What Technoheads and Indian Classical dancers have in common
A Discussion on Exclusivity in Art
I’m in Berlin.
Actually, I’m at a restaurant in London, but mentally I’m in Berlin as my friend is narrating what her 30th birthday trip was like.
We couldn’t be more different, but I was living vicariously through her stories — until she mentioned something she didn’t get to do on her trip. Something that looked like it was out of reach.
She talked about wanting to get into these two specific clubs that played techno music but explained to me that there is a very high barrier to enter.
I typed in the names of these clubs, and I found numerous articles and threads describing how difficult it is to get in.
I mean, how often do you find articles offering specific instructions on getting into a venue?
Apparently, it’s common for people to be turned away at the door, even with a ticket, if they don’t match the "vibe" (a vibe that's subjective and decided by the bouncers). The idea behind this is to preserve the integrity of techno music by ensuring that only those who truly appreciate the genre get access — and that sharing it with others would taint the genre.
She talked about how, over time, venues have gotten protective towards techno music to the point where she fears that the inaccessibility to the masses will lead to the eventual death of the genre.
“Isn’t art meant to be shared?”
Sacred or Secret?
I naively started a dance Instagram account during lockdown with the exact same rhetorical question in mind, and I’d planned to post everything that I’d spent time learning.
I ended up having more rehearsal and recording videos in my laptop than on my actual dance Instagram account because I wasn’t allowed to post everything.
My experience led me to conclude that the most beautifully choreographed pieces by esteemed dance exponents that you’ll have the privilege to learn will likely never see the light of day.
These choreographies weren’t meant for just anyone to see. The settings had to be just right — often among trained dancers and in spaces that felt sacred.
I think of it like those temperature-controlled glass displays in museums, preserving ancient artefacts. After all, we are preserving something that is ancient and intangible here.
But sharing them with a broader audience, or with individuals not regarded as protectors of the form, was seen as a profound risk to the integrity of the dance form.
I eventually gave up on the Instagram account and assumed it was something Kuchipudi dancers experienced, only to discover that this was something common across Indian Classical Dance forms through other people’s experiences.
While researching online, I came across a powerful quote from a research participant in Yukti Arora’s Master’s dissertation presentation on Democratizing Bharatanatyam that perfectly encapsulated the issue.
Bandish Bandits and the Problem of Dilution
If you have been involved in learning any Indian classical artform, I highly recommend watching Bandish Bandits.
Prior to watching the show, I didn’t realise that my personal experience with exclusivity in art was causing me to have a biased perspective until I got to the “Holding On” episode (E2 S2) in the Second season.
For those of you who haven’t watched it, I’ll quickly summarise the episode.
One of the main characters is a Hindustani classical singer and hails from a family that has been Hindustani classical singers across multiple generations. The music taught to him is passed down from generation to generation like an heirloom.
In this episode, he’s at odds when he realises that in order to make it as a Hindustani classical singer on non-traditional platforms, he would have to share his composition with the general masses (in this situation, that would start with the fellow members of a rock band).
Their collaboration produces a lovely fusion, honouring his Panditji’s (his teacher) composition while also giving it the modern twist it needs to appeal to the wider audience and be appreciated by those who have never had any exposure to the genre. (Honestly, good luck getting this song out of your head)
By this point in the episode, I had solidified my stance against gatekeeping art and music more firmly than ever — until we got to the part where one of the band members has evidently plagiarised the composition and altered some of the lyrics.
What is further infuriating is when the band member sings a bastardised version of the song, turning it into a jingle by remixing it with “Happy Birthday,” completely diluting the legacy of a great composition from the main character’s teacher by selling out.
The two sides of the debate play out in front of us in this scene. Where the lead member of the rock band addresses the gatekeeping contributing to the genre slowly dying, but his act of dilution cannot be justified as it becomes disrespectful
It dawned on me why my dance teacher would giggle when she’d teach me the ”secret pieces” from her guru that she wasn’t supposed to share.
I’d diligently learn a beautiful Kauthavam1 — and the witness to this?
The four walls and the Nataraja2 idol at the end of the dance room (maybe my mom and dad if they accidentally walked in on my practice sessions).
That was her way of rewarding my dedication and loyalty as a dancer, by entrusting me with something sacred. She trusted me enough to know that I wouldn’t just preserve the authenticity, but also protect it and know when it was not mine to share.
Granted, that was a beautiful, intimate moment between me and my dance teacher that I will forever treasure.
I fear that the choreography will die with us…
Meanwhile, in the Ballet World…
What about ballet?
Ballet somehow manages to keep tradition alive while allowing enough openness for it to flourish.
How does almost every ballet dancer know the choreography to The Nutcracker? And how is there so much content online that is easily accessible?
