Sitara Devi: The brightest star of them all

Most of my memories involving Sitara Devi include her dressed in a baby pink or sea-blue georgette sari with a big, round red bindi and dyed black hair. She is seated in the front row watching dance recitals with her pink rouged cheeks and maang filled with sindoor. It helped that she made the evening more memorable with her comments on the performance or the artist, and stories from her own glorious past. Nobody left a show without knowing that Sitaraji was there.

So when I visited her apartment in Pedder Road, the sight of her dressed in a petticoat and white vest with her make-up spread across the table, I was initially taken off guard. But really I was overwhelmed. Here I was standing in the same room as a legendary dancer, who inspired Saadat Hasan Manto to write one of his finest profiles which captured her many obsessions. She was the woman who regaled guests at Raj Kapoor’s famous Holi parties at RK Studios in Chembur with her spirited dancing. 

As the daughter of Uma Dogra, a known kathak dancer, my bedtime stories consisted of Sitaraji’s exploits and accomplishments. Some of my favourites: When Sitara Devi reproached an eminent dance critic in front of a packed hall in Delhi. Her rivalry with her nephew, Gopi Krishna. How she refused the Padma Bhushan because she wouldn’t settle for anything less than Bharat Ratna. The time when she greeted my mother, who had just moved to Mumbai, with “Badi sardi ho gayi hai jabse tum Delhi se aayee ho”. (It has been very cold since you arrived from Delhi.) She became my own living apsara aka dancing goddess.

At her home, I followed every move of hers, slow and measured as they were. In her late 80s then, her passion for dance hadn’t waned. The interview was pegged to her performance in the city in the coming fortnight. The stage was her friend forever. In her twilight years, she would sit on a chair and present abhinaya, dancing and talking simultaneously.

She took over two hours to get ready for the photo shoot. Sitaraji loved attention. A photographer didn’t need to tell Sitaraji what to do. She had the biggest bank of looks to kill. She enthusiastically struck a hundred different poses, many of which demonstrated her prowess in mukhaja abhinaya (facial expressions). With her mischievous glances and infectious smile, and the delicate use of her hands, I was transported to another era. I was one of the hundreds who would be captivated by her expressions.

That’s what Sitaraji did on stage. She left audiences mesmerised with her striking presence. She owned the stage. While I don’t have memories of watching her perform at Pt Durgalal Festival, which my mother organised, what I do recollect is coming across a stunning black-and-white photograph at her home. It was of her dressed as a ballerina. The image stays with me till date.

The sun had set by the time she sat down for an interview. A kathak dancer of Benares gharana, she turned a kathakaar (storyteller) as she talked about her terpsichorean journey. She wasn’t a fan of how today’s dancers took innumerable chakkars (pirouettes) and banged their feet in the name of tatkar (footwork) to wow the audience. I listened attentively to her for three hours, realising that no time is enough for an artiste devoted to her art for well over eight decades.

She was not infallible. But then nobody is. She was outspoken. And most definitely a confident and effortless entertainer, which few are. Confined to the bed in the hospital, she still left behind stories to be told. The last I heard was how she taught dance bols to the students who visited her. That was Sitaraji, the Kathak Queen, the only one to carry the title with style.

Kathak has its share of stars but none will shine brighter than Sitara Devi.