A Collective Act of Storytelling

The story began with an impulse to go back and give something back—to the performing arts traditions of India. Acclaimed British dancer and choreographer of Bangladeshi descent, Akram Khan, long known for dancing between worlds—contemporary dance and classical Kathak, decided to return to his roots. He and his close colleague Mavin Khoo assembled a group of master artists and students back in 2022 in the temple town of Swamimalai in Tamil Nadu, India, for a creative lab called “Seeking Satori.” Satori is a Japanese Buddhist term meaning “sudden enlightenment.” The objective of the week-long, residential intensive was to create an opportunity to reflect, share, immerse, re-invest, and enhance their relationship with their classical Indian art forms. From the initial gathering, an idea grew to create a production involving these master performers and their dance forms: Kathak, Bharatanatyam, Odissi, and Kutiyattam. But rather than a collection of disparate classical solos, which would be the usual outcome of a production involving individual classical artists, the creative endeavor would instead be a collaborative act of storytelling combining their particular forms.

Performance

Akram Khan’s “Gigenis”

Place

The Joyce Theater, New York, NY, February 12, 2025

Words

Karen Greenspan

Akram Khan’s “Gigenis.” Photograph by Camilla Greenwell

Thus, the idea for “Gigenis” was born. Khan invited the dancers to bring in their own material. As renowned soloists, they had plenty. The individual artists essentially choreographed their own solos, which Khan edited and structured into a total performance work, choreographing the interstitial group sequences. Under Khan’s expert direction, seven brilliant dancers (including Khan) and seven extraordinary Indian classical musicians put their talents together in a masterful and dramatic storytelling venture drawing from the culture’s seminal narrative—the Mahabharata. The riveting, 70-minute distillation of the epic still references its epic themes—greed, jealousy, joy, fear, and loss—but in a new and urgent retelling of our human condition.

Reflecting the elemental impulse to share a story and the simplicity that distinguishes many of India’s traditional theater forms, the dancers’ costumes are simple practice attire—plain dance saris for the women and white kurta and pants (for the men). The dark stage is defined by the musicians seated along the sides and a narrow platform that stretches across much of the back. Zeynep Kepekli’s lighting design features a series of bare lightbulbs strung from above along the three sides of the stage evoking an outdoor performance at an all-night traditional festival.

The story is told through the character Gandhari, an older woman—a queen, who mourns the loss of her husband and sons fallen in an unnecessary war due to their lust for power. She reminisces over the scenes of her life as stated in the narration: “In another time, I was a daughter, and then a wife, and then a mother…” Kapila Venu, a renowned master of Kutiyattham, an ancient Sanskrit theatre tradition from Kerala, plays the role, remaining onstage throughout the performance. Venu seems to stop time with her vivid portrayal of the total emotional arc of her character. Descending the platform toward the audience with eyeballs bulging, she delivers the ominous opening. Vigorously hacking away at an imaginary corpse, she digs her hands into its innards to feast upon the entrails in a flagrant characterization of our darkest impulse—to instigate violence and promulgate suffering. Although this role involved more dancing than she typically performs, Venu’s physical artistry is more than equal to the task.

Mythili Prakash, Akram Khan, and Mavin Khoo in Khan’s “Gigenis.” Photograph by Camilla Greenwell

The ensemble of soloists immediately picks up the martial energy with gestures of drawn bows and other battle preparations danced in a powerful unison choreography led by Khoo. Vocalized rapid fire, staccato syllables and the driving percussion pounded out on the copper pot drum (a staple of Kutiyattham performance) are highlights of the inspired orchestration by Jyotsna Prakash. As the story takes off on its foreknown course, Venu sinks to the floor and simulates frantically writing on the floor—as if trying to rewrite the coming course of events.

