Till about 9 years of age, I grew up surrounded by the natural splendour of rural East Bengal (which was still a part of British India) − its lush greenery and its expansive rivers. My father was a very spiritual person and used to often sing soul searching songs called ‘Dehatatwer gaan’. Our house was frequented by bauls and fakirs who not only sang spiritually inspiring songs, but songs based on the contemporary political turmoil and strife that was going on in our country at that point.

Although I had frequently travelled to Kolkata as a child, it was only during the riots of 1946 that we moved permanently to Kolkata. I vividly remember our first house in Kolkata. It was a rented one in Taltala. We soon moved to another rental place on Ananda Palit Road in Entally. We finally settled in Belghoria. Given the political instability of the times and the move to Kolkata, my formal education was greatly hampered and I changed school three times – depending on my place of residence.

This was a time of great tumult for the nation, and for us as a family as well, as we were looking to settle in a new place. Some of the momentous incidents that occurred during these years have remained with me even today. The most significant one was, of course, the day India gained independence. On August 15, 1947 – exactly on the stroke of midnight, the air was filled with the resonance of conch shells heralding India’s independence. We were finally free from the shackles of British imperialism. I can recollect quite distinctly, that we had garlanded a picture of Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose – the unsung hero of India’s independence movement – and paid our respects.

Another date that remains embedded in my mind is January 30, 1948. We were staying at our house in Ananda Palit at that point of time. There was still a celebratory mood everywhere. We were still basking in the joy of our nation’s newly gained independence, when we heard that Mahatma Gandhi had been assassinated. I remember being very disturbed at the thought that a man who had followed the principles of ahimsa and satyagraha all his life, had to meet with such a violent end. I well remember the programme that had been organized as a memorial service in our neighbourhood. Suchitra Mitra had sung Tagore’s song “Jadi tor daak shune keu na aashe tobe ekla cholo re…”

I have always been a rather shy person. However, despite being an introvert, the various scars on my body bear witness to the fact that I was also quite mischievous. I loved kites. I loved both – flying kites, as well as running after the torn ones, to be the first to catch them. Once I even fell from the terrace of our first floor house, while lunging after a torn kite. Luckily I managed to escape with only a few broken teeth. Another common game we played with friends involved throwing stones at each other. The person who could duck all the stones would be the winner. I remember one such game, where being the winner brought no joy because my friend was bleeding profusely from one of the stones that I had pelted, which had hit him on the forehead. I remember hiding under the bed for a long time after the incident but that did not spare me from what was in store for me − from my parents. That was the last game of such games. Another passion was swimming. Thrashing around in the pond with my brothers and friends, little did I realize then that these skills in the water would one day lead me in the future to choreograph and perform in water ballets!

Once we had settled in Belghoria, I joined a fitness club called ‘The Health Seekers Club.’ I used to go there regularly for Yoga and various other body building exercises. On the way to the club, was a photo studio called Bose’s Studio. The photographs of various landscapes that hung in the window of the shop fascinated me. One day I approached the owner of the store – Sunil Bose, in an attempt to understand the entire process and soon found myself working there, learning the basics of the trade – clicking pictures, developing, printing, enlarging prints, preparing chemicals and so on and so forth.

Bose’s studio was a meeting place - an adda, for a few artists and intellectuals of Belghoria. Though much younger to the crowd that used to assemble there, I thoroughly enjoyed listening to their thought provoking yet witty exchanges. One fine day, Chaitanya Dasgupta, who was an artist and fondly known as Putulda, asked me, “Do you want to dance?” I was utterly taken aback. Although an introvert and despite the fact that I had no idea what it was all about, on Putulda’s insistence, I went for one of their rehearsals at Anushilani. Anushilani later became a part of Gana Natya Sangha or Indian People’s Theatre Association (IPTA). IPTA inspired me immensely. All the plays, songs and dance-dramas of IPTA were based on the hardships faced by the working class. Through their performances, IPTA aimed to awaken mass consciousness.  Panu Pal, who was a dancer as well as a theatre personality, and also a part of the group that used to gather at ‘Bose’s Studio’, was there as well. He was conducting the rehearsals at Anushilani. The dance drama that was being rehearsed was titled Hunger and Death. The story revolved around the atrocities carried out by landlords on the poor hard- working landless farmers.

