasm for life. A beauty even in her later years, she was dominating and endearing at the same time. She would pull up a chair and sit down to watch us during our classes. She would be there when my guru was practising with her master too, and she took interest in every aspect of her daughter’s dance career, encouraging and pushing her to do better. I believe she was the driving force behind my guru’s success. Every time I walked into their home, she would greet me with a warm hug. As I started spending more time with her, practicing for the advanced levels, she and I became closer. I could never leave without having a couple of dosas and her specialty—cold coffee. I saw my own grandmother in her and loved her almost as much. The confidence and authority she wielded was comforting, particularly since I had lost my own grandmother.

  My guru taught the Pandanalloor style of Bharatanatyam. Pandanalloor is a village close to Tanjavur, where the style originated. Clean lines, intricate footwork, purity of movement and grace are just some of the characteristics of this style. Bharatanatyam has come a long way, wi
th the families that were the original proponents of a particular style taking up steady jobs while dancers like my teacher took on the responsibility of continuing the tradition. Most teachers are inflexible when it comes to training, but Meena Athai understood my compulsions and the flexibility I needed because of my family. The classes would be held early in the morning, or late in the evening, and most often it would be just me and her. She wasn’t taking on too many students at the time, but later they demolished the old house and a new dance hall was built, adjacent to the new house, where groups of students could be taught. I continued my classes there until I got married.

  The lights are now on me. I look out into the audience. I know all my loved ones including my husband are sitting there, eyes on me. Beside me, my companion dancers including my Meena Athai sparkle brilliantly, ready to start. I had started this journey when I walked into Meena Athai’s home and this was just another step, long overdue in my lifelong quest to learn the art of Bharatanatyam.

  The music begins and I dance.

  Looking Ahead

  There is an English rhyme, ‘Tinker Tailor’, which lists various occupations. My life has been a bit like that. When I was young I wanted to be a lawyer, later I wanted to be a stay-at-home mother. I learned dance and then I directed movies and now I have donned a new hat, that of a writer. In between all this I’ve had to play the role of a superstar’s daughter and a star’s wife.

  The lawyer bug was squashed as I grew up, but I couldn’t escape the movies. When you grow up in an atmosphere saturated by one thing, then marry into it too, you end up creating plans around it. Like a sponge that absorbs water and remains wet even though you try to squeeze it dry, movies got into my marrow and refused to leave. Growing up seeing movies being made, then watching my husband’s unending passion for movie-making, I gravitated towards it. Observing Appa’s spirituality and Amma’s need to make a difference, I started to want to give back and do more with my life. I came up with excuses along the way, but at each turn, there were counters to those excuses staring right into my eyes and egging me on.