Let’s talk about the elephant in the *shala*. The one draped not in silence, but in the swirling, pulsating fabric of human desire.
Geeta Kapur—or Geeta Maa, as she’s revered—just looked a billion viewers in the eye and said, “I’m not a nun.” In a culture that often insists its female gurus be asexual saints, cloistered in purity, this wasn’t just a statement. It was a tremor.
For years, the narrative around our classical arts, especially when taught by women, has been one of sanitized spirituality. The guru is a vessel, a conduit for the divine. Her body? A mere instrument for the *rasa*, the emotion. Her personal life? A quiet, shadowy backdrop to the bright stage of her art. Intimacy? A topic as foreign to her public persona as a breakbeat in a *thumri*.
Then enters Geeta Maa. The formidable *Dance Guru*, the sharp-eyed judge, the disciplinarian who commands respect. She dismantles that monolithic image with a single, candid conversation. By speaking openly about intimacy, she performs a radical act: she reclaims her humanity.
This isn’t about scandal. It’s about wholeness.
Think about it. The very arts she teaches—Bharatanatyam, Kathak, Odissi—are rooted in *shringara rasa*, the essence of romantic and erotic love. The poems of Jayadeva, the sculptures of Khajuraho, the *abhinaya* of a nayika pining for her beloved… this tradition is saturated with the poetry of desire. How can its foremost teachers be expected to divorce themselves from that fundamental human experience? To teach the fire while pretending not to know its heat?
Kapur’s candidness is a masterstroke of modern guru-hood. It tells her students, especially the young women, something crucial: **You do not have to choose.** You can be devoted to your art with monastic rigor *and* be a complete, complex person with a life beyond the rehearsal room. Your passion on the stage and your passions off it are not warring forces; they can be different notes in the same complex raga of your life.
It breaks the last remaining taboo in our dance discourse. We’ve discussed technique, innovation, politics, and costume. But the private life of the female artist, especially one in a position of authority, remained shrouded. By bringing it into the light, Kapur normalizes the fact that artists live, love, and desire. It grounds the divine art in a very human reality.
The backlash, from certain quarters, is predictable. The guardians of a false piety will clutch their pearls. But their discomfort is the point. Growth is uncomfortable. Geeta Kapur isn’t just teaching dance steps anymore; she’s teaching a generation to shed hypocrisy, to embrace every facet of themselves without apology.
So, the next time you see Geeta Maa on screen, analyzing a *tandav* or deconstructing an expression, remember: you are witnessing a complete artist. A woman who understands that the deepest *abhinaya* comes from a life fully lived—in all its sacred, messy, and profoundly human glory.
The guru has spoken. And her lesson today is about the dance we do when no one is watching, and the courage to admit we dance it at all. *That* might be her most powerful performance yet.
