Today, the salangai pooja stands at the crossroads between tradition and trend. Is this transformation an inevitable evolution, or have we lost something valuable along the way? Tradition embodies the accumulated wisdom of a society, yet, over time, practice can drift from its original purpose, with such deviations eventually becoming accepted as the new norm.

In Bharatanatyam, the salangai pooja once held sacred significance as a spiritual and technical milestone — a student’s formal entry into the performance space through the blessing of the sacred ankle bells. But today, this once-intimate moment of initiation has morphed, in many cases, into a grand, performative event influenced by technology, social media, and a wave of younger dance teachers who bring in contemporary perspectives. The ceremonies are often live-streamed or professionally filmed, allowing friends and family across the globe to witness the event in real-time. Instagram worthy photo shoots, teaser reels, and digital invites have become the norm, amplifying the dancer’s identity and journey online along with the ‘guru’.

What was once determined by the teacher’s discretion and the student’s readiness has, for some, become a commercial ceremony driven by parental aspirations, peer pressure, and a growing culture of visibility.

Tradition: Rooted in simplicity

Historically, gajje pooja referred to tying the ankle bells and debut dance performance marked not only a girl’s biological and sociological life cycle but her progress in acquiring professional skills. Quoting dancer Lakshmi Vishwanathan from her book Women of Pride, “Sadhaka pooja was the commencement of dance training and the gajje (anklet of bells) pooja was performed at least two years after training commenced but before puberty to mark the dancer’s first stage of proficiency. This was actually performed at the guru’s formal school Silambu Koodam. Vidwans were invited to assess the girl’s talent. A pooja for Ganesa was performed, and like the custom in modern weddings, the tray with the girl’s ankle bells and new clothes was taken around to be touched and blessed by visitors. The bells were placed at the family altar of the guru and then given to the girl, who then touched the guru’s feet in a traditional namaskaram. The guru assisted by older devadasis tied the ankle bells. After getting the approval of the vidwans and visitors she could continue learning further, including abhinaya.”

Salangai pooja is not even institutionalised in many premier dance schools. Roja Kannan, a senior Bharatanatyam dancer and disciple of Adyar K Lakshman asserts, “We don’t do salangai pooja. Neither did Lakshman Sir. It was never part of our tradition,” she notes, highlighting that Rukmini Devi never endorsed ceremonial landmarks, choosing instead a philosophy where the journey itself mattered more than rituals marking milestones.

This stance is not uncommon among senior performers and teachers. Veteran Bharatanatyam exponent Chitra Visweswaran, says, “I didn’t have a salangai pooja even though I had my initial training from T.A. Rajalakshmi, a devadasi from Tiruvidaimarudur, and settled in Kolkata. Neither do I practise the tradition because it had a different connotation historically.” Instead, she speaks of adapting it to a new purpose. Through the Muthu Krishna Swami Mission Trust she is associated with, she has conducted the ceremony as a community celebration. “We called it the purvaranga pooja and celebrate it on Guru Purnima. Underprivileged children are taught short compositions, and they feel elated receiving the salangai.” She emphasises: “This too started because my soul guru Mataji Vithamma wished and the entire expense is funded by the Trust. It’s an act of doing good to make the children smile. Children who would have otherwise never had an opportunity to wear salangai and perform. Commercialisation is a big no.”

“It is not only about commercialisation. It is about the ethos of dance. The bells are worshipped and years of hard work and discipline go behind to earn that one nod from the guru. Such is our tradition and belief. Parents must be made aware that salangai is auspicious, not just another commodity. I do not do salangai pooja, and only if the student shows commitment to take up arts, do I move on to an arangetram,” says Shanmugam Sundaram, disciple of K.J Sarasa.

Pranathi Ramadorai, disciple of guru Rhadha, adds, “Aunty handed over the salangai three days before my arangetram and I did a namaskaram. I was asked to wear it for the orchestra rehearsal.”

Entry into Bharatanatyam classrooms

In the 1950’s Professor Sudharani Raghupathy had done her salangai pooja. In her school Shree Bharatalaya founded in 1970, salangai pooja is an intimate performance in her classroom with the parents and a few students. Spending is one’s choice. “The teacher must be able to judge the child’s talent and advice accordingly so that she gets projected well at the right time. What is the point of grandeur when the child may not take it up in future,” highlights Professor Sudharani.

Dancer Vaibhav Arekar based in Mumbai reflects, “It is a beautiful tradition, but I was introduced to it much later. At Nalanda Nritya Kala Mahavidyalaya, Vijayadasami alone is celebrated in a grand way.” For him, the fine line between tradition and commercialisation must be navigated with care. Following his teacher's footsteps he does not conduct salangai pooja. Infact, “I don’t allow my students at Sankhya Dance Creations to write names on envelopes on Vijayadasami. We donate that money to the temple. Salangai pooja is meaningful only when a student takes up dance professionally. The tradition must be kept alive through those who carry it forward,” he shares.

