The fragrance of love
On Mehek
This week, my lovely friend who is visiting from Toronto and I went to the London theatre Sadler’s Wells to see Mehek — a modern Kathak dance production by the Aakash Odedra Company.
After participating in the post show discussion with the creators, I knew I had to write something about it (I mean I didn’t need much convincing; the theatre kid in me jumped at the opportunity). So this is a bit of a different post. A sorta theatre review/sorta interview/sorta musing thoughts. As always, please do let me know what you think. I’m forever learning from you!
Definition: Kathak (Devanagari: कथक) is one of the eight major forms of Indian classical dance. Its origin is attributed to the travelling bards in ancient northern India who communicated stories from the Hindu epics and mythology through dance, songs and music. Its name derives from the Sanskrit word katha which means ‘story’, and kathakar which means ‘the one who tells a story’ or ‘to do with stories’. - Wikipedia
Derived from the Hindi word for fragrance, Mehek tells the love story of an older woman and a younger man, and everything that goes with what is, arguably, one of the most frowned upon relationship dynamics. The story is danced by 64 year old Aditi Mangaldas — one of the world’s leading Kathak dancers and choreographers — and 39 year old Aakash Odedra — a leading dancer and choreographer of Kathak and Bharatnatyam and founder of the Aakash Odedra company.
Listen, if it wasn’t already clear from all the nonsense I write, I love love. Unsurprisingly, it took me ten minutes into the performance to get emotional. All of it got me, from their playfulness and joy to their determination and fight for each other. But the bit that really got me was the sensuality. Well, maybe more to the point, the explicitly sexual relationship between the characters:
One of the most beautiful duets of the performance is their journey to sex — or that’s what I’m going to refer to it as, anyway. It has so many hot erotic moments. So much so that the gentleman sitting next to me forgot to breathe for a few seconds. There’s the moment the young man’s hands trace his partner’s curves but never touches her. And the moment he reflects and shadows her movements with his, never letting her out of his sight. And the way she, in turn, doesn’t let him let go and holds him in her looks, in her arms. Or the moment she sits in his lap and he bends her backwards. It’s kind of amazing how much hunger, tension and intimacy can be built without a single item of clothing being taken off. The duet climaxes into what is very clearly the sex scene. I don’t want to ruin it in case you’re able to catch a viewing of it as the performance is going on tour but I will tell you how the scene ends. They wake up the morning after in post ecstasy calm and happiness. Then, the moment that will be ingrained in my mind forever plays out. You know the feeling when the smell of your partner lingers on a hoodie or on a pillow and it brings so much comfort? Well, they try to bottle that to make it last longer by wearing each other’s scent. They rub their wrists on each other’s pulse points the way you would perfume and, omg, it’s sexy.
Depicting sexuality in South Asian art forms can be a contentious subject. So, I asked Aditi and Aakash about the process of creating sensuality, sexuality and intimacy on stage.
Aakash: When we talk about South Asian culture, we are often talking about how we know it to be now. If you go back though, historically, temples, sculptures and Mughal miniature paintings, all show a lot of sensuality — it's not hidden. It's celebrated as an important part of life. Different influences that have come into the subcontinent [Anisah’s note: I am going to presume he is talking about colonialism across the subcontinent here] have left an imprint on what otherwise would have been a very natural process for our communities.
But, for us, it wasn’t about keeping in sensuality for the sake of keeping in sensuality. It had to mean something.
For me, there is spirituality to consider alongside sensuality and sexuality. We can become a reflection of our lover. Is that a reflection of God? Is our love a reflection of God and is it spirituality that guides us in that love? Love is this multitude of colours that has so many different textures and layers to it — whether that’s sensual, sexual spiritual. We knew, to do it justice, we couldn’t hide away or exclude any of it.
Aditi: Kathak often shows a very sanitised version of sensuality. There are too many restrictions when it comes to our art form so we wanted to break those barriers. Our process was to see this taboo and ask ‘Why?’ We knew that to talk about all the facets of a relationship between an older woman and a younger man’s love, sexuality and sensuality had to be a part of it. It has to be.
When sensuality is present in Kathak, pleasure tends to be a male centric phenomenon. Women are just satellites around a man, present for his benefit. So we wanted to break away from that and show what it looks like when a woman’s pleasure is centred.
By breaking barriers we get to see something closer to reality. Or our own version of reality. It’s funny because Aakash and I have very different views of love that maybe is a reflection of our characters too. My sense of love is like a salad. Each ingredient (each person) has its own flavour, its own rich texture. When you put them together, it just works. It’s magic. Aakash sees it like soup. The ingredients are meshed and blended into one.
This isn’t the first time that Aditi Mangaldas has spoken about female pleasure, either. In 2022, she premiered FORBIDDEN, a contemporary Kathak piece commissioned, choreographed and danced by her. Her words then were:
History confirms there is a deep-seated fear of female sexual desire. Why are women the world over, from conservative as well as liberal societies; sanctioned, judged, controlled, hounded, shamed and eventually punished because they have the courage to own their desire? What is at the root of this fear?
Devdutt Pattanaik says, ‘Fantasy frightens us, especially female fantasy. One way of regulating fantasy has been by propagating stories where women who pursue their desires are viewed as dangerous, hence needing to be restrained for social good.’
There are countless insidious ways that taboos creep into one’s daily existence. Social structures, mythology, popular culture, the culture of shame that women live with, all become a subconscious stream that shapes our behaviour. As an artist, I feel compelled to confront these taboos.Female sexuality is private but the taboos attached to it requires and demands taking a stand on the universal, public and personal front.
Some final thoughts from me
It’s very rare in popular culture to see an older South Asian woman falling in love. In Bollywood, for example, leading men continue to age as their love interests get younger every year. Leading actresses have a very clear shelf life before they become the aunty or mother figure. In Mehek, the older woman is wooed, she’s desired, she’s pleasured, she’s loved. That doesn’t mean she isn’t aware of her age. She feels it. She sees it. She dwells on it as she stares into the mirror of time. How could she be in love with this younger man? How could he love her? But he sees her. And she sees herself reflected in him. But it’s not only him in reaction to her: she’s graceful, powerful and sexy in her own right. I couldn’t help myself from thinking about all of the women in the room — the older aunties and grandparents, whose desire and pleasure are so overlooked by society — feeling seen in that moment. Aditi said, ‘How you dance and how you look is besides the fact of how you feel. Love shouldn’t have any age. Love is unfettered. Love transcends all.’