Maya Rao was one of India's foremost Kathak dancers, choreographers, teachers, and institution builders. A pioneer who transformed the landscape of Kathak in South India, she dedicated her life to preserving the classical tradition while constantly pushing its creative boundaries.

As a child, Maya Rao was deeply drawn to dance. However, her father did not initially want her to pursue it and refused to let her learn. He eventually agreed on one condition—that she could learn dance but would never perform on stage. Ironically, she would go on to become one of India's most celebrated Kathak dancers, redefining the art form through both performance and choreography.

From a young age, Maya Rao was also forced to take on the role of caregiver and provider for her family. At just sixteen, she began teaching dance to support her household while continuing her own education. These early hardships shaped her resilience and became the foundation of a remarkable career.

At a time when it was uncommon for young women to travel independently, Maya Rao left Bengaluru in search of Kathak. Her journey took her to Jaipur, Sri Lanka, Delhi, and later Russia, where she pursued advanced training and worked with some of the greatest masters of the art. She became the first recipient of the Government of India's scholarship to study under Pandit Shambhu Maharaj and was the only Government of India student sent to GITIS, Moscow, for postgraduate studies in choreography.

Throughout her life, Maya Rao remained deeply rooted in her identity. Even while living in Russia, she continued to wear vibrant Kanjivaram sarees with pride, carrying her traditions wherever she went. She believed in embracing new cultures while never losing sight of her own.

A visionary who was ahead of her time, Maya Rao was creating original choreographic works long before choreography became an established field within Indian classical dance. Drawing inspiration from literature, mythology, and theatre, she expanded the possibilities of Kathak while remaining firmly grounded in its traditions.

After leading the Natya Institute in Delhi for over two decades, Maya Rao returned to Bengaluru in 1987. At a time when Kathak had very little presence in South India, she established the Natya Institute in the city, introducing generations of students to the dance form and laying the foundation for Kathak's growth in the region. Today, many Kathak schools in Bengaluru trace their roots back to her institution.

Throughout her career, Maya Rao was a trailblazer, breaking barriers and opening new paths for future generations. Beyond her achievements, she was remembered as a generous teacher, an inspiring mentor, and an open-minded thinker.

As her daughter, Madhu Natraj, reflects, Maya Rao was not only her guru but also her best friend. Through Madhu's memories and reflections, discover the remarkable woman behind the artist and the enduring legacy she left behind.

In conversation with Madhu Natraj (Maya's daughter)

Q: We found that she started teaching dance at the age of 16 or 17 because she had to support her family. What was it like for her to become a teacher at such a young age? Was it an intimidating or overwhelming experience?

They say calamity is the mother of invention, and I think that was true in her case. She was suddenly thrown into the role of being a provider. Her eldest brother was 24, and she was only 16 or 17 at the time.

She began teaching at the Canara Union, which is still there in Malleswaram. It was probably a process of trial and error because she had studied Kathak for a short time under Sohan Lalji. Even before that, she had already begun choreographing works inspired by Oscar Wilde and Shakespeare for the Poor Students' Association and other groups. In a sense, she had already developed the beginnings of her own teaching methodology.

It was also a difficult period because she often spoke about students not paying their fees or disappearing when the time came to pay. She would say that those challenges have remained the same for almost a hundred years!

Q: When she moved to Jaipur, did she go alone? How did she manage at such a young age?

Yes, she went alone.

At that time, women were generally expected to stay at home and look after the family. Yet she was already supporting her household while pursuing her own education and career. She went to Jaipur as an English teacher at Maharani Gayatri Devi School.

Very soon, her love for theatre led her to become involved in plays and Shakespearean productions there as well. She taught at the school for two years before leaving for Sri Lanka.

Q: We read that she was the first  student of Pandit Shambhu Maharaj. How did that come about?

