There was an aura about Chandra that lit up everything around her. Chandralekha-dancer and choreographer, activist and designer, poet and painter-had the gift of friendship. She had too the gift of elevating the most ordinary of actions-opening her gate or waving to a friend-into a narrative poem.
It didn't matter what time of day it was, Chandra always looked her best, gentle white hair framing a delicate face, with a red bindi on her forehead and kajal lining her expressive eyes. Her choice of colours spoke of a person who celebrated life and was keen to pass on its joys and excitements to anyone who met her. It was my wife, the sculptor Dimpy, who introduced me to Chandra and Dasrath, the iconic designer, at their Besant Nagar residence in Chennai which faced the Bay of Bengal. Dimpy's artistic sensibilities were highly refined; mine needed polishing. We were in our 20s then; in my case it was an age when I knew everything. What I didn't fathom, I put down to something lacking in what I was expected to understand. Initially, I didn't get Chandra or her art. I was too full of myself, a journalist, who had travelled the world and was raised in a family where Bharatnatyam was the dance form. My sister and some friends trained as dancers when young, so it was difficult to absorb the idea of someone questioning the very basis of the form. Truthfully, I hadn't given it a lot of thought. Chennai-and Chandra-gave me a second chance. After stints in Delhi and Dubai, I returned to work there. This time, we lived minutes away from Chandra, and we had a young son who then was a fan of the rock-opera Jesus Christ Superstar. Someone had given him a video, and Chandra came with her companion Sadanand for dinner and a viewing.
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