Ceremony to currency

In Chennai’s suburban Madipakkam, a parent spent Rs. 50,000 for her child to perform one item in a temple for her salangai pooja. Another parent spent Rs. 1.5 lakhs along with an expensive silk sari, because her teacher refused to encourage the child in group performances of the school without the ceremony. “My daughter was made to sit in class while others danced. I felt sad and cornered,” she recalls, and adds, “There were other parents who gifted large silver lamps along with the money demanded on previous occasions.”

In fact, event management companies have capitalised on the occasion with an organised template for the convenience of both the student and the teacher, adding their dakshinas besides every category possible. These stories are not rare. But teachers across the city reiterate that they face repeated questions from parents: “When will my child go on stage?” These inquiries, while seemingly harmless, create pressure to fast-track students, compromising on their foundational training. The salangai pooja becomes a gatekeeper, not a gateway.

As Chitra Visweswaran aptly puts it, “Many teachers are compelled to do it because parents anticipate that an arangetram will incur a bigger expense.”

Theatre actor, Lalitha Narasimhan, a student of Lakshmi Ramaswamy recalls. “Lakshmi Akka doesn’t do a salangai pooja and neither did Ranganayaki Amma under whom I did my arangetram in 1999. We did a small pooja just a month before the arangetram in the class in which I was handed over the salangai. Ranganayaki Amma would ask the students to watch; it was like a rehearsal for the arangetram. There was no public celebration.”

Flexible models

Some teachers have found ways to integrate the salangai pooja meaningfully into their pedagogy. Hema Rajagopalan, Artistic Director of Natya Dance Theatrre (USA) reveals, “From what I have been seeing in my past 60 years or so salangai poojai or gajja pooja is a personalised event, the practice of which seems varied depending on each acharya or institution. We perform the gajja pooja whenever the parent wishes to have one. That said we only do that after four or five years of training when the student can present at least an hour of performance.

The first one was in the early eighties performed to live music and continues so till date, sometimes presented as a group or solo. The event starts with a traditional offering of prayers, followed by the blessings of the salangai by the acharya and then performance.

Ranjini, a teacher from the Ambattur area, maintains a clear structure. “I do salangai pooja because parents want to see their children on stage. And if I don’t do it, they would leave me and join somewhere else. That is the real picture. I have been working so hard to build students but gone are the days when the teacher alone would decide. So I do it when the student is ready to perform a one-hour margam”.

Other teachers take a more flexible, student-centric approach. Aparna Krishnamurthy in Kovur shares, “I don’t compel anyone to do it. If the student or parent wants, then we do it once the adavus are completed and the student is in alarippu or jathiswaram stage.

Sheela Unnikrishnan, founder of Sridevi Nrithyalaya, who learnt from the legendary Sundaram Master, recalls her own experience. “We did my pooja in his house. His wife cooked food for us. No insistence on payment. Later, when I learned from Vempati Master (Kuchipudi Art Academy), and I asked him about the ritual before I entered the stage for production performances, he told me, ‘Be committed and dance well because dance was spiritual in nature.’ That was an eye opener of sorts.”

Now as an established teacher herself, she sometimes performs the pooja in her classroom before students participate in dance productions for the first time. At times, they visit the temple together with the parents, seek blessings from the deity and move onto the production performance.

A zero-budget ceremony

A young dance teacher Jayalakshmi Narayanan, who is also pursuing her Phd has created an impactful alternative.

She conducts a zero-budget salangai pooja that is simple, meaningful, and accessible to her students at Narayanan School of Dance (JNSD) in Chennai and Hyderabad.

“I ask each student to write an oath at home, reflecting on what this journey meant to them. As they receive their salangai, they touch it with reverence, read their oath aloud, and tie it on.” Parents and family members are invited, but Jayalakshmi strictly instructs them not to bring guru dakshina or flowers, fruits, or gifts. “Their presence and blessings are all we need. “This moment marks not just a ceremony, but a transformation in their journey from learners to committed practitioners of the art,” she says. “Isn’t that what makes the salangai pooja truly emotional, memorable, and significant?”

Spectacle or sacred?

Younger teachers, many of whom are social media-savvy and exposed to global pedagogies, are curating personalised salangai poojas that blend aesthetic presentation with tradition. Some include interactive sessions, student speeches, and even behind-the-scenes footage to make the event more relatable and celebratory. While purists may view this as a dilution of its sanctity, others argue it is a dynamic evolution — keeping the tradition alive in a language today’s generation understands.

For families of modest means, the expectation of a grand ceremony becomes a burden. A function that should affirm inclusion instead turns into a symbol of privilege. When a simple pooja turns into a high-budget event, many aspiring dancers are left wondering, ‘Is money all that surrounds this art?’ The unfortunate answer is that commercialisation is reinforcing old hierarchies that Bharatanatyam once fought to transcend.

As teachers and parents, we must ask: why are we doing this? Is it for social upliftment, to elevate one’s standard of living, or to honour the art? The salangai is more than an ornament; its sound reflects years of sadhana, not a call for glamour. A salangai pooja is meaningful when rooted in readiness, reverence, and responsibility, but loses its value when driven by peer pressure, status, or display. The challenge is to balance modern expression with classical integrity so that the sound of the bells rings not for an audience, but for the art itself.