This biography of the classical dancer Sonal Mansingh sets a new standard for the genre in India, where hagiographies reign supreme.
The dancer is now 73, a good time to look back at "emotion recollected in tranquillity".
The author, a civil servant, is not overawed by her subject. She does not feel scandalised by the rather bohemian life of the dancer, although she may be faulted for skimming over the dancer's own affairs while painting two of her three husbands as promiscuous.
What is one to make of insinuations like "a bevy of young women in Lalit's life"?
Such a "ladies man" (as they used to be called in some circles) may not necessarily have betrayed the marriage. What does carry resonance is Sonal's statement that her hectic schedules did not leave scope for a supportive wife or hostess.
The author did not get perspectives from the other side, or chose not to use them, keeping an adoring focus on the subject of the biography.
The author spent a lot of time with the dancer, sometimes questioning, sometimes just listening. The tale of a tumultuous life is told without moral judgement.
The author's style ranges from the purely descriptive to the inspired, an unevenness that is forgiven because the reader is as mesmerised by the story as audiences are when Sonal Mansingh takes the stage.
Here, for instance, is some descriptive prose: "Poland evokes sad memories. It was in a small, austere hotel room, on 6 November 1968 when somebody from the Indian embassy brought a telegraph from Mohan Khokar informing Sonal of her grandfather's death.
She was devastated. She had lost her co-conspirator, mentor and enlightened soulmate. Her room turned into an incubator of memories as she tried to cope with the intensity of her emotions. A grand felicitation by the Communist Party Congress at Warsaw also did not stop her from agonizing for days about why she had not taken time off to meet him at the beginning of the long trip."
For readers not interested in dance, this book offers a glimpse of a different world, one ignited by a single-minded passion. It is a contrast to the prosaic and the mundane, where armies of people beaver away at jobs they don't care for, or spend hours on social media just to stave off boredom.
Sonal performed, taught, wrote, travelled, attended seminars, loved and lost, laughed, administered the Sangeet Natak Academy. She set up the Centre for Indian Classical Dance (CIDC) to save classical dance from extinction. She did lec-dems for Spic Macay. She started dance appreciation classes.
Her choreographies "went into overdrive". She designed the logo of Palace on Wheels. She taught dance to the most dangerous convicts in Tihar Jail. One explanation for this hyperactivity could be, in her own words, "Dance stimulates all the sense promotes the development of multisensory beings."
There were enduring friendships along the way, where some serious name-dropping can be done. She was friendly with Atal Bihari Vajpayee, who continued to watch her performances after becoming Prime Minister, and who picked out some money from his wallet when she told him about not being able to afford air fare for her manager.
On the other side of the political spectrum, but very much a Lutyen's denizen, was Mohammad Yunus, aide to Indira Gandhi. Morarji Desai was a family friend long before he became Prime Minister.
Among her patrons was Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay. And there were incidents that the author aptly describes as "soap operatic". There was a horrific accident on the autobahn, which left her entire body in plaster. Her temporary "digs" at Curzon Road were turned into a brothel by the caretaker while she was away on a European tour.
When she informed her guru Kelucharan Mohapatra that she was going for a divorce, he actually "kicked my head when I bent down to touch his feet".
Curiously, the divorce itself was peaceful, filed by mutual consent and granted by a Tis Hazari court. The once-couple took a taxi to Connaught Place, where she first bought a sari and they proceeded to a restaurant, where they were "for some time our old, happy selves". Anecdotes and big names spill out of every page of this book.
Crown Prince Akihito and Princess Michiko were scheduled to rush to another appointment but did not move despite an announcement. "He sat through the entire recital and later asked probing questions about the hand and eye movements, the costume and the accessories," Sonal recalls.
Then there is her stay in Kabul, where her husband Lalit Mansingh was posted, circa 1971. She had been there earlier in 1969 as part of Indira Gandhi's cultural delegation.
The description of life in pre-war Afghanistan is heartbreaking when you know what happened later: You wish the "superpowers" would leave such countries to their own devises.
Visualise this: "Another trip that left an indelible imprint was to the archaeological remains of the Bamyan Valley, her second in quick succession. She spent time at the monastic ensembles and sanctuaries, admiring the syncretic interplay of Indian, Hellenistic, Roman, Sasanian and Islamic influences, while the official team surveyed the restoration work being carried out by the Archaeological Survey of India…the group reached Bande-Amir, a confluence of six emerald-blue lakes.
Enthralled by the beauty of the lakes, under a romantic, starsprinkled night sky, Sonal surprised and enchanted her little group by performing an impromptu dance inspired by the karanas portrayed in the Tanjore and Chidambaram temples. There were no accoutrements but the magical experience was an unmissable one for everyone present there." The magic in Sonal's life seems to have been interspersed with personal tragedy.
This is the time when her marriage was falling apart but she went to Kalakshetra and dazzled Rukmini Devi. She went to Calcutta's Kala Mandir and got standing ovations. She performed at Hotel Ashoka in Delhi where the art critic of The Statesman (yes, our own paper) raved about her "poignant narration of Draupadi's discomfiture" and "breathtaking footwork".
At the same time, gossipers fell silent when she entered a room and her parents disowned her for six long years. Yet in 2004, when her mother was nominated for a Padma award due to her work among the Dangs tribals of Gujarat, the whisper went that it was because Sonal was close to the BJP!
The book exposes us to the jealous, conspiratorial and whimsical world of Delhi's culture-vultures, making us wonder why spectacular international acclaim does not protect one from vicious backbiting. Is nothing sacred? In 1973, already known for Odissi, she started to learn the Mayurbhanj style of Chhau thanks to poet, scholar and aesthete Jiwan Pani's efforts. She managed to repay the debt she owed him only after his death in 1998, when his pension was withheld by the Sangeet Natak Akademi as his personal files had "disappeared".
One of her first acts as chairperson in 2004 was to ask the staff to produce the "lost" documents in two hours or lose their jobs. The papers were found and the pension restored.
But the Congress replaced her ~ not with their own favourite danseuse but with politician Ram Niwas Mirdha! One of the "charges" against her was that she wanted to change the name of the institution she headed to Sangeet Natya Akademi, a perfectly legitimate exercise. There was probably no Capital of the world where Sonal did not perform. She was lauded for her absolute mastery over music, poetry and philosophy.
A dance tour even took her to Kenya, Uganda, Algeria, Sudan and Egypt. In today's world, travel to exotic destinations is a yearly treat for Indians, but in that day, that age, Sonal Mansingh's performances in remote parts of the world were clearly an eyeopening treat for foreign audiences.
Were it not for Festivals of India that continue to carry Indian culture to these parts of the world, a life's work would have come to naught.
About the book:
Sonal Mansingh: A Life Like No Other
By Sujata Prasad Penguin Viking
Pages: 220;
Price: Rs.599