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Akash Odedra and Aditi Mangaldas' Mehek

Writer's picture: Janejira MatthewsJanejira Matthews

Updated: Jan 19

Article originally written 19th April 2024


Returning to Sadler’ Wells after success with Samsara last year, Aakash Odedra is joined on stage by fellow Kathak dancer Aditi Mangaldas. Both are pioneers in Kathak with their own companies combining Kathak with contemporary dance, and it is a thrill to see them collaborate. 


Aditi Mangaldas & Aakash Odedra in Mehek. Image: Angela Grabowska
Aditi Mangaldas & Aakash Odedra in Mehek. Image: Angela Grabowska

Mehek, suggestive of memory in its literal translation, begins with Odedra concealed in darkness. His hand is just visible as he adjusts a small prop that sends beams of light revolving across the auditorium and stage, spurned by the edges of a jagged set. Constructed from angular mirrors, the dancers are sometimes forced to look at themselves as they dance. The audience can see them from all angles – an opportunity to admire or criticise their taboo relationship and imperfect characters.  Although Mehek explores romantic love between a young man and an older woman, their narrative is framed by nature. Reflections appear, perhaps suggestive of water at times, and light permeates their story. 


Nature also includes the ageing process as Aditi Mangaldas graces Mehek with a refined maturity that celebrates the skills of an older dancer. The younger Odedra is seamlessly dynamic in his dancing, driven by a furious energy that implies the aggressive youth of a young man. Although Mangaldas does not capture the same speed as Odedra, her artistry shines through her gestures and expression. A joyous smile spontaneously breaks through her focussed exterior. Is it the character lavishing in the presence of her lover, or Mangaldas’ adoration of the dance? A solo reveals Mangaldas’ character as soft, drawn to her reflection. Her hands wander her face, questioning, before she turns away in anguish. Age might tarnish views of her relationship with Odedra, but colour her dancing. It is a curious dive into the duality of a natural process often seen as an inconvenience in the West.


Whilst Mehek mostly sees the pair performing as a duet, their solos show the individual sides of their character. Opposites attract; Odedra’s solo is fierce and fast. As the solo builds with turns and rolls slipping into the floor, Odedra possesses a thunderous ferocity. It is difficult to gloss over a force that strikes the floor with such fraught abandon, and then melts into love the next moment. Despite the strength of amorous feeling Mangaldas and Odedra share, Mehek also addresses the difficulties of a relationship. There is a moment when Odedra becomes obsessed with rearranging the small mirrors on the floor and rejects Mangaldas’ attempts to help him. The rejection is cold, a single palm pushing her away without touching. Mangaldas looks at him, hurt and ignored as she fails to recognise the alien mood on her partner’s face. Mehek’s view of love is not over-romanticised, presenting a realistic relationship set with tensions. The biggest challenge, however, comes with the drummers who descend from behind the set to dominate centre stage.


Music, as in most Indian classical dance, plays a role so integral that rhythm and movement become intertwined with the dancer’s body. This relationship between music and dance could not be demonstrated in its extremes more clearly than in the final section of Mehek. The three drummers (Ashish Gangani, Faraz Ahmed and Hiren Chate) sit single file creating a barrier of sound between the two lovers. Their drumming disrupts the harmony reached between the dancers, and their only choice is to be sucked in by the disapproval of loud, demanding hands symbolic of societal opinion. By joining the dancers on stage, the control the musicians have over the dancers is enhanced. Odedra and Mangaldas’ relationship is threatened, yet the resolution is disappointingly easy. A dancer broaches a musician’s spotlight to silence them, disregarding their noise to restore peace. Although the solution rings true, the ease that the dancers approach the musicians with makes the conclusion feel overly simplistic.


Although each section of Mehek is carefully considered, the predictable fast-slow-fast speed restrictions make watching occasionally tiring and surprisingly unnatural. The standard of the dancers compensates; Mangaldas and Odedra whirl around each other, or echo fast footwork between them and hold each other in tenderness.


Tracing rough and smooth edges of romantic love, Mehek offers a comprehensive view of ageing, nature and unconventional romance. The dancers present a love that is flawed by their own obsessions but still sweet and gentle, ushering us towards reflections of our own loves and challenges. In doing so, Mehek itself is like a mirror – but not without its cracks.

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