Today I loaded my entire show into mom’s car — a mango tree and 11 cardboard boxes filled with yards and yards of fabric, and pieces of memories of my dad. Nineteen months of working on that show, but really, three years of researching for this performance, but actually a lifetime’s work of processing grief and discovering the power of vulnerability fit so neatly into my mom’s little Prius.
I got back to her house and unpacked everything — I set the mango tree (now shorter and more lopsided) in the corner of my childhood bedroom. I unpacked and unbraided the fabric. 15 saris, and 23 dupattas made the roots of my mango tree. The saris were mostly new to me, though there were a couple hand-me-downs, and one that was a present from my auntie. The dupattas were all scrounged from outfits I still have hanging in that childhood closet — shalwar kameezes I can’t pull over my hips or shoulders anymore, but still, keep. I guess this is why. I returned all of the borrowed dupattas to their appropriate hangers, and will find new homes for the pieces of bandhani I rescued from the corner of the theater fabric closet.
I can’t remember how many pieces of fabric are in the canopy of the mango tree — stay tuned for an updated final count.
The end of this calendar year coincides with the end of a few big projects for me. Mango Songs, my piece for Naked Stages, closed mid-December. Due to Covid, we performed live for very small audiences, but it was filmed and will be available in January. Seeing live performance translated to film is always nerve-wracking, but I’m trying to lean into the pride I feel for completing my show, and the excitement to share it with more people, even if it’s not in the way I would have liked to.
I’m still working on processing the end of this process, but it also doesn’t feel like the end. I still get to share it virtually, and there are plans in the works for it to live on!
The weekend before we performed, I graduated from my yoga teacher training. For the past six months, I’ve had weekly classes with a group of badass yoga practitioners and teachers. The course focused on yoga as a social justice practice, and emphasized what it means to learn about and practice yoga from its roots. Yoga comes from the Indus River Valley, land that is now known as Kutch and Sindh — land that my ancestors come from.
The culmination of the class and my show feel intimately connected. I haven’t quite put into words yet what that means, but I feel it to be true. There definitely seems to be a connection in moving forward. I’m feeling more and more called to make some big changes in my life. Performing felt so good to do. Yoga is a practice I want to make more space in my life for, both just for me and as something to share with other people. Working at a desk 30 hours a week is feeling less and less conducive to making more performing and more yoga happen.
I’ve also been busy writing and published three pieces in Pollen this month! You can check them out here:
The Language of Hope
Justice of Quality
Unsung Heroes
I’m in a state of lots of dreaming and planning and imagining. It’s scary and exciting. Thanks for being on this journey with me ❤
Alia by Grace 