The first step that Panuda taught me was based on the rhythm, Dadra. I was to play the role of a farmer − my movements involved enacting picking up a bale of rice from the field in one corner of the stage, carrying the load on my back and then throwing it down at the other end of the stage, and wiping sweat off my forehead. These were the first dance steps that I learned in my journey of life as a dancer.

During this period, IPTA used to perform quite frequently. On the days of the performances, I used to just leave the house with a dhoti and a small towel. No one at home knew for quite a while that I had joined the IPTA as a dancer. As the days progressed, I got more and more involved with dancing and really started to like it. It was around this time that V. Shantaram’s movie Jhanak Jhanak Payal Baje was being screened in Kolkata. The movie mesmerized me. I had never seen anything like it before. The dance, the choreography, the music, stayed with me for days. I watched it repeatedly for quite a number of times. It inspired me to take up dancing seriously. I suddenly found myself being compelled by the feeling that I just had to dance.

Hiru Kundu, a dancer by profession and a member of Uday Shankar’s troupe happened to drop by at Bose’s Studio one day. On hearing about my passion for dancing, he advised that if I wanted to take up dancing seriously, I should first learn the classical dance forms of India. He insisted that the best place to do so would be at the recently founded Academy of Dance Drama and Music at Rabindranath Tagore’s house in Jorasanko, Kolkata. The Dean of Dance at that point of time was none other than the dance maestro Uday Shankar himself, the Dean of Music – Ramesh Chandra Bandopadhya, and the Dean of Drama − Ahindra Chowdhury. The Academy was founded in 1956 with the enthusiastic support of the then Chief Minister of West Bengal, Dr. Bidhan Chandra Roy. It was later merged with Rabindra Bharati University, which was established in 1961 to commemorate the Nobel Laureate poet’s birth centenary.

I auditioned for admission to the Academy in 1957. My mother vehemently opposed my decision to join the Academy, but with my eldest brother’s enthusiastic support and financial support from my childhood friend Romen Bhowmick, I joined the Academy of Dance, Drama and Music. We were the Academy’s third batch of students.

Our Kathakali classes were conducted by Prof. N.K. Shivashankaran. Abhinaya and mudras as applicable in Kathakali, were taught by Prof. T.S.G. Namboodri. He was the son of Guru Shankaran Namboodri, whom Uday Shankar considered to be his Guru. Guru Maruthappa Pillai taught us Bharatnatyam, while Guru Nadia Sigh trained us in Manipuri. Uday Shankar himself used to conduct the General Class at the Academy. Unfortunately for me, by the time we started our classes, Uday Shankar had left the Academy for his tour of China with his troupe. He did not take up the seat at the Academy on his return for various reasons.

Uday Shankar’s then Ballet Master Pappu Raghavan and Music Director Kamalesh Maitra too left the Academy to join the maestro. They too did not return to rejoin the Academy. The other members of Uday Shankar’s troupe who had joined the Academy as part of the faculty, however continued in their positions.

Although I had joined the Academy because I was keen on learning the classical styles, I was clueless about them. I would follow the rest of the students to the various classes and stand in the last row in each class. I did not have any inkling as to which class we were attending, or which style of dance we were learning. I soon confessed my predicament to Hiruda who had urged me to join the Academy in the first place. His well meaning advice turned my life. He said, “Shanti, it’s very easy to quit. But why don’t you wait a little longer and see how things go?” With Hiruda’s encouragement I slowly started focusing on what was being taught in each class. Soon, I not only started to understand and like what I was learning but also began to excel in it.

Deepali Bose was my classmate and a very good student. For the half yearly exam in First Year, Deepali had stood first, while I came in second. She was ahead of me by 28 marks. Determined to turn the figures around, I started working really hard. The results of my labour were reflected when I secured the first position in the finals of both the First Year and Second Year. I pushed myself even harder, and graduated the third and final year with a First Class First Honours in Kathakali.

