We sat down for an exclusive interview with Himadri Madan, who is behind The Gaze – you, me, us, and them, a new interactive installation-exhibition with live performances. This production will premiere at Glasgow Tramway on 22 Nov – tickets here.
By blending the traditional form Kathak, and contemporary movement, with spoken word, Himadri explores how, as an Indian woman and classical dancer, she collides and colludes with the structures of patriarchy, expectations of physical perfection, and the ideas of modesty and shame.
What first inspired you to create The Gaze – you, me, us, and them, and how did the concept evolve from its initial idea to the final performance?
The Gaze – you, me, us and them actually grew out of an earlier project of mine called Inside/Out, which I developed during my MFA in Choreography at Trinity Laban in London. That work was about deconstructing the structural boundaries of Indian classical dance and looking at how I both collide and collude with them. At the time, I was engaging with Spivak’s theory of marginalisation, which really influenced how I approached the research.
Later, during the R&D phase of another project (Maiden | Mother | Whore), I came across Mahasweta Devi’s story Draupadi, and that was quite a turning point. It expanded the focus from just my experience as an Indian classical dancer to a broader reflection on what it means to live in a female body. I started thinking a lot about shame, how it’s used as a weapon and a form of control. And that exploration naturally evolved into The Gaze. The production looks at how all of us, in different ways, experience being under society’s gaze.
How does the interactive installation element influence the audience’s understanding of your lived experiences and the themes of the piece?
The interactive installation invites the audience to walk through a path with simple activities they can take part in. For me, it reflects how we all make choices to either conform or resist within a society. The path creates a small space that mirrors a social structure, where participants are given instructions that represent the pressures and expectations of belonging to that society.
The installation also weaves in elements from the life of Draupadi, the character through whose perspective the stories are told. It includes films that offer insight into her life and her experience of existing within the female body.
You draw inspiration from Mahasweta Devi’s Draupadi. How did this literary work inform your approach to representing violence, shame, and resistance through dance?
Mahashweta Devi’s Draupadi is a retelling of the story from Mahabharata set in a contemporary context. In the epics, Draupadi is saved from assault, but in this version she isn’t. Instead, she walks in front of her abusers, forcing them to confront what they’ve done and refusing to cover herself, which leaves them even more afraid.
That story began my exploration of how shame is weaponised, shame about our choices, our bodies, and our identities. It also deeply influenced the live performance element of the show, where I look at how our position in the world shapes the way we experience it.
Mahashweta Devi’s Draupadi is also a story of an indigenous woman in India and since I don’t have the lived experience of that community, I explore the themes from the text with being very careful that I don’t appropriate the experiences of a community that is not my lived experience.
As a performer trained in Bharatanatyam, Kathak, and Bollywood, how do you blend classical Indian movement vocabularies with contemporary and political storytelling?
Storytelling is a huge part of Indian classical dance, and these stories have always reflected the society and political landscape of their time. I use that element of the form to tell stories that resonate with our current political moment. I also merge it with pedestrian movement drawn from my contemporary choreography training, making the work more accessible to audiences who may not be familiar with Indian classical forms.
Collaboration seems integral to The Gaze. How did working with artists like Ankna Arockiam and Jaïrus Obayomi shape the emotional and narrative layers of the piece?
Working with both of them brought so much more depth to the performance. Ankna is the music composer and performer for the production, and Jaïrus is the dramaturg. Both deeply resonated with the themes of the project, and in their own practices they also engage critically with similar ideas.
Ankna’s contribution to the film soundscapes was essential. She blended elements of Indian classical music with spoken word and poetry to create layers of sound that reflect the project’s themes.
Both of them also collaborated closely with me on the script for the live performance. That section is primarily a spoken word performance. It’s a conversation between Draupadi, a dance artist and her friend, a musician played by Ankna, as they navigate the politics of what is seen on stage.
Our collaboration, which began in 2023, involved many rounds of writing and revising, ensuring we told these stories with both care and impact.
What conversations do you hope audiences will continue after experiencing The Gaze, and how do you envision its impact beyond the theatre space?
One of the important parts of the show is that the audience sees words written on my body. These words come from the things I’ve internalized over time, through my own experiences of colliding and sometimes colluding with the structures of society. The audience is also invited to share what they feel society has left on their own bodies and minds by writing it on a mirror in the installation.
For me, this is a way to open a conversation about how we see ourselves and each other in the world. How have we internalized shame, if we have? And how do our different positions in society shape the way we experience it?