OFFTRACK: CHATHE SEKHAWAN, PUNJAB

A Step In Time

A village preserves a rare all-male version of a popular dance form

At first glance it is life as usual in Chathe Sekhwan, a village in Sangrur district in the heart of Punjab's Malwa region. But as the evening shadows lengthen and a clutch of grey-bearded men gathers on the dusty outskirts, it is transformed into a riot of colour. The village drum sets the beat as the men in bright embroidered jackets, turbans and jewellery break into a catchy boli (a dialogue song) and swirl in rhythmic pirouettes. They are a defiant lot with scant respect not just for their ages but also tradition: their dance has always been performed by female dancers.

An outsider might consider it incongruous to see men performing the giddha, a folk dance. But it is perfectly acceptable to Chathe Sekhwan's population of 2,500 which has tenaciously preserved its passion for the dance. The mardan da giddha-the male giddha-has survived extinction in the village despite the fast-paced bhangra's overweening popularity. "It is a hereditary gift," says the frail-looking Lal Singh, the head drummer. At 75, he is the oldest surviving maestro in the village and recalls how he first learnt his steps as a shepherd during World War II.

The origin of the giddha can be traced to a form of entertainment during weddings centuries earlier. Traditionally it comprised the male-specific tandav, the female lasayam and the mixed steps of jugal. "It was a family dance form that allowed a catharsis of suppressed sexual emotions," explains Gurbhajan Gill, a Punjabi folk art critic. As marriages turned into short, day-time affairs, the cultural raison d'etre of the male giddha vanished; only the female version endured.

Chathe Sekhwan, however, never gave up the mardan da giddha and it was performed during village fairs. For the farmers who toiled all day, it was a great way to unwind. It also brought in some additional income. In a way, the British too helped revive the dance. It was not uncommon during the British raj for able-bodied youngsters fearing forced recruitment into the army to run away from home. Once on the road they had to do something to keep themselves occupied. The mardan da giddha was a popular option.

Distinct from bhangra and other structured dances of Punjab, the male giddha synthesises flexible foot movement and boli, both of which draw their idiom from the way women conduct themselves and are based on epics and love stories. "The giddha's beauty lies in its feminine motifs," says Nahar Singh, a folk art researcher.

Themes apart, there is nothing rigid about the community dance. A team can comprise any number of dancers from 15 to 40. Each dancer has a specific movement to make and carries a traditional musical instrument. It could be a sap, a kaato, a garba or a bugdoo-all devices made by local artisans. In 1970, Sat Pal, a giddha enthusiast, took the initiative of converting the loose dance form into a stage performance. Shortly after, Dilbar Singh, a schoolteacher-poet, organised the surviving old dancers and documented the male giddha in a research project that earned him an MPhil degree.

But more than such efforts, it is the village elders who have helped preserve the tradition. Not content with performing the dance themselves, they have popularised the art outside the village. Besides a well-received appearance at the Republic Day parade in 1987, these men are a permanent fixture at the Lok Sangeet Festival organised annually at Patiala by the music department of Panjab University. The department has also undertaken a project to document the nuances of the dance preserved by Chathe Sekhwan which, according to folk researcher Gurnam Singh, is the "last custodian of the original dance".

But the wise old men know they have to keep up with the times. So they are open to changes, roping in women being one of them. "We want to modernise the dance without diluting its originality," says Lal Singh. The idea is selling. Recently, 20 Dalit boys approached the greybeards for training. Some of them have even graduated into the elders' team. For Chathe Sekhwan, that is not just a step in the right direction. It is a leap in the revival of a tradition.