After four or five months at the Academy, we performed at the German Consulate in Kolkata. I still remember the song we had performed to. It was Tagore’s song “Thamao Rimiki Jhimiki.” The dance was performed mainly by the students of the Second Year. I was the only one among the male dancers who had been selected from the First Year. I was also fortunate to be selected for another couple of performances during my second year at the Academy. Our Manipuri Guruji had taught us Vasant Raas and a Naga dance. I used to perform the role of Krishna in the Vasant Raas. We performed these two items quite a number of times at the Academy. During the latter half of our Second Year, the Academy staged Rabindra Nath Tagore’s dance drama Shyama. It was directed by Sri Balkrishna Menon who enacted the main male lead role of Bajrasen. Menonda was then the Head of the Department of Dance. Snigdha Pal, a student from the Third Year performed in the role of Shyama, while I played the second male lead of Uttiyo.

While at the Academy, I became good friends with Dhurjati Sen, the great grandson of the famous Ayurved Ganga Prasad Sen. Dhurjati’s ancestral home was at Kumartuli. Sri Sri Ramkrishna had graced this house when he had visited Ganga Prasad Sen for treatment. This palatial mansion on the bank of the river Ganga had a huge room which used to be previously used as Naach Ghar – a room where dance performances used to be held. This was the smaller of the two nach ghars in the mansion. Dhurjati and I used to practice in this room, all the more so before our exams.

During my stint at the Academy, certain memorable incidents occurred. One of these was the visit of the then Vietnamese President, Ho Chi Min. The purpose of his visit to the Academy was to see Tagore’s house at Jorasanko. He also planted a cherry sapling in the courtyard. A very simply attired man, it was quite an experience to see the revolutionary leader from such close quarters. A troupe of Vietnamese dancers had also come down around the same time, to perform at Mahajati Sadan in Kolkata. We, that is the students from the Academy, used to herd down to watch these performances. This was probably the first time I was struck with the realization of what perfection implied.

Another experience worth mentioning during this period was watching Bala Saraswati perform. Although in no way connected with the Academy, I am mentioning it here because it occurred during my student life at the Academy, and left a tremendous impression on me. The performance was to be held at New Empire, Kolkata. Bala Saraswati, one of the last devadasis, was already a name to reckon with. I purchased my ticket and reached the venue three hours before the scheduled time of the performance in order to catch a glimpse of her as she entered the auditorium. I hung around the side entrance of the green room for a couple of hours without much luck. She finally arrived around 4:45 pm. I had heard much about her as a dancer, but had no idea what she looked like. Utter disappointment set in when I saw a dark, heavy-set woman and was told that she was Bala Saraswati. My disappointment stemmed from the belief that any one as portly could hardly be expected to dance well. But once the performance started sharp at 6:00 pm, I could hardly believe that this entrancing dancer was the same woman I had seen before. I was simply awestruck. I felt as if I was in a temple, watching the most beautiful and graceful devadasi offering her prayers to her Lord. I felt as if I was in the presence of divinity. I still feel my life would have remained incomplete if I had not been blessed with the opportunity to see her perform, for I witnessed the power of art and an artist in transforming spaces.

It was again during my Academy days, that Dakshinee staged Tagore’s Shyama. Dakshinee was founded by Shubho Guha Thakurta in 1948, with blessings from both Rabindranath Tagore and distinguished Rabindrasangeet exponent and Tagore’s close associate Sailajaranjan Majumdar. Pinaki Anjaria was to perform as Bajrasen and Manjulika Das as Shyama. Bramho took me with him to Dakshinee, to enact the role of Kotal. Bramho was supposed to perform Uttiya. However, during the course of the preparations, the roles were reversed. I went on to enact Uttiyo, and Bramho – Kotal. Performances of this programme were held at Ashutosh Hall and New Empire.

The move from East Bengal to West Bengal during pre-partition, and the subsequent turbulent times – both in the life of the new nation, and our newly migrant family, had disrupted my formal education. The Academy of Dance, Drama and Music, where I went on to complete my higher studies, was therefore a peace haven for me.