In the vibrant cultural hub of Bangalore, Talin Subbaraya is making waves as a queer artist through movement, writing, and theatre. His work is a personal exploration of storytelling, blending classical and contemporary forms to create unique, resonant performances.
Currently studying Bharatanatyam with Priyanka Chandrasekhar at Nirali, Talin pushes the boundaries of traditional dance. His notable achievements include participating in the "Writer's Lab Mumbai" in 2021, where he developed scripts reflecting his unique perspective. The same year, he co-created the dance film “An Alarippu,” which talked about the experiences of queer folks in Bangalore through the medium of Bharatanatyam.
Varun Kheria, ARISA’s science communicator, got the wonderful opportunity to speak to Talin about his art and how interwoven it is with his identity. Below are excerpts from the conversation they had -
Varun - How has your identity influenced your art, and inversely how has the art you practice helped you come to terms with your identity?
Talin - I think my lived experience generally impacts the art I attempt to make, like most people, consciously or unconsciously. Making personal work, I’m learning, reveals a lot for oneself. It brings memories, experiences, and emotions in a very visceral way. The process invariably pushes one to introspect, sometimes too much. Thus, as cathartic as the process of art making is, it also pushes you to look at yourself with new lenses and can reveal more of oneself, which can be beautiful, vulnerable, fearful even, I suppose.
Varun - Bharatnatyam is an artform known to be very rigid bound by traditions, especially when it comes to the stances and parts that being gender specific. How do you reconcile your gender identity with the 'rules' of Bharatnatyam?
Talin - I’m slowly acknowledging that even the queer body in performance can be a subversion by itself. A recent piece in the making brought forth how Bharatanatyam as a form is essentially masculine in the way one is expected to perform, especially rhythmic sections, especially today. I also can’t deny that now I enjoy those leaps and jumps that are expected out of a ‘male’ Bharatanatyam dancer. I’m privileged in that sense. But I also believe that in subverting Bharatanatyam pieces, there is immense space to tell alternate stories, stories that move us, make us, disturb us too. To do a love-based piece as a queer person using the form of Bharatanatyam can be subversive too. To go further and weave a personal narrative into the existing fabric of a composition can be subversive too.
At Nirali, a space and collective where I learn with my mentor Priyanka Chandrasekhar, rest in Bharatanatyam became an important investigation. What does rest in a form that banks on the idea of stamina and rigour mean? What does it say of us when we find rest in the stamina and rigour itself? What does the discomfort with stopping and resting in performance say? Could resting and the ability to take space and rest be a gendered experience?
Varun - Part of being an artist is baring a portion of your soul while performing, which can make a lot of artists anxious. How do you deal with and process that anxiety if you face it?
Talin - I think the anxiety and vulnerability that performance can bring are very telling of what our body probably needs at the moment. I know for the longest time, I ignored these signs of immense anxiety that a particular piece brought. The consequence of it was very visceral, with me entering rehearsal nauseous, needing to puke before rehearsal, simply not being able to move in rehearsal too. I know, if not for my mentor, I probably would not have been able to look at myself and ask myself to stop. Today I feel like the body really knows and shows signs of not being ready for a piece of work. An important part of dealing with the anxiety is listening to it, I think. Listening to what it’s saying, what it is attempting to do. I think I really struggle with this, but really finding ways to listen to our bodies, even if they ask us to stop, is crucial.
Varun - Why was it important for you to talk about the experiences of queer folks in Bangalore through 'An Alarippu'?
Talin - It was important because I saw it and experienced it very viscerally, this exploration of queerness across Bengaluru.
‘An Alarippu’ finds its basis in an incident from 2015. At the time, I was 17 years old. I was beginning to make sense of the fact that I was attracted to men. There wasn’t acceptance. There was guilt and stealth in both the acts and the acceptance. I was cruising around a specific place in Bangalore. Very indulging, very passionate. At such a point, we didn’t realise, but the police were checking the area. Article 377 wasn’t scrapped yet. What we were indulging in was a criminal offence. We were taken to the police station. We were obviously shamed, leered at, instigated. That moment was filled with fear. Immense fear and insecurity. I was in the moment.
Interestingly, this happened only once. I indulged again. Yes, there was immense fear in that indulgence. Fear of being caught, of being interrogated, of being pushed into doing things I might not have wanted to do. But there was exploration and excitement that accompanied those moments of fear.
This piece is a response to the fear that I housed at being caught by the police. It is in some ways a response to being asked, “Matthe madtiya?” or “Will you do it again?” This piece intends to integrate the alarippu and my experiences of pleasure in public spaces. My intent behind integrating them is that both of them coincidentally came into my life and were bound by the idea of exploration. For me, the blooming of a flower could mean the beginning of exploration of my sexuality. At a point when I just started figuring I was homosexual, I obviously was not introduced to apps like Grindr that could aid sexual explorations. I travelled by bus and walked through the city, considering college and rehearsals. The city, was and in certain ways, is my site of exploration. Buses, chai shops, bus stops became spaces of resilience, encounters and pleasure.
I think public spaces can be kinder to individuals who are queer and seek intimacy. In the erasure and unseeing of the queer by heteronormative individuals, I think there is a certain leverage to indulge sexually, in small ways, in parks, in buses, at bus stops, in malls, in isolated spaces. I don’t think the city erases my sexuality. I think it allows for it. It makes space for it. Maybe, it even nurtures it. The piece is an amalgamation of my explorations of sexuality in public spaces using the alarippu as its structure.
Varun - Are there any queer artists that have inspired you?
Talin - I really enjoy reading Vikram Seth and Agha Shahid Ali. There is immense sensitivity in their writing and that really moves me. I’m genuinely intrigued by the little I’ve read of Merce Cunnigham and his process of chance choreography.
Varun - How is the creative freedom that your writing gives you different from the one that dance does? What topics, themes, or ideas do you prefer to explore through your writing?
Talin - I really don’t choose what to write or what to dance. Often, I find it easier to start on paper, though it might not be the most fruitful process each time, given the nature of performance and its practice. The body as a starting point of creation is something I’m really attempting and grappling with, currently. It largely depends on how I’m feeling about what I want to create and how it might find expression that decides form. I also would admit that the selfish desire to perform, to be seen, has also led to performance pieces over pieces of writing. The attempt to go back to intent and understand what would work best for the piece is a practice I’m also constantly trying to cultivate.
Varun - What are a few projects that you're looking forward to working on in the future?
Talin - I’m looking forward to and hoping I can get back to a piece titled, “This is the Male Washroom” that I’ve taken a break from. I don’t know if I’m ready for it yet, I’m attempting to listen to my body. I’m also looking forward to creating a series of pieces exploring ideas of masculinity. I’m unsure of where and how that will go, but I intend to attempt it.
Varun - What's your favourite memory related to dance? It could be about any dance form, not just Bharatnatyam.
Talin - I don’t have a favourite, but I especially enjoy working in ensembles. I love the joy, chai and energy that ensembles bring along with disagreements, chaos and reconciliation. There is something about creating together that genuinely has my heart. I really hope to do more ensemble work in the time to come.
- Varun Kheria, Science Communicator, ARISA Foundation