Kathak icon Kumudini Lakhia, who questioned tradition, dies at 94

Her question about disassociating katha and Kathak, at the time, was sawing at the roots of an artform that was so entrenched in the idea of storytelling — of Krishna-Radha, of Shiva-Parvati, among others. But Lakhia persisted to find newer meanings. Over a career spanning seven decades, Lakhia infused abstraction into an idiom immersed in narrative, created themes that spoke to the present, and turned Kathak from a solo art form into an ensemble presentation. Lakhia, the “dance titan” as her student and Kathak exponent Aditi Mangaldas calls her, passed away on Saturday at 94, leaving behind a legacy that reshaped Kathak.

Lakhia was awarded  Padma Shri in 1987 and Padma Bhushan in 2010. Padma Vibhushan was also announced for her earlier this year.

PM Narendra Modi condoled Lakhia’s demise on X and called her an “outstanding cultural icon”. “…A true pioneer, she also nurtured generations of dancers. Her contributions will continue to be cherished…,” he wrote.

Lakhia grew up in Mumbai, in a family of music connoisseurs. She initially trained under Pt Sundar Prasad of Jaipur gharana and later in Delhi and Lahore from Prasad’s nephew Radhey Lal Misra.

Lakhia was introduced to dance giant Ram Gopal by her father’s friend. Gopal needed a dancer for his upcoming Europe tour and asked Lakhia to accompany him. She was 18 then. Lakhia then took up a government scholarship and learned with Pt Shambhu Maharaj, the legendary name from the Lucknow gharana and worked with Pt Birju Maharaj.

“In that era, she courageously chartered her course in Kathak — in form, in presentation, costumes, and influencing several young dancers of succeeding generations, which resonates even today,” said Kathak exponent Shovana Narayan, who met Lakhia in the ’60s through Maharaj.

But people asked, ‘where is the story?’ One of her groundbreaking pieces remains Duvidha (1971), which delved into internal conflict of a woman yearning for a life beyond domestic confines. She even used electronic music to portray the protagonist’s aspirations. It was criticised, called “ridiculous” until it was appreciated years later. Lakhia had been ahead of her time. In Dhabkar (Pulse), she removed the dupatta from the torso and let the girls dance comfortably. The word ‘shameless’ was thrown around.

“When you have inherited an age-old legacy, there is a burden. Many people take that tradition, which you inherit as sacrosanct, and she didn’t. She believed she had the right to question … It’s not only what you say, it’s saying the unsaid that changed the form so much,” says 65-year-old Mangaldas, who began learning from Lakhia when she was five.