After independence she was the first recipient of a Government of India scholarship to study with Pandit Shambhu Maharaj. Within just four months of training, she had progressed so rapidly that when Pandit Shambhu Maharaj was invited to perform at the first International Festival of Films in India, he invited her to perform two duet pieces with him. It was an extraordinary honour to dance alongside her guru. Considering how demanding and disciplined he was as one of the great masters of the Lucknow Gharana, it speaks volumes about her ability.

Q: Did she ever speak about what it was like to learn from Pandit Shambhu Maharaj?

Yes. Not a day went by without her mentioning him in some way. Ever since I was born, I remember hearing stories about Shambhu Maharaj or lessons she had learned from him. He was like a father figure and someone who inspired her endlessly.

She admired both his artistry and his simple approach to life. One example she often shared was how he would teach different aspects of Kathak without following a fixed order. She suggested organising the lessons into structured groups because she believed strongly in systematising the training and repertoire.

She played a key role in creating a structured Kathak repertoire similar to the margam in Bharatanatyam. The sequence began with the Vandana, followed by Thaat, Aamad, Abhinaya, Ghazal, and finally the Tarana, creating a complete progression for a performance.

She also suggested grouping similar compositions together, such as the Tatkar ke Tukde and Sangeet ke Tukde, making the repertoire easier to teach and learn. Maharaj ji was very receptive to her suggestions, and she often recalled how simple and open-minded he was.

Q: Can you relate some of the memorable interactions or anecdotes that she spoke about?

Yes, there were many. She would often recall how simple and humorous he was.

When she moved to Delhi, she continued wearing beautiful Kanjivaram sarees. During the summer, people advised her to wear light cotton sarees instead, so she bought a few simple cotton sarees and blouses. After seeing her dressed that way for a few days, Maharaj ji called her over and told her, "You don't have to become Gandhi ji's granddaughter. Wear your South Indian sarees with pride." She always remembered that incident fondly.

She also spoke about how emotional he became when he received the Padma Shri because he could not read the English citation. Moments like these revealed his humility despite being one of the greatest Kathak maestros of his time.

Recently, his family instituted the first Shambhu Maharaj Award, which was presented to her posthumously. I had the honour of receiving it on her behalf.

Q: She spent four years in Russia studying choreography. Did she ever speak about the cultural differences she experienced there?

She was the only Government of India student to be sent for postgraduate studies in choreography at the GITIS school, which is affiliated with the Bolshoi Theatre.

Before leaving India, she had already begun learning Russian. She travelled to Russia during a period when India and the Soviet Union shared close relations, and although she was treated with great warmth, life there was not easy. It was a communist country, the winters were severe, and as a strict vegetarian she often struggled with food.

Despite these challenges, she completed her thesis in Russian on Amir Khusro. She always spoke warmly about the Russian people, her teachers, and her years there.

One incident stayed with her. On the eve of a major Bolshoi premiere, she was surprised to find that the choreographer was calm enough to invite her home for dinner. When she asked whether they were nervous about the performance, the reply was, "The train has already left the platform." She often contrasted this with the tendency to prepare at the last minute in India and admired the discipline and planning she witnessed there.

She would later say that one of the greatest lessons she learned in Russia was to look for similarities between cultures rather than differences.

Q: She was involved with the ballet production of Shakuntala. Could you tell us about that experience?

She was the only Indian invited to work with the Riga Ballet as a consultant choreographer for Shakuntala. She worked closely with the creative team to introduce them to Indian culture, music, costume, design, and the finer cultural nuances. She explained details such as how a ghunghat is held and the significance behind different gestures and traditions.

She also had to bridge the gap between Indian storytelling and Western logic. While adapting Shakuntala, members of the creative team questioned how a wise sage could curse a young girl or how King Dushyanta could forget Shakuntala. She explained that many Indian stories communicate deeper truths through mythology and metaphor, helping them better understand the narrative.

She often spoke about the wonderful friendships that emerged from this collaboration.

Q: Kathak was not widely practised in Bengaluru at the time. Did she face scepticism when introducing it here?

