4 min readJun 15, 2026 05:05 PM IST
First published on: May 24, 2023 at 04:48 PM IST
Last week, Prime Minister Narendra Modi inaugurated the International Museum Expo 2023 in New Delhi. On the occasion, the PM also, in the words of a Press Information Bureau (PIB) release, “unveiled the stylised and contemporarised life-size version of a 5-feet tall toy in Channapatna style inspired by the Bronze Dancing Girl of the Sindhu Saraswati Sabhyata which is the official mascot of the International Museum Expo 2023.” The mascot, according to the PIB, “is interpreted as a modern-day “dwarpaal” or “door-guardian” that ushers the audience into the experience of the International Museum Expo 2023.”
I remember the Dancing Girl from my ICSE Class 5 history textbook. Something about her, the tilted head, her hand on her hips, stayed with me. Years later, when I saw her at the National Museum in New Delhi, she was tinier than I had expected, but riveting all the same. That stance, that attitude, was instantly recognisable.
The mascot the PM unveiled, however, is flummoxing. For one, that proud nude body has been given tawdry pink and yellow clothes. Second, the unique stance that has captivated historians and viewers is entirely missing — this “stylised and contemporarised” girl, mounted inside a pink platform, looks rather vacuous.
The original Mohenjodaro Dancing Girl, all of 10.5 cm tall, has style. She has bangles all down one arm, an elaborate hairdo, and a statement necklace. She stands insouciantly, even arrogantly. She is an object of pride, as her small bronze frame gave historians incontrovertible proof of the Mohenjodaro artisans’ superlative skills. She is a priceless heirloom, telling all women that centuries ago, the best craftsmen of our civilisation thought it important to create in metal a cocky girl, proud of herself and her body.
Why did the expo feel the need to cover her up? The Dancing Girl has been part of school textbooks for years. If children can withstand looking at her, who were the good folks at the expo protecting? And if she did generate discomfort, wouldn’t it have been better to choose some other mascot altogether, instead of transforming the iconic symbol of a civilisation into a ’90s Bollywood background dancer?
The Dancing Girl was excavated in 1926, and she has since fascinated historians. American historian Gregory L Possehl, in his 2002 book The Indus Civilization: A Contemporary Perspective, wrote that on detailed examination of the Dancing Girl, “one sees a subtlety to the expression and pose that defies description and cannot be captured by the camera… We may not be certain that she was a dancer, but she was good at what she did and she knew it.”
In the same book, Possehl quotes British archaeologist Mortimer Wheeler as saying, “A girl perfectly, for the moment, perfectly confident of herself and the world. There’s nothing like her, I think, in the world.”
Ominously, the “contemporarised” version of this girl, in her kitschy choli and bangle-stiffened arms, looks supremely ill at ease with herself and the world. Mohenjodaro’s Dancing Girl is a question, a challenge to the world. Sadly, an event to celebrate heritage commemorates her by converting her into a “toy”, a cooperative “door-guardian”.
yashee.s@indianexpress.com
Mohenjodaro's Dancing Girl is a question, a challenge to the world. Sadly, an event to celebrate heritage commemorates her by converting her into a “toy”, a cooperative “door-guardian”. (Credits: Wikimedia Commons, Twitter/@M_Lekhi) 
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