“My first impression of Guruji when he came to Calcutta in 1980 to the Padatik to do a workshop was that of a black stone sculpture in a small gandhiji-style dhoti.

Guruji coached us just for one and a half months, and in that time, whatever potential each one of us had as dancers, he moulded and even literally beat into shape. Prior to that, some of us had never even realized that we had in us what it takes to become Classical dancers.

Living and working in Cuttack with Guruji was yet another experience. The darker the night would get, the more inspired guruji would get. So days merged into nights and nights into days, and I can recall practicing even at 4 in the morning. So inspired was he that he took us with him into a different world where time had no meaning. Stories from the Puranas and about dance kept us enthralled, and we never felt any tiredness or sense of disorientation when we were on our voyage of discovery with Guruji.

Guruji was full of idiosyncrasies. Guruma was the only one permitted to wear a nose pin/ring. Maybe it was a kind of status symbol for her, I don’t know, but whenever I wore a nose ring, Guruji would immediately notice, say I looked like a ‘nautanki’ and wouldn’t let me rest until I took it off. Even in 2000 he was so sensitive about this, that no sooner had I entered his house in Bhubaneswar and put down my bag, had he greeted me by saying “chhi, khol, khol, khol, khol” until I took off my nose ring. He never gave any explanation as to why Ma was allowed to wear her nose ring and I was discriminated against. I have even argued with him on this score, but to no avail.

Once I was dancing with alta on my feet, and it was a bad day, because I kept making the same mistake over and over again. Guruji was full of scorn – “Your steps are all wrong, and you have the audacity to decorate those feet!” he said. His usual names for me were Ghushuri – pig – and Makara – monkey. because of the way I sometimes screw up my face when I concentrate. Today nobody calls me by those names, not even Guruji, and sometimes I miss it – I miss Guruji’s attention, his scoldings, his threats and even his beatings!

Talking of beatings reminds me of the time when I was to go on a tour of the US in 1987. At 2.30 in the morning I was still practicing “Dheerasameere Jamunateere”. Tired and half asleep, I kept making mistakes. Guruji used to keep a stick in his hand to tap out the rhythm. When annoyed with us, he used to fling the stick at us, and it was a game for us to jump out of the way of the stick – it kept us on our toes in more ways than one! That morning I failed to jump out of the way, and the stick struck my left foot. Guruji was appalled and overcome with remorse. He immediately gave me homoeopathy medicines and sat up the whole night applying ice on my foot from a flask.

I left for Calcutta the next day, and my orthopaedic said my foot would trouble me for the rest of my life. Naturally I was upset, but accepted it. But such was Guruji’s ashirwad, that although many a time my right foot has ached, my left foot has never given me a moment’s pain, call it a miracle or what you will.

When Guruji used to compose, he usually would take a line of a song and improvise on it about 20 times. Ultimately, he would keep only 5 lines and reject the rest. I was clever and used to keep a diary and make a note of all the choreographies. Guruji has rejected and long since forgotten them, but to this day I still use all those movements in my own work!

In 1980, Anant Radha, an American student told me that sometimes Guruji doesn’t bathe for as long as 10 days at a stretch. I was skeptical about this, but later came to see that this was indeed true. Although he danced and perspired, and didn’t bathe all that often, he had no body odour. He always smelt of Charlie, his favourite perfume.

There was a childlike quality to Guruji too – if he had the slightest cut or the slightest pain, he would whine like a child and wanted attention. Equally, he fussed over us like a mother hen. When we used to go to sleep, he would personally ensure that all the mosquito nets were tucked in. He was also very particular about cleaning up the wash-basins while we ate our meals, so that we could wash our hands afterwards in the clean basins. In this and many other things, he was a perfectionist.

Once 4 of us students went with him to the Bombay Haridas Sammelan to perform. Although Guruji didn't notice his students most of the time as individuals, and hardly noticed whether we were male or female, on this particular day he noticed that one of the dancers was inadequately endowed. Suddenly he asked, “is this a female or a male”, and grabbing up a handful of cotton wool, he asked my colleague to stuff it in the proper place!

Guruji’s language was unique – broken Bengali, broken English and broken Hindi interspersed with bits of Oriya was his special language of communication. However, he never had any problem communicating with his students, be they from any country in the world, even Japan.

During my first Dance Drama, Gita Govindam, I was playing the role of Krishna. In Jaideva’s famous line “dehi padapallavamudaram” I had to go and prostrate myself at Radha’s feet. Somehow, the way I did it was not to Guruji’s satisfaction even after 21 attempts and finally Guruji got annoyed and left his seat, calling me ghushari makara. I too was so upset that I suggested that Guruji wear a wig and do the part himself. It was one of the many times that he reduced me to tears!

Guruji would always be extra concerned about his married students. Diplomacy was fine-tuned to an art. He used to give us tactful lessons in diplomacy and how to keep our spouses happy. I remember an instance when I was due to perform at the Dover Lane Music Conference in Calcutta. For some reason my husband was annoyed with me and refused to go and see my performance. Guruji was extremely upset that I had failed to please my husband. He told his “Jamai” that if he didn’t go to the performance, Guruji wouldn’t touch the Pakhwaaj. He actually made an audience of 3000 wait until my husband came and took his seat. Guruji would do anything to preserve the sanctity of marriage and to protect the family life of his students.

Gurudakshina was another delicate issue. We used to usually put the gurudakshina at Guruji’s feet. Guruji never bothered to look at what we were putting, let alone count the amount. He would say, go and give it to Ma. Once he was busy with some choreography and I was in a hurry to return to Calcutta. When I tentatively broached the subject of Gurudakshina, he got very annoyed and told me to get lost.

All these traits endeared him to us, and he was a fascinating, romantic, witty, yet childlike and humble creature. It is indeed sad that his new students don’t get to interact with him like we did, and a great personal loss that we don’t get to see this caring, personal and generous side of him any more.”