Photo by Abhishek Ashok
[ID: A black and white image of a person lying on the ground. Text reads: “Kismet with Kali, Shruti Abhishek. 18th October, Joe Goode Annex, SF.”]
When Randee first spoke to me about the possibility of a duet in her new work Sisters, pairing me with Eli, I didn’t think, plan, or even pause to wonder. I just said yes!
From the beginning, Sisters was all about trust for me—trust in Randee’s years of experience as a choreographer, trust that I could find synergy with Eli, whom I’d never worked with before, trust that our stories held meaning for both of us, and trust in my body to move through a space it wasn’t yet familiar with. I trusted the process to reveal its truest intentions in its own time. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else got in the way.
Rehearsals with Randee and Eli were special. Every session, I stepped into a world I couldn’t yet define, creating it moment by moment, step by step, conversation by conversation. I felt like an infant, piecing together a story, a new reality. I learned how to let go. Randee has this incredible gift—she nudges and pushes just enough to let you discover the direction that was inside you all along. She saw something in me I hadn’t seen in myself.
Art-making is such an incredible process, especially through movement. You’re creating something intangible in space, making decisions as you see and feel it. Doing this with two differently trained bodies, finding the rhythm and dialogue between them, was both interesting and challenging. In every duet and trio in Sisters, the movement was alive at each moment, carrying emotion with it. When I watched the pieces, I could hear the bodies talking. Randee’s choreography is a beautiful poem, a dialogue in motion. That’s rare.
Being part of this process with such powerful women and experiencing such potent movement was profound. As an Indian immigrant dancer trained in Bharatanatyam, stepping into a space filled with modern, contemporary, and ballet-trained dancers felt daunting. Trusting my own training was key to navigating that space.
Like ballet, Bharatanatyam has a structured, traditional approach with specific guidelines. My training emphasized a geometric quality, where I learned to create distinct shapes and patterns using my hands, legs, and eyes, all contributing to the beauty and structure of the dance. Through intricate footwork, sculptural poses, and hand gestures, Bharatanatyam brings a sense of rhythm, balance, and visual appeal to the dance.
My mentor, Vaibhav Arekar, pushed me to stretch the boundaries within this codified form. He helped me find fluidity, patterns, and abstract images in the technique and encouraged me to explore the use of theater in dance. For example, he would ask: if a character from a story is placed in the spotlight, what would their words or monologue be? And if that monologue could only be expressed through movement, how would you convey it?
This approach challenges the nature of the practice, where the body, unaccompanied by any lyrical aids, becomes the sole vessel to communicate the story. It has allowed me to go beyond the codified form, moving beyond the traditional use of hand gestures and footwork. By expanding how I use my body to communicate, I often find new ways to invite even audiences unfamiliar with Bharatanatyam into my world.
Kismet with Kali is a solo dance theatre work I’m currently building, an exploration of the fluidity between relationships and memory, tracing the quiet shift from expectation to acceptance. It draws on personal stories of holding on and letting go by inviting the audience into a daughter’s perspective of her evolving relationship with her mother. Along the journey, goddess Kali arrives. She transcends to become a guiding, surreal presence. With myth, movement, poetry, lighting, and live music, Kismet with Kali creates space to reflect, connect with, and unflatten notions of what exists.
Bharatanatyam has evolved over the years. From poems that were written that reflected the Indian society—which talked about topics of oppression of caste & class, polygamy, and affairs—to a much-refined version of the Indian “culture” post-colonial British rule in India—where the focus was more on religious and mythological stories—to a lot of choreographers now who talk about recent history or current social themes.
Using Bharatanatyam to explore human emotions in Kismet With Kali feels abstract, but working with Randee on collecting movement from intention has been helpful. By building a “movement bank” and shaping sentences from it, I’ve learned to let movement carry the intent. This approach echoes my mentor’s philosophy, though expressed through different dance styles and cultural backgrounds, which I have found fascinating.
Incorporating text into my duet with Eli in Sisters has also shaped my choreographic process. Moving beyond the traditional framework of Bharatanatyam and letting my body respond to a personal story through monologues has been liberating and empowering. Kismet With Kali is my first evening-length solo venture, and the timing of these two works coming together feels destined.
Both Sisters and Kali explore the raw, personal stories of women—unfiltered and honest. They delve into how women find solidarity with one another or in a figure they admire, highlighting the need for a sister or mother figure to offer guidance and support along the way. Kismet with Kali premieres on October 18th at Joe Goode Annex. The production also features a stellar ensemble of South Asian musicians.
Finding the balance between tradition and evolution has been quite intriguing for me. As a friend recently told me, to doubt is good; embrace it and you’ll find your clarity. As nervous as I am, the thought of diving into the process—whether with Kali or Sisters —fills me with excitement!
This article appeared in the Fall 2024 issue of In Dance.
