Surrender & Survival
- Yamini Kalluri
- Apr 4
- 6 min read
It’s been a while since I posted something here on the blog. I guess this one’s more of a personal reflection; something I’ve been sitting with after recent experiences, encounters, and adventures in India. This post is dedicated to my Kuchipudi dance students at Kritya Foundation, and in some ways, it’s a moment of vulnerability with all of you. But I think it might resonate with Indian classical dancers who are walking a path similar to mine.
My student journey in Kuchipudi was turbulent and painful. Because of that, from the age of 17, I stopped seeking out a teacher figure. By 18, I had completely withdrawn. I had to be like Ekalavya from the Mahabharata learning from a distance, from a place of isolation. For a huge part of my life, that’s how it was. I ended up learning by watching and imitating dancers I admired such as Rama Vaidyanathan, Bijayini Satpathy, Parshwanath Upadhye, Shantala Shivalingappa, Kishore Mosalikanti, Vempati Ravi Shankar, and many others.
It wasn’t that I wanted to be alone. But I was carrying too much pain and trauma, and somehow, dancing alone felt safer. Only recently, after years of healing, did I finally find my mentor, Dr. Katyayani Kanak in Hyderabad. The loneliness and lack of community were eating me up from the inside. Reaching out to her was a huge shift. Finding peace in that relationship helped me believe that healthy, supportive relationships between teachers and students are possible.
Recently, I started learning Mridangam from Harsha Mandayam Bharathi who is also my collaborator at Kritya Music Ensemble and Carnatic vocal music from Asha Ramesh. P.S. I am addicted to doing intensives with both of them because I feel a childlike wonder and joy around them. I realized how much I missed being a student fully surrendering to the process. As an entrepreneur, I’m constantly leading, managing, taking risks. But being a student balances me out. It’s about trusting my teachers, my community, the world. Entrepreneurship is about placing faith in yourself, no matter what. But studenthood is about letting go.
During this India trip, I gave myself full permission to be a student again. I had never explored Odissi before, so I attended Bijayini’s Parichay workshop at the Adishakthi Performing Arts Centre in Pondicherry. Bijayini Di’s workshop left a deep mark on me. The clarity with which she articulates her corrections, her philosophy, and the way she holds space for every student, it’s remarkable. Her discipline and attention to detail are something else. The care she brings into the room, the control she has over every inch of her body… it’s like watching someone who has engineered herself through sheer intellect and relentless practice.
You can see how much she reads, thinks, trains; it’s all reflected in her body. She always has a notebook with her, constantly learning, documenting, refining. Just being around her feels like a blessing.
And dancing next to her student, Prithvi Nayak, was nothing short of inspiring. I had admired Prithvi on Instagram for a long time. Finally getting to dance beside this beautiful, hardworking goddess felt almost unreal. It was one of those full-circle, goosebumps kind of moments.
I did an intensive one-on-one with my Bharatanatyam teacher, Vijna Vasudevan akka. I also spent some incredible time with Katyayani akka in Hyderabad. And I concluded the trip with a deeply transformative experience at Natanakairali in Kerala, doing Navarasa Sadhana with Venu sir.
It was my first time witnessing Theyyam in Calicut with Vijna akka. Vijna akka taught me more than just Bharatanatyam, she taught me how to be a better and calmer person. Her care for my growth as a human being was so evident. That’s exactly why I chose her as my teacher. I knew she carried both a big heart and a refined, thoughtful mind.
Every pointer she gave me felt intentional and aimed at making me better not just as a dancer, but as a person. One thing I’ve noticed with all truly great teachers: they document everything. Writing is part of their practice, and they make sure you build that habit too. That commitment to reflection, to process, to detail it’s part of the legacy they pass on. When a teacher believes that a certain experience is good for you, and you surrender to that completely, it’s a powerful feeling. This whole trip had a strong Kerala/Tantra theme to it. I immersed myself in its rich performing arts traditions and ritual aesthetics, learning about the layered history behind it all. I chose to train with Renjith sir and Vijna akka because I want to get a taste of their unique artistic approach towards movement and physicality. After studying so many styles of dance, I see everything as mere movement and I do not get caught into the dogma of styles. I always admired their calmness in their dance since I was a kid. I feel lucky to finally experience their brilliance during my training.
But if I had to pick one moment that felt absolutely cathartic, it was my time with Venu sir at Natanakairali.
As someone who grew up appreciating art, music, and literature from all over the world, I always felt drawn to global perspectives. Especially in dance, which is my primary language. But for the longest time, I carried guilt. I felt like I wasn’t being loyal enough to my own culture especially with my love for ballet and modern dance, which feel like my artistic alter ego.
Listening to Venu sir speak about dance and theatre traditions from all over the world, his respect and curiosity for them was healing in ways I can’t describe. He appreciated that I had studied at the Martha Graham School. And he spoke with such nuance about Ruth St. Denis, someone who’s often criticized in the West for cultural appropriation. But Venu sir, through his deep research, shared how Ruth was actually the first to bring Indian aesthetics into theatres in India, influencing even luminaries like Rabindranath Tagore. Before her, Indian dance traditions were largely confined to temples.
It was such a relief to hear this. I’ve long admired Ruth St. Denis and Martha Graham, but I’ve felt afraid to say that out loud. Venu sir helped me make peace with all of it. I felt seen, embraced, and respected for exactly who I am. For the first time, I didn’t feel alone in my explorations of crossover work. I felt like I found a father figure in him. I went there to learn Navarasa, but what I gained was so much more I found belonging. I could be myself 100%. And I truly believe: you can only go deep when you are fully yourself.
I never imagined someone from Venu sir’s generation would be so open-minded. Sadly, many young people today seem more closed off perhaps because of the extreme political polarization we live in.
And it breaks my heart that despite all he’s done for Indian classical dance and theatre, people like Venu sir and organizations like Natanakairali still struggle for funding and support. In a strange way, it was comforting to realize that I’m not the only “mad” artist who isn’t driven by financial gain. But it was also devastating to see how little our society values people like him. We cry after their absence is felt but when they are actually here why aren't we doing anything. Pointless instagram eulogies and grieving especially when these people were treated like outcasts for being bold and brilliant when they are alive.
If stalwarts like Venu sir are struggling, how are independent artists like me supposed to survive especially in India, with its entrenched nepotism, casteism, sexism, regionalism, and bureaucracy? Every time I visit India, I end up $15,000 in debt. And yet, we’re told we have to “legitimize” ourselves by earning validation from Indian institutions while drowning financially. It’s exhausting. It’s heartbreaking. I also realised when I do my crossover work I get paid so much more in India that when I do traditional work. It is sad that we do not value our traditional artists in India. Because consuming foreign art is seen to be more sophistocated than supporting local traditions.
I still don’t know how to navigate all this. I’m a broke entrepreneur with big dreams. What can I actually do to change this broken system?
But through all this chaos, I’ve come to feel a deep compassion for my students. I never judge anyone for not taking up the arts full-time. The system is a mess. Especially for traditional dancers. And I’m not someone who seeks security through marriage or other structures. I’ve chosen to be a self-sufficient, independent woman. That choice comes with its own cost. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
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