Eulogy for a man who never stood still

People think of the late Astad Deboo as a dancer, but he was a traveller, passionate about journeys. Dance was only one of his many journeys.

He said he was a dancer. He looked like a young Parsi fellow to me, in his 20s, gaunt, a little bewildered. It was 1973 and my editor had asked me to do a piece on him, adding that he seemed like a sport and might be up for crazy ideas. I was 21, just five years younger than him, but no less crazy. What about walking through busy Calcutta, I asked him, and he breaking out in spontaneous dance wherever the spirit seized him?

I noticed then that his cheeks dimpled when he grinned. They still dimpled exactly the same way 47 years later when I saw him for the last time in Mumbai last year. He was still dancing. He looked just a little tired.

His name was Astad Deboo. He had studied Kathak at age six from the late Indra Kumar Mohanty and Prahlad Das. But the older Deboo, it seemed, had done commerce at Bombay University.

I can vouch that he was insane and quirky but back then I wasn't quite sure what to make of his dance. I don't think he himself knew then.

I remember him monkeying up to the roof of a moving tram and scandalising bhadralok with irreverent poses. He held up traffic in honky-tonk Free School Street, oblivious to swearing Bengalis. He did precarious antics on a rickshaw tumbling down Chowringhee.

The day was a lark and the result was a fun picture spread. Astad stayed on in my life as a friend from then right till he died five days ago at age 73, after a brief illness discovered too late.

Astad was one of those people who understand their minds by watching their bodies. Our capricious photoshoot in Calcutta was the opening act of a lifetime of unrestrained performances where he made all the world his stage. He has done his moves at the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus and on the high ramparts of Rajasthan's Champaner Fort. In a moment made for Instagram, he even once danced on top of the Great Wall of China.

By then he had figured out why he liked this kind of subversion. He was frustrated by performance stages that forced a frontal view of the show on the audience. "I'm weary of prosceniums," he said. Astad's dance was an unfettered 360° panorama, a show of shows no matter where you stood.

Because of my work and travels, I have always stood too far away to see him perform, and so I have known the man better than the dancer. I have only ever heard about his shows and always from Astad himself. Before the internet, it was postcards, always from unexpected countries and exotic lands. He'd be performing with the world's dance legends - the Martha Graham troupe, Pina Bausch's Wuppertal Dance Company, Alison Becker Chase of the Pilobolus Dance Company, and others

But just when it looked like Astad was all about modern dance, he did a volte-face in 1977, taking up Kathakali under Guru E. Krishna Panikar, in Thiruvalla, Kerala. Needless to say, his first public performance was at the Guruvayur Temple. I remember working with him then to create a publicity poster, featuring him in Kathakali regalia.

Astad's evolving style blended traditional Indian moves with the essence of contemporary dance, creating an ethos and a spectacle no one easily forgot. In 2007, his extraordinary work was recognised with a Padma Shri award.

The image Astad leaves behind is of a passionate, humane and intensely creative performer. There are hundreds of Dali-esque photographs showing him in his signature Anarkali costume, skirt flared and frozen in flight, against stunning outdoor backdrops that ranged from deserts to seascapes.

But if I could say only a single sentence about Astad Deboo, it would be that my friend was a soul in perpetual motion. I have never known him to be still. More than a dancer, he was a traveller, and I have all his postcards and WhatsApp messages to prove it. The most startling of them must surely be the one that had a single line written with a trembling hand: "Just finished walking across the Arctic. Very cold!"

Astad loved journeys, both geographical and mystical, and I was fortunate to be among the small group that he kept informed about his next stop.

He spoke to me two days before he died. My phone rang in Bangkok and I barely recognised the voice at the other end, thinking for a moment it was a prank caller. It was Astad, still talking about his next journey. The call was pragmatic, informative, unemotional.

"I'm under treatment," he said. "I think it'll be fine. I'm staying positive. Take care."

I did not realise until much later that the crazy dancer was saying goodbye.

Here, viewed from there. C Y Gopinath, in Bangkok, throws unique light and shadows on Mumbai, the city that raised him. You can reach him at cygopi@gmail.com. Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

The views expressed in this column are the individual's and don't represent those of the paper

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