Conversations with Waheeda Rehman Read Online Free Page B

years later, I did. Can you believe that?
    NMK: Were these the kind of daydreams you had?
    WR: Yes. I had a feeling I was going to make something of my life, even when I was ten years old. But I was a sickly child. I had a kind of allergic asthma and every few months I’d fall ill. My parents were very worried about me and did not know if I would survive. For a while I would be all right and then fall sick again because we kept moving home.
    When my father was posted to another city, he usually went on ahead while my mother would arrange for the house to be painted and cleaned before we joined him. She used to call my father ‘Saab’, and she would say: ‘Saab, as soon as you get there, make sure you find a doctor.’ She knew I would need a doctor soon enough.
    Drinking different kinds of water, the smell of paint, the dust and the new environment would set off an allergic reaction in me. Recuperating from these bouts of illness took time and this meant my schooling suffered a great deal. I was a fairly good student but a slow learner. I can’t say I’m very educated in that sense.
    NMK: What did the family call you at home? Did you have a pet name?
    WR: No. It was just Waheeda. My husband was a Punjabi, and, because I knew Punjabis give their children pet names, when I had children of my own I requested my mother-in-law: ‘Mama, please don’t call them by some meaningless name like Intu, Pintu, Bintu. Sohail is Sohail and Kashvi is Kashvi.’
[laughs]
    NMK: I believe you started learning Bharatanatyam at a young age. How old were you?
    WR: I must have been about nine. We were living in Rajahmundry in Andhra Pradesh. Many cultural events took place there, and we were fortunate to see the great dancer Kamala Laxman on stage. I was completely enamoured of her. She could hold a pose for a long time—statue-like. That’s when I told my parents I wanted to learn classical dance.
    My first dance guru was Ramachandran. He was a middle-aged man who came to the house to give me dance lessons. I didn’t have a lot of energy because of my asthma and, as a result, my lungs were not very strong. My guruji told my mother that dancing might help my lungs expand, and she started regarding the dance lessons as a kind of treatment. In fact they did help. My sister Sayeeda used to play the tabla for me during the lessons but then she started learning how to dance as well.
    Three different gurus taught me Bharatanatyam. When my first guru passed away, Tirachandoor Meenaxi Sundaram Pillai became my teacher. That was in Madras and when I moved toBombay, Jayalaxmi Alva became my teacher. They all had their own style.

    She began studying Bharatanatyam at the age of nine. Seen here at a Madras dance recital.
    When I first started learning how to dance some of our relatives were disapproving and told my father: ‘Saab, you’re a Muslim and you’re allowing your daughters to dance?’ His reply was: ‘Dancing is an art and no art is bad. It’s how you conduct yourself that can bring dishonour to your profession. The medical profession is a fine one, but if a doctor misbehaves, you cannot blame his profession, can you?’
    NMK: It sounds like your father was a very wise man.
    WR: That he was.
    NMK: Knowing the stigma against women entering the performing arts, how did you come to dance in public for the first time?
    WR: My father was posted to Visakhapatnam, and India’s last Governor General, C. Rajagopalachari, who was known as Rajaji, was visiting on an official tour. Whenever dignitaries came to the city, the local officials had to organize a cultural programme. So my father and his team started preparing for Rajaji’s arrival. They received a message from Delhi instructing them not to invite artists from other towns and instead favour local talent.
    My father and his colleagues were in a flap. How were they going to entertain the Governor General? Daddy’s superiortold him: ‘Rehman, why are you worried? We need a few