Nature and lived experience are deeply woven into my understanding of Bharatanatyam. At least for me, dance does not come only from technique. It comes from observation, from memory, and from the world around us. My teacher has always taught me to absorb nature so that when I dance, I can bring it alive. The more carefully you observe, the more truthfully you can relive it in performance.
For instance, if a production involves something like a large banyan tree, our teachers often encourage us to actually go and sit beneath a tree, to feel its presence, to notice how it stands, how every leaf is different, how even the shades of green are never truly the same. From a distance, it may seem like one single form, but when you look closely, every leaf, every vein, every detail carries its own uniqueness. When you observe these minute details, they stay with you. Then, when you perform, whether consciously or unconsciously, those impressions begin to shape the role from within. And I believe that the more truthfully you feel something, the more the audience is able to feel and believe it too.
The same applies to life experiences and emotions. If I have to portray anger in a scene, it is difficult to simply become angry on command. In fact, any intense emotion is hard to access in an artificial way. But if I connect with a real memory or an experience that stirred that feeling in me, it becomes easier to enter that emotional space and then build upon it in dance.
That is why I feel that what I observe in daily life, in people, in nature, and in my own lived experiences, deeply nourishes my dance. For a dancer, practice does not only happen in the studio. Even without physically dancing, if you are truly observant of everyday life, of your surroundings, of how people move, feel, react, and exist, you are constantly learning. And all of that can find its way into your dance.