This question led me down a rabbit hole where I found out some interesting information:
Tchaikovsky’s score of The Nutcracker is considered public domain because it was composed 100 years ago. That makes it Royalty Free.
Similarly, the original choreography is considered public domain and free to be used.
However, choreography that is based on The Nutcracker (like using the original score or choreography inspired by the original) is patented by specific dance schools, the same applies for orchestras. (like for example George Balanchine’s version of the choreography is patented and you must purchase a license to perform it. You can learn more from the trust’s FAQ here)
The Middle Ground
Based on my understanding, this is what the two extremes in Indian classical artforms look like:
But what does the middle ground look like?
I’m kickstarting the first edition of the Notes of Natyam newsletter with a discussion — the first in a series where I’ll be exploring questions that have been brewing in my mind for quite a while. Questions I’ve been too scared to ask because I feared they may be perceived as a way of questioning authority.
So I throw it back to you, dear reader —
How do we preserve an artform’s essence while still inviting the world in?
Can we share without diluting?
Can we protect without gatekeeping?
Whether it’s a personal story, an article you think I should read, or even a conversation you once had that changed how you see this. Your perspective could shape where this conversation goes next.
Since I’ve barely scratched the surface here and I’m still figuring it out, here are some other things I’m curious about and would love to explore further:
Intellectual Property in Indian Classical Dance
What choreographies and compositions are considered public domain in Indian Classical Dance?
If you’ve read, seen, or lived anything that speaks to these questions, I’d genuinely love to know — hit reply or leave a comment. I’m all ears.
If you haven’t filled out the New Reader Survey, I hope you'll take a few minutes to help me understand more about you and tailor this newsletter to your needs!
Got friends or family interested in Dance? Know any Dance enthusiasts? Feel free to share this with them
A Kauthavam is an invocatory piece performed in praise of a Deity. You can learn more about it here
A Hindu Deity, also know as the “Lord of The Dance”
loved this (and didn't think to make the connection between techno and classical dance but makes sooooo much sense in hindsight - when i was travelling around europe, i met people who talked about how amazing but exclusionary the berlin rave scene was so i didn't even try to go to one when i was in berlin lol)
i wanted to share (piggybacking off of another commenter here) that i believe that indian classical arts are unique in their gatekeeping tendencies because while most classical art forms breed some level of elitism among fans or practitioners, in this case i believe that a lot of the exclusion is driven exclusively by caste.
speaking from my experience as a bharatanatyam student, and interacting with other students who learnt it as well, i have heard so many horror stories of caste-based discrimination in bharatanatyam. my friend who lives in NZ told me that he knows teachers there who straight up refuse to teach certain pieces to non-brahmin students. it's devastating to hear this because art is meant to be for everyone. bharatanatyam itself was known as sadhir aattam not too long ago, and was practised by mainly lower caste women. it was looked down upon by upper caste families for how overtly sexual it was and they forbade their daughters from learning it until rukmini arundale appropriated it and sanitised it to fit the "moral purity" sensibilities of UCs. imo, this feels very colonial.
in order to have a proper conversation about exclusion in the indian arts in good faith, we have to reckon with the ugly history of caste in art.
and i also feel like the people who are against "democratising" any art form because they feel that it would result in bastardisation of said art form is just a fascist in hiding. it's a way to hoard cultural capital for one elite section of society while keeping everyone else out. even discussing art using the terms "real" and "pure" is very anti-intellectual and fascistic. while respect for the form and tradition is still important, it should never come at the expense of popularising the art form and inviting more people to participate and bring their unique perspectives.
Super interesting. In exploring questions like this, I find it helpful to go back and dig into the history of the dance form also - 'Bharatanatyam', which I have learnt, was taken/appropriated from the nattuvanars of the Isai Vellalar communities by upper-caste dancers. When the same upper-caste dancers try to gatekeep and 'maintain the purity' of the dance form (often by requiring dancers to maintain certain caste-based aesthetics of femininity in order to learn the dance - such as dressing modestly, wearing a bottu, eating only vegetarian food, and also throwing around caste-based microaggressions in class), it honestly reeks of hypocrisy.
But there has been a certain 'democratisation' of 'classical' arts today (both words in quotes because I don't think it is true democratisation and notions of 'classical' are often classist and casteist, unfortunately!). And that has resulted in the fitting in of a very vibrant, diverse, heterogenous and freeing art tradition into the narrow lenses of religion, bhakti, and hindutva-based religious nationalism. This, too, is a violation of everything that these arts stood for in pre-colonial times.
Coming back to your question - not sure what the answer is. Both sides have their share of violence, and some amount of 'gatekeeping' is necessary. But I would ask - gatekeeping by whom? And for what purpose? Who is benefiting from holding the art form in their bodies, and in what ways?