Dances
The dance forms of the Dimasa Kachari are complex in character. They are strictly dependent on instrumental music. No songs are used. Kharam (drum) follows the rhythm of the Muri (fife) and so also the dancers. Though one may find the music from Muri to be monotonous, there are variations with noticeable microtones for different dance forms. That is why young men practice dancing at Nodrang during leisure hours and the village children follow the rhythm and stepping at a distance from an early age.
Any Dimasa dance is called Baidima ( Bai-means dance, Dima-means Dimasa)
Different kinds of Dimasa dances are-Baidima (Hasao), Baidijuwa, Baidembra, Baimaijai (It means a cultural performance with stone siever once a time during Dimapur reign, so called Baimaiajai. Now-a-days its unable to perform with stone siever. So Cultural performer conducts with plate or Dish during Festival time.), Baijabah (war dance), Hadaobani, Jaubani, Jauphinbani, Ren-gnibani, Baichergi, Khunlubani, Dainselaibani, Khamauthaikhim khaubani, Nanabairibani, Burunjala Khalaibani, Homau daobani, Hakhor Jaobani, Rong-jaobani, Dausimaikhabani, Dauyungjang, Nowaijang dainlaibani, Nah-rimbani, Rogidaw Bihimaiyadao, Maijaobani, Maishubani, