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International Dance Day 2025: Manjari Chaturvedi On Turning Sufi Kathak Into Cultural Activism

ETV Bharat talked to Sufi Kathak pioneer Manjari Chaturvedi about dance as storytelling, protest and healing on the occasion of International Dance Day.

Manjari Chaturvedi
Manjari Chaturvedi (Image courtesy the artiste)
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By Kasmin Fernandes

Published : April 29, 2025 at 3:50 PM IST

5 Min Read

Manjari Chaturvedi is not only a classical dancer but an archivist of forgotten truths and a teller of stories with feet and fingers. Known worldwide as the pioneer of Sufi Kathak, she has spent more than two decades entwining movement with mysticism. But she is also the voice behind 'The Courtesan Project,' a formidable cultural revival that seeks to reinstate dignity to the once-revered tawaifs of India. On the occasion of International Dance Day, we sat down with the artist whose performances do challenge memory.

Birth of Sufi Kathak

“I launched Sufi Kathak formally way back in 1998 in Lucknow,” she says, her tone unhurried. “There was no internet, no Instagram or YouTube. So, access to what was happening in the world in terms of art and culture was difficult. Sufi Kathak was drawn out of my own feeling at that point of time.”

Drawn to the trance of qawwali, Manjari sought to interpret not just rhythm, but devotion itself. Her early performances (set to the verses of Rumi and Bulleh Shah), transcended the usual grammar of Bharatanatyam and Kathak. “I didn’t want dance to be entertainment,” she explains. “I wanted it to be a spiritual experience... for me, and for the audience.” And it was.

Manjari Chaturvedi
Manjari Chaturvedi during a Sufi Kathak performance (Image courtesy the artiste)

Over the years, Manjari took Sufi Kathak to stages across Central Asia, Iran, Kashmir, and Europe. She collaborated with Iranian musicians, Rajasthani folk artists, Kashmiri ensembles, and even saxophonist Tim Rice of British rock band The Rolling Stones. “Spirituality knows no borders,” she says. “Music and dance go beyond language. They enter the realm of emotion.” But her metaphor for dance is perhaps the most illuminating.

“Dance is like language,” she says. “You learn the alphabet, then form words, then sentences. But unless you know what story you want to tell, it’s gibberish.”

Grammar of the Soul

In Manjari’s world, taal and mudra are no different from commas and semicolons. “The grammar is the means,” she says. “The message is the story. And mine has always been about love... the kind Sufi saints spoke of.” That’s what makes her performances with international musicians so moving. Tunisian percussionists, Iranian setar players, global jazz artists all have shared the stage with her. “It’s not just the music,” she insists. “It’s the feeling. If I’m performing a story of pathos, my audience must feel sorrow. If it’s a tale of romance, they must believe in its tenderness.”

Yet even as she garners global appreciation, Manjari faces misconception closer to home. “International audiences are open-minded,” she says. “They try to understand Sufi Kathak as spiritual expression. But in India, the problem is Bollywood.”

“For many here, ‘Sufi’ means a romantic song with a twirl. It’s not their fault; it’s how the media presents it. But Sufi Kathak isn’t an item number. It’s an ecstatic state. You don’t dance outward, you dance inward.”

That inward gaze would eventually lead her to the lives of women history forgot to honour.

The Courtesan Project

“I call it cultural activism,” she says, speaking of 'The Courtesan Project'. “Because art, like activism, must provoke. It must question.” Launched as a multimedia initiative, the project combines dance, film, literature and documentation to rewrite the cultural history of India’s tawaifs: women who were once the keepers of dance, music, etiquette, and poetry. “They were not prostitutes,” she asserts. They were artists, patrons, and educators. We worship the ghazals they composed but degrade the women who sang them. That’s a failure of memory.

The project has taken her to old havelis, museums, archives, and dusty homes with veiled histories. It’s changed her. “I come from privilege. I had freedom to dance. No one judged me for performing. But there are women (equally talented) who were shamed for doing exactly what I do.” To understand their world, she needed empathy. “People dismiss kothas as dens of vice. But think about it. Today, we go to a multiplex, watch a song-and-dance sequence, grab popcorn, then maybe go to a bar for a drink before going home. What’s different? The kotha was a pre-technological cultural space: art, food, drink, conversation. Yet it is vilified.”

She pauses. “I wanted to speak for those who never got to explain themselves.”

Dancing as Protest, Prayer and Policy

So what does she want for dance in India? “We have CSR (Corporate Social Responsibility), why not cultural social responsibility?” she asks. She’s especially passionate about support for rural and traditional artists. “We need documentation, grants, infrastructure. I hope some day, there is a policy that each corporate should spend a section of their CSR spends specifically on art and culture. What defines us as a people is our culture. As a result, the artistes are suffering. There are traditional artistes who do not even have money to support themselves. This is surprising since India’s cultural diversity is staggering. Every 50 kilometres in India, there’s a new dance form. A new weaving pattern. A different dialect. We need to fund this living heritage before it disappears.”

The Courtesan Project changed her. “It made me realise how lucky I am. It taught me to respect silence. The stories I tell now are heavier but also more urgent,” says the dance exponent. Through her work, she has highlighted not just artistic injustice but also gender bias. “The women I dance for were mocked for the same songs we celebrate in award shows today.”

Chaturvedi's final thoughts circle back to her beginning. “I dance for prayer. For stillness. For connection. If I’ve managed to make even one person feel something they hadn’t allowed themselves to feel before, then it was worth it.” That is perhaps her legacy as a dance artiste. Not just steps or spins or stages but the re-inscription of dance as a bridge. Between cultures, between centuries.

