The year was 1290 . A crowd had gathered around a clearing, where broken down pillars marked the presence of an ancient temple, now long gone. A young boy, just 14 years old, leaned against one of those pillars, deep in thought. Then, he began speaking, and the crowd fell silent, listening to his every word. He spoke without any notes, translating the Bhagavat Gita, from Sanskrit, which only the pundits knew, to the language everyone in the village knew and spoke – a variety of Prakrit which developed into the Marathi language. Even as he spoke, one of the men in the audience realized how momentous this event was, and how important this composition would be. He began writing down the words the young boy spoke, and this composition was named by its author and composer, the Bhavartha Deepika – the enlightening meaning (of the Bhagavat Gita). Now, the ancient, holy text, was no longer restricted to the pundits, but accessible to all, understood easily by them, composed as it was, in their...
A question I was regularly asked at one time was:”So, you are a Tamilian. You must have learnt classical music and Bharatanatyam, right?” It was a question which always succeeded in irritating me, for I had nothing to do with either music or dance, despite being a Tamilian. Yes, my mom had, true to tradition, tried to get me interested in music. I had endured the classes for a year, and soon after, telling my mom that the classes intruded into my reading time, had refused to go anymore. She would have loved to send me to Bharatanatyam classes, but that was something I had no interest in even trying! Having two left feet, I stayed away from dance of all kinds, and she soon gave up, leaving me to my literary pursuits. Living in a place where there were hardly any cultural events, and even fewer related to our South Indian background, I grew up blissfully ignorant of Carnatic music and Bharatanatyam. Then, I got married and shifted to a predominantly South Indian neighbourhoo...