In a sunlit studio in Hyderabad, Mukti Chakraborty adjusts her ghungroos—the hundred tiny bells tied around her ankles—as her daughter Anvi Shri mirrors her movements. The air hums with the metallic chime of practice, a sound that has echoed through Mukti’s life from Kolkata to London, Bangkok to Hyderabad. “Kathak isn’t just dance,” she says, her eyes reflecting decades of devotion. “It’s a conversation between the dancer, the divine, and the generations that came before.”
This delicate interplay between artist and art organiser—the custodians of tradition and the architects of innovation—forms the heartbeat of Kathak’s survival in the modern world. Mukti’s journey, spanning rigorous guru-shishya parampara (teacher-disciple tradition) to jazz collaborations with Trilok Gurtu, reveals both the fragility and resilience of classical arts in an era hungry for instant gratification.
I. The Guru’s Shadow: Teaching as Sacred Trust
Kathak’s essence lies in its transmission—a slow, meticulous passing of knowledge that defies shortcuts. Mukti’s own training under gurus like Shri Mulla and Shama Bhate was steeped in austerity:
- Pre-Dawn Rituals: 4 AM practices to synchronize body rhythms with taal (beat cycles).
- Laya Shastra Mastery: Years decoding the mathematical precision of rhythm under Padmashri Pt. Suresh Talwalkar.
- Spiritual Surrender: Prostrating before the guru’s feet before each lesson, symbolizing ego dissolution.
“My gurus didn’t just teach steps,” Mukti recalls. “They taught us to listen—to the tabla’s theka, the harmonium’s drone, the silence between beats.”
The Mother-Dancer Paradox
Teaching her daughter Anvi introduced new complexities. “At home, I’m ‘Maa’—she demands snacks and hugs,” Mukti laughs. “In the studio, I’m ‘Guruji.’ It took years for her to stop rolling her eyes when I corrected her chakkars (spins).” Their joint performances, however, became a testament to this duality. During a 2022 recital, Anvi’s improvisation on a traditional tukra (footwork sequence) drew tears from Mukti. “That’s when I saw the guru in her,” she admits.
II. The Cost of Creation: Financial Realities Behind the Grace
Beneath Kathak’s ethereal beauty lies a stark economic reality. Mukti breaks down the hidden expenses:
- Costumes: A single hand-embroidered lehenga costs ₹35,000 ($420), lasting just 20 performances.
- Musicians: A basic ensemble (tabla, harmonium, vocalist) charges ₹15,000 ($180) per show.
- Venues: Renting Hyderabad’s Shilparamam amphitheater runs ₹50,000 ($600) for three hours.
“I’ve seen brilliant dancers quit because they couldn’t afford a tanpura player,” Mukti laments. Art organisers often compound this by prioritizing Bollywood-fusion shows over pure classical recitals, which draw smaller crowds.
Grassroots Solutions
Mukti’s initiatives to democratize access include:
- Barter Systems: Students from low-income families teach village children in exchange for lessons.
- Crowdfunded Arangetrams: Online campaigns to debut underprivileged dancers.
- Recycled Costumes: A shared wardrobe among her Hyderabad students, patched and re-sequined over decades.
“My guru’s ghungroos still jingle in my classes,” she says, pointing to a weathered pair hanging by her mirror. “They remind us that art outlives poverty.”
III. Bridging Beats: Kathak in a Jazz Age
Mukti’s collaboration with jazz percussionist Trilok Gurtu in 2018 shattered artistic boundaries—and egos.
The Clash of Cycles
Kathak’s taal system (16-beat teental, 14-beat dhammar) collided with jazz’s polyrhythms:
- Day 1 Disaster: Mukti’s troupe froze when Gurtu played a 5/4 rhythm against their 12/8 kaida.
- Breakthrough: They devised a “rhythm lexicon”—mapping Kathak’s tatkar (footwork) to syncopated hi-hats.
- Fusion Alchemy: A piece blending Gurtu’s drum solo with Mukti’s rendition of Meera Bai’s bhajans.
“Jazz taught me to breathe between beats,” Mukti reflects. “Kathak taught Trilok to count without losing soul.”
IV. The Impatient Generation: Rekindling Surrender
Mukti’s Hyderabad academy reveals a generational divide:
The TikTok Temptation
Young students often:
- Skip Basics: Demand complex tatkar before mastering sam (first beat alignment).
- Multitask Madness: Check phones during riyaz (practice), disrupting focus.
- Crave Applause: Post rehearsal snippets online, seeking instant validation.
“They want to ‘go viral’ before they can perform a proper thaat (opening pose),” Mukti sighs.
Guruji 2.0: Adapting Pedagogy
To bridge the gap, Mukti innovates without compromising tradition:
- Rhythm Games: Using metronome apps to make laya (tempo) drills competitive.
- Mythology Memes: Explaining abhinaya (expressions) through Marvel movie parallels.
- Hybrid Recitals: Blending Kathak with spoken-word poetry to attract younger audiences.
“I won’t dilute the art,” she insists. “But I’ll repackage the vessel.”
V. The Organiser’s Dilemma: Curators vs. Custodians
Art organisers walk a tightrope between preservation and innovation. Mukti critiques common pitfalls:
The Festival Follies
- Tokenism: Booking one classical act to “balance” ten pop performances.
- Technical Neglect: Pairing Kathak with screeching mics that distort delicate footwork.
- Cultural Appropriation: Choreographers mixing Kathak with belly dance “for diversity.”
“At a London fest, they projected EDM visuals behind my Shiva vandana,” Mukti recalls. “It felt like dressing Krishna in a neon tracksuit.”
Visionary Partnerships
Positive models include:
- Guru-Disciple Grants: Organisations like SPIC MACAY funding year-long residencies.
- Rural Caravans: Mobile stages bringing Kathak to Maharashtra’s cotton farmers.
- Archival Tech: 3D motion capture preserving elderly gurus’ compositions.
“The best organisers are invisible,” Mukti notes. “They create spaces where art happens, without ego.”
Epilogue: The Unbroken Circle
As dusk settles over Hyderabad, Mukti and Anvi perform a father-daughter abhinaya piece depicting Radha’s longing. The studio mirrors, fogged with sweat, reflect two generations bound by rhythm.
“When Anvi dances, I see my gurus smiling through her,” Mukti whispers post-performance. “That’s how traditions breathe—not in museums, but in the messy, glorious now.”