Read more:

  1. The Tapi Project, The Band That Channels Ancient Currents Into Modern Sounds
  2. Interview With Dance Maestro Sanjeet Gangani of the Jaipur Gharana on Taking Kathak to the World Stage
  3. Padma Shri Malavika Sarukkai Celebrates 50 Years In Classical Dance And Choreography: “Bharatanatyam Became A Spiritual Quest”

Manjari Chaturvedi is not only a classical dancer but an archivist of forgotten truths and a teller of stories with feet and fingers. Known worldwide as the pioneer of Sufi Kathak, she has spent more than two decades entwining movement with mysticism. But she is also the voice behind 'The Courtesan Project,' a formidable cultural revival that seeks to reinstate dignity to the once-revered tawaifs of India. On the occasion of International Dance Day, we sat down with the artist whose performances do challenge memory.

Birth of Sufi Kathak

“I launched Sufi Kathak formally way back in 1998 in Lucknow,” she says, her tone unhurried. “There was no internet, no Instagram or YouTube. So, access to what was happening in the world in terms of art and culture was difficult. Sufi Kathak was drawn out of my own feeling at that point of time.”

Drawn to the trance of qawwali, Manjari sought to interpret not just rhythm, but devotion itself. Her early performances (set to the verses of Rumi and Bulleh Shah), transcended the usual grammar of Bharatanatyam and Kathak. “I didn’t want dance to be entertainment,” she explains. “I wanted it to be a spiritual experience... for me, and for the audience.” And it was.

Manjari Chaturvedi
Manjari Chaturvedi during a Sufi Kathak performance (Image courtesy the artiste)

Over the years, Manjari took Sufi Kathak to stages across Central Asia, Iran, Kashmir, and Europe. She collaborated with Iranian musicians, Rajasthani folk artists, Kashmiri ensembles, and even saxophonist Tim Rice of British rock band The Rolling Stones. “Spirituality knows no borders,” she says. “Music and dance go beyond language. They enter the realm of emotion.” But her metaphor for dance is perhaps the most illuminating.

“Dance is like language,” she says. “You learn the alphabet, then form words, then sentences. But unless you know what story you want to tell, it’s gibberish.”

Grammar of the Soul

In Manjari’s world, taal and mudra are no different from commas and semicolons. “The grammar is the means,” she says. “The message is the story. And mine has always been about love... the kind Sufi saints spoke of.” That’s what makes her performances with international musicians so moving. Tunisian percussionists, Iranian setar players, global jazz artists all have shared the stage with her. “It’s not just the music,” she insists. “It’s the feeling. If I’m performing a story of pathos, my audience must feel sorrow. If it’s a tale of romance, they must believe in its tenderness.”

Yet even as she garners global appreciation, Manjari faces misconception closer to home. “International audiences are open-minded,” she says. “They try to understand Sufi Kathak as spiritual expression. But in India, the problem is Bollywood.”

“For many here, ‘Sufi’ means a romantic song with a twirl. It’s not their fault; it’s how the media presents it. But Sufi Kathak isn’t an item number. It’s an ecstatic state. You don’t dance outward, you dance inward.”

That inward gaze would eventually lead her to the lives of women history forgot to honour.

The Courtesan Project

“I call it cultural activism,” she says, speaking of 'The Courtesan Project'. “Because art, like activism, must provoke. It must question.” Launched as a multimedia initiative, the project combines dance, film, literature and documentation to rewrite the cultural history of India’s tawaifs: women who were once the keepers of dance, music, etiquette, and poetry. “They were not prostitutes,” she asserts. They were artists, patrons, and educators. We worship the ghazals they composed but degrade the women who sang them. That’s a failure of memory.

The project has taken her to old havelis, museums, archives, and dusty homes with veiled histories. It’s changed her. “I come from privilege. I had freedom to dance. No one judged me for performing. But there are women (equally talented) who were shamed for doing exactly what I do.” To understand their world, she needed empathy. “People dismiss kothas as dens of vice. But think about it. Today, we go to a multiplex, watch a song-and-dance sequence, grab popcorn, then maybe go to a bar for a drink before going home. What’s different? The kotha was a pre-technological cultural space: art, food, drink, conversation. Yet it is vilified.”

She pauses. “I wanted to speak for those who never got to explain themselves.”

Dancing as Protest, Prayer and Policy

So what does she want for dance in India? “We have CSR (Corporate Social Responsibility), why not cultural social responsibility?” she asks. She’s especially passionate about support for rural and traditional artists. “We need documentation, grants, infrastructure. I hope some day, there is a policy that each corporate should spend a section of their CSR spends specifically on art and culture. What defines us as a people is our culture. As a result, the artistes are suffering. There are traditional artistes who do not even have money to support themselves. This is surprising since India’s cultural diversity is staggering. Every 50 kilometres in India, there’s a new dance form. A new weaving pattern. A different dialect. We need to fund this living heritage before it disappears.”

The Courtesan Project changed her. “It made me realise how lucky I am. It taught me to respect silence. The stories I tell now are heavier but also more urgent,” says the dance exponent. Through her work, she has highlighted not just artistic injustice but also gender bias. “The women I dance for were mocked for the same songs we celebrate in award shows today.”

Chaturvedi's final thoughts circle back to her beginning. “I dance for prayer. For stillness. For connection. If I’ve managed to make even one person feel something they hadn’t allowed themselves to feel before, then it was worth it.” That is perhaps her legacy as a dance artiste. Not just steps or spins or stages but the re-inscription of dance as a bridge. Between cultures, between centuries.

Read more:

  1. The Tapi Project, The Band That Channels Ancient Currents Into Modern Sounds
  2. Interview With Dance Maestro Sanjeet Gangani of the Jaipur Gharana on Taking Kathak to the World Stage
  3. Padma Shri Malavika Sarukkai Celebrates 50 Years In Classical Dance And Choreography: “Bharatanatyam Became A Spiritual Quest”
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