The non-Hindus who have danced their way across the religious divide

Mansiya V P has been dancing Bharatynatyam before she could barely walk. But last month, Kerala’s

Koodalmanikyam

temple dropped her from the list of performers because of her faith. In a Facebook post after the controversy, the 27-year-old wrote: “I am an artist. I want to reiterate that art forms should not be allowed to be monopolized by religions. Arts and dance have no religion.”

Born into a Muslim family in Malappuram, Mansiya and her sister

Rubiya

, both classical dancers, have faced ostracization from their own community which looked down on “Hindu dancers”. Now, temples too are rejecting Muslim dancers citing tradition.

However, the love of dance draws several other non-Hindus who brave family opposition, financial difficulties and social ridicule to take up the art form professionally.

Dr K M Abu, the first Muslim dancer to hold a doctorate university in Mohiniyattam, says his challenges were more financial than religious since he was from a poor farming family. A few times, organisers asked him whether they could use a Hindu stage name but he refused to change his name. “We shouldn’t put religion against art, but take them forward together,” he says. Commenting on the recent controversy he says, “Art isn’t for performing in front of rigid people – so it is better to find other venues.”

Delhi-based

Shimran Zaman

, 22, a young

Odissi

dancer from a Muslim family, says she often gets curious questions from people, she has a simple reply: “My religion is dance and my temple is my stage.” Zaman was encouraged by her parents to learn Odissi despite some objections from distant relatives,

Ahmedabad-based Kathak dancer Avni Sethi says such incidents aren’t surprising. “It has been happening at a low-key level all the time,” she says.

Hyderabad-based Kuchipudi dancer and

Telugu

actor

Haleem Khan

had two similar experiences a few years ago. “I was supposed to perform at a South Indian temple but I was told at the last minute that the village elders were not accepting it,” he says. In another instance, the organisers had booked a temple as the dance venue, but later informed him that he wouldn’t be allowed to perform there. It isn’t the only instance of discrimination he’s encountered. “Often parents of students have a problem and judge the capability of a dance teacher based on religion,” he says.

Khan, who grew up in Ongole, was inspired to learn dance after watching Telugu classical dance films such as Swarnakamalam and dance shows on DD. He enrolled in Kuchipudi classes when he was in high school but kept it a secret from his family for over eight years for fear of being refused permission. Initially, he chose the stage name Hari. “It felt safer to do this and I wanted to avoid unnecessary questions,” he says. “I also felt it might negatively affect my dance journey.” Gradually, he began performing under his own name. “I saw a lot of hatred from the community,” he admits. “But I also became more rebellious and asked myself why I should change my name.”

Like Khan, Charles Ma, a Chinese-Nepalese Bharatnatyam dance teacher who grew up in Bengaluru, initially told his mother he was learning karate rather than dance. “They told me I wouldn’t get anywhere with dance but eventually came around,” he says.

He also had trouble finding a teacher who was on the same page as him. “Everyone thought I was a foreigner who wanted to learn dance – it was exotic,” he says. Others would tease him about how Bharatnatyam dancers were supposed to have big eyes, while he had small ones. “They’d tell me to learn something else instead,” he says.

However, Ma says the dance community has been kind to him. “I’ve performed at many festivals and even taught at a temple in Bengaluru until the pandemic,” he says. “When I enter my class today, the kids treat me with respect. They look beyond my faith, and the shape of my eyes.”