<p>A s much as it has been perceived to be a feminine space, the world of art is ruled by patriarchal norms and notions. When I had to choose art as a profession, it was always a big no, because the misogynistic world saw art as feminine and femininity has always been associated with fragility. But the world didn’t know that as a person who was born with a genderless body, this was the only genderless space I had. I was six-years-old when I was given my first anklets by my <span class="italic">Guru</span>. For months, I had sleepless nights dreaming of this day, as it was like an end to my dancing within the confines of the four walls.</p>.<p>The day of <span class="italic">Gejjey Pooje</span> (ritual of anklets) was the most auspicious day for me. It was auspicious because it was a ticket to my freedom of expression. It was like I was given wings to fly freely. Everyone in my village believes that dance was the major reason for my transition —that was their assumption. It gave me all the freedom I needed to express my true feelings. As much as I saw this, even they did. Durga Gawde, sculptor and India’s first Drag King once said that: “We all have biases the way we view art. Utility is what keeps us in the world and art keeps us outside the world.” </p>.<p>Just like Durga, my convergence of energy was with exploring femininity which was denied to me. Bharatanatyam didn’t make me different; I chose it because I was different. Also, I am not saying that it is the space for people who are different like me. It was one of the spaces where I could just breathe freely. But the freedom came with conditions as I was asked to perform many times to the gender my body was associated with. It is a thin grey line of freedom and orthodox propaganda.</p>.<p>There were days I was bullied and thrown a tantrum by a bunch of boys. This made me sad and humiliated. I had thoughts of killing myself but the fear of losing my dance costumes and jewels stopped me from ending my life. It was a silly thought which stopped me from making the biggest mistake of my life.</p>.<p>As performers, our body is just a tool to communicate with people. We receive energy from the audience, manifest it and give it back. We are not man or woman there, we are only artists. The male gaze and female gaze might see us as they want to, but what we show is stories of unseen and untold emotions. Those emotions are free from gender boxes. Art is a gender-fluid river, you feel the energy of masculinity and femininity, sometimes you don’t feel anything. Some of the structure or traditions of art might be a structure of gender norms, but the process of performing artists are beyond those norms.</p>.<p><em><span class="italic">(The author is a performer, poet & a feminist activist who has left her mark with her art, poetry, LGBTQIA+ talks and feminism ideologies. This column will share untold stories of inclusivity & diversity.)</span></em></p>
<p>A s much as it has been perceived to be a feminine space, the world of art is ruled by patriarchal norms and notions. When I had to choose art as a profession, it was always a big no, because the misogynistic world saw art as feminine and femininity has always been associated with fragility. But the world didn’t know that as a person who was born with a genderless body, this was the only genderless space I had. I was six-years-old when I was given my first anklets by my <span class="italic">Guru</span>. For months, I had sleepless nights dreaming of this day, as it was like an end to my dancing within the confines of the four walls.</p>.<p>The day of <span class="italic">Gejjey Pooje</span> (ritual of anklets) was the most auspicious day for me. It was auspicious because it was a ticket to my freedom of expression. It was like I was given wings to fly freely. Everyone in my village believes that dance was the major reason for my transition —that was their assumption. It gave me all the freedom I needed to express my true feelings. As much as I saw this, even they did. Durga Gawde, sculptor and India’s first Drag King once said that: “We all have biases the way we view art. Utility is what keeps us in the world and art keeps us outside the world.” </p>.<p>Just like Durga, my convergence of energy was with exploring femininity which was denied to me. Bharatanatyam didn’t make me different; I chose it because I was different. Also, I am not saying that it is the space for people who are different like me. It was one of the spaces where I could just breathe freely. But the freedom came with conditions as I was asked to perform many times to the gender my body was associated with. It is a thin grey line of freedom and orthodox propaganda.</p>.<p>There were days I was bullied and thrown a tantrum by a bunch of boys. This made me sad and humiliated. I had thoughts of killing myself but the fear of losing my dance costumes and jewels stopped me from ending my life. It was a silly thought which stopped me from making the biggest mistake of my life.</p>.<p>As performers, our body is just a tool to communicate with people. We receive energy from the audience, manifest it and give it back. We are not man or woman there, we are only artists. The male gaze and female gaze might see us as they want to, but what we show is stories of unseen and untold emotions. Those emotions are free from gender boxes. Art is a gender-fluid river, you feel the energy of masculinity and femininity, sometimes you don’t feel anything. Some of the structure or traditions of art might be a structure of gender norms, but the process of performing artists are beyond those norms.</p>.<p><em><span class="italic">(The author is a performer, poet & a feminist activist who has left her mark with her art, poetry, LGBTQIA+ talks and feminism ideologies. This column will share untold stories of inclusivity & diversity.)</span></em></p>