The other three female performers portray Gandhari at other stages of life. Sirikalyani Adkoli, an 18-year-old Odissi dancer and student at Nrityagram (residential dance center outside of Bangalore), dances Gandhari as an innocent, young girl. The dynamic use of tribhanga (lateral triple bend in standing posture) typical to Odissi dance infuses a carefree quality as she bounds about in circles picking flowers. With wistful poignancy, Venu reaches out to touch her former self but settles for picking flowers alongside her remembered image. The scene seamlessly flows into another as a young man (Renjith Babu) ascends the throne receiving a gestured crown as the ensemble dances around him in celebration. This “crown mudra,” a symbol of power, envy, and destruction, threads its way through the drama.

Romance and courtship immediately follow as the real life couple Vijna Vasudevan and Renjith Babu come to the foreground dancing a beautifully fluid style of Bharatanatyam. They merge their hands to form a fluttery dovelike gesture symbolizing their love. Venu, meanwhile, is sitting on the floor directly beneath their conjoined hands. As the enamored couple dances around each other arcing their arms in a gentle scalloped pattern, Venu, now on her feet, dances along with them from a distance.

The three spin off in a dreamy swirl of bliss…suddenly interrupted by threatening thunder. The stage goes dark, illumined only by a flash of the light bulbs. Gandhari’s voice warns, “Do not think that this is war. It is not war. It is the ending of the world.” As Babu exits, the lights come up on Vasudevan and Venu sitting on one side of the platform rocking back and forth, hands clutching their guts in horror.

Renjith Babu and Vijna Vasudevan in Akram Khan’s “Gigenis.” Photograph by Camilla Greenwell

Kepekli’s chiaroscuro lighting leads the eye to each area of the stage where the drama next unfolds. On the other side of the platform, in a compositional triangle straight out of a Renaissance masterpiece, sits Mythili Prakash—Gandhari as mother—with her two sons (played by Mavin Khoo and Khan) seated below her. Holding the crown mudra above her head, the mother then places it on each son’s head—almost as a game. Each son instantly feels its magnetizing power; they begin to vie for it. Khan, upon receiving the crown, takes off with a series of animated spins circling the stage—clearly possessed by his desire for it. Venu, all along, sits upstage holding the crown and meditating on it. As Khan completes his whirling frenzy, Venu raises the crown above head worshipping it like a deity.

A captivating moment occurs when Prakash retrieves the crown from her boys and nurtures the shape into a fiery conflagration. Her conjuring fingers, crisp footwork, and expansive force field show her to be the holder, albeit momentary, of the family’s power. But that soon changes as Prakash and Venu are seated side by side on the platform. Prakash enacts receiving a message of her husband’s death in battle culminating in a silent primal cry. Next to her, Venu receives the dead body (Babu) thrust over her lap.

After scenes of public mourning, Prakash lifts the crown from her dead husband’s head and bestows it upon Khoo. Instantly, the tension is palpable. To the sound of a frenetic drum roll on the pot drum, Khan separates himself from the group, his hand shaking uncontrollably. He crawls across the platform to Venu, who is now holding the crown gesture. Striking her with repeated blows, he tries to wrest the prize from her hands. She attempts to jointly form the gesture of fluttering doves instead. Overcome with rage and jealousy, Khan jumps down from the platform, his face and hands consumed by twitches and contortions as he struggles to mold the dove gesture into a crown. His crazed energy propels him into gallops, spins, and rolls across the stage. This, of course, leads to conflict portrayed by the reprised martial sequences from the start.

The drama concludes with Venu center stage enacting the movement motifs from the chapters of her life as the narration repeats: “In another time, I was a daughter, and then a wife, and then a mother…” Opening her arms to reflect the world she has created, she falls to her knees and scribbles on the floor, desperately trying to rewrite the story.

With “Gigenis,” Khan combines his formidable artistry and production capabilities with a team of exceptional co-creators, to forge a collective expression that carries forward the stories, art forms, and wisdom of Indian civilization. In the true spirit of Kathak, a storytelling form, “Gigenis” creates a universe—a mirror to our own condition—that we all might find sartori.

Karen Greenspan

Karen Greenspan is a New York City-based dance journalist and frequent contributor to Natural History Magazine, Dance Tabs, Ballet Review, and Tricycle among other publications. She is also the author of Footfalls from the Land of Happiness: A Journey into the Dances of Bhutan, published in 2019.

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