Namskara

India.

It is a country that, for unknown reasons, resonates with my heartbeat.

I travelled there with my Making Theater class, to study Kalaripayattu and Mohiniattum.

Again, this is an experience better told in person and around campfires. But here are some impressions, centered around the night we witnessed a performance of the forms by masters Gurukkal, Chechi, and their students.

Planned power outage.
Then the thunder.
And the lightning.
Then the rain.
The sky's opening.
To the bus.
Then to the Kalari - entered as haven, a form of sacred.
Shrine lit by flames.
Candles and incense and oil.
The scent of flowers and rain and incense.
Waiting.
Entranced by the shrine.
Not thinking, but not not thinking.
More candles. An electric light.
A decision.
The thunder booms like drums.
More candles.
Kalaripayattu as it was meant to be witnessed.
The flickering of flames and feet pounding the earth.
A sword. A shield. Sparks.
Jumping and hitting and dust.
Sharp. Real risk. But trust.
Ages and skill and sweat and power.
The thunder complimenting.
More sparks.
Swords like whips.
Raising the dust and noise and sparks.
Shiva.
A shift, to dance.
Bells and a foot tapping.
Power of feet connecting with the earth and ground.
Flames.
The shrine ever-present.
A final exit.
Thanking Shiva and the masters and the energy and the space.
Earth.
Head.
Heart.
The storm as a compliment to the power.
The fresh smell of rain.
Cleansed.

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