She had actually left Bengaluru in search of Kathak because there were very few opportunities to study it here. She first learnt for a short period under Sohan Lalji, but after he left for Bombay, she travelled to Jaipur to continue her training. By the time she arrived, the gurus (whom she wanted to learn from) had already left, which eventually led her to Sri Lanka, where she studied Kandyan dance.

Later, she received the letter informing her that she had been selected, from around 200 applicants, to study under Pandit Shambhu Maharaj.

She went on to head the Natya Institute in Delhi from 1964 to 1987. In 1987, the Chief Minister of Karnataka invited her to return to Bengaluru. She often described that period as a golden era for the arts. Around the same time, Pratima Bedi also returned to establish Nrityagram. While Pratima Bedi chose to work on the outskirts of the city, she preferred to establish her institution within Bengaluru itself.

One of the founding members of MEWS, Vimla Rangachar—who had been her close friend since childhood—encouraged her to return to Malleswaram. For her, it felt like completing a full circle. She had been born there, travelled to Jaipur, Sri Lanka, Delhi and Russia, and had finally returned home.

She initially lived in her husband's ancestral home in Gandhinagar. After his passing, she moved to a house just a street away from the studio.

Q: Apart from Kathak, she also learnt Kandyan dance in Sri Lanka. Did that influence her work?

Yes. She always believed that learning different dance traditions broadened an artist's perspective. Although Kathak remained her primary discipline, studying Kandyan dance exposed her to another classical movement vocabulary and enriched her understanding of choreography. Throughout her life, she remained open to learning from different traditions while staying rooted in Kathak.

Q: She was known for combining tradition with innovation. How did she approach choreography?

She believed that innovation should emerge from a deep understanding of tradition. Before attempting anything new, a dancer needed to thoroughly understand the grammar of the classical form.

She often said that creativity was not about changing tradition for the sake of change, but about discovering new ways of expressing timeless ideas. Her choreographic works reflected this philosophy, drawing from literature, mythology and contemporary themes while remaining firmly grounded in classical Kathak.

Q: How did she approach teaching her students?

She believed every student was different and that teaching could not follow a single formula. While maintaining discipline, she encouraged students to think independently rather than simply imitate their teacher.

She emphasised understanding the meaning behind every movement instead of memorising steps mechanically. For her, dance was not merely technique but a way of communicating ideas and emotions.

She also encouraged students to read widely, appreciate literature, music and the visual arts, believing that all these disciplines contributed to making a complete artist.

Q: What kind of atmosphere did she create at the Natya Institute?

She wanted the institute to be more than just a place where dance was taught. It became a space where students could exchange ideas, discuss literature, music, theatre and culture, and develop as artists.

She believed that dance education should include intellectual curiosity as well as physical training. Students were encouraged to ask questions, think critically and understand the larger cultural context of the art they were practising.

Q: Did she ever have moments when she felt like giving up on dance? How did she overcome those moments?

I think every artist experiences moments like that. She had what I often describe as a very cinematic life. Imagine being only sixteen and having to take responsibility for supporting the family.

My aunt would sometimes become emotional while speaking about those years. After helping at home, studying at Maharani's College, and teaching dance, she would still walk long distances to give private tuition classes. She would often say in Hindi, "Mera dil shayad patthar jaisa ho gaya hai," because she had gone through so many hardships. Yet she remained a deeply emotional person and could even cry while watching a film.

There were many difficult phases in her life. Living in Delhi was not easy, especially on a modest stipend. At the height of her career, she also took nearly a year away from her work to stay with her mother during her treatment at a cancer hospital in Chennai.

She taught us that being an artist never meant you stopped caring for your family or those around you. Her years in Russia were also challenging—she endured freezing winters, struggled to find food as a vegetarian, and lived far from home. Despite everything, dance was a part of who she was, and she never truly gave up.

The only time I remember her saying she felt tired was around the year 2000. That was when I stepped in more actively, merged my company with Natya Institute, joined the board, and began helping to expand and strengthen the institution. Her generation pioneered a movement and broke social taboos surrounding dance. If we are able to dance today, it is because of pioneers like her. Our responsibility now is to maintain that quality, expand the work, and make it accessible to more people.

Q: Was there any sacrifice she made that people may not know about?

I don't think she ever saw her life in terms of sacrifice.

She would often say that the moment you expect something in return for what you have done, the act itself is no longer pure. If you choose to help someone, you simply do it. If something comes back because of that, it is welcome, but if it doesn't, that is also fine.

Even when we spoke to her about personal matters like menopause or other challenges, she would laugh and say they had been so busy trying to make ends meet and building their lives that they hardly noticed those things.

Looking back, however, I do think there was an undercurrent of melancholy within her. In Indian music and dance, we often refer to this as dard—a depth of emotion that many artists carry. I believe that emotional depth became a source of creative strength throughout her life.

Q: You mentioned that she met your father when she was quite young. Could you tell us that story?

They met by chance.

My father, M. S. Natarajan, was already a well-known musician and led what was probably Karnataka's first eighteen-piece orchestra. At one of the annual programmes at Maharani's College, my mother had choreographed a ballet, but her musicians did not arrive.

The principal told her not to worry because Natarajan and his orchestra were performing that day. They quickly rehearsed together backstage and presented the performance. She would later say that, in today's world, such a last-minute collaboration might never have worked, but it did.

They met through that performance, became friends, and gradually fell in love. One of her brothers already knew my father, and he soon became a regular visitor to their home.

Their courtship lasted eighteen years. They married when my mother was thirty-six and my father was forty-four. She often described that journey with great affection.

Q: Many dancers perform, but very few reinvent choreography. What drew her towards choreography, especially when it was not very common at the time?

Dance itself was her passion, but she was always interested in exploring its many dimensions. Although she formally studied choreography in Russia in 1960, she had already begun choreographing much earlier.

Even while studying with Pandit Shambhu Maharaj between 1956 and 1958, she created original choreographic works. She stepped beyond the traditional boundaries of the gharana to develop her own pieces. One example was her choreography of the Ashtapadis from Jayadeva's Geet Govind, something that had not been done in Kathak before. She also choreographed a Tarana in Shivaranjani raga while continuing to seek the guidance of Shambhu Maharaj.

She was fortunate to be surrounded by great musicians such as the Dagar Brothers, Mushtaq Hussain Khan Sahib, Faiyaz Hussain Khan Sahib and Siddheshwari Devi, whose artistry influenced her work. Even before receiving formal dance training, she had been choreographing productions at the age of seventeen.

Q: How did her studies in Russia influence her understanding of choreography?

When she went to Russia to study choreography, she made full use of the opportunity. Instead of returning to India during her annual breaks, she travelled extensively, watching dance, theatre and folk performances across the Soviet Union. She also visited Germany, where she watched Brechtian theatre.

She approached choreography with immense curiosity. When she returned to India, she developed a curriculum that balanced Indian traditions with international perspectives.

Students at the Natya Institute studied Indian texts such as the Natya Shastra and Sangeet Ratnakar, alongside subjects including the history of choreography, Indian aesthetics and Rasa theory, cultural anthropology, the origin of movement, stage design, lighting, scripting, choreography and art history. The aim was to develop a choreographic way of thinking rather than simply teaching dance movements.

Q: Why did she eventually stop performing?

By the time I was born, she was around forty-two or forty-three years old and had decided to stop performing.

She would often say that she wanted to enjoy motherhood and devote herself to what she truly loved—teaching, mentoring and choreography. Rather than continuing to carry the pressure of being a performer, she felt she had found her calling in nurturing future generations of dancers.

Q: Is there any final anecdote or memory that you feel should be included about her?

One thing that comes to mind is something we discussed earlier—whether I always wanted to become a dancer. The conversations I had with her shaped the way I think about dance, teaching and life.

More than anything else, she believed in curiosity, lifelong learning and sharing knowledge with others. Those values continue to guide both the Natya Institute and everyone who has had the opportunity to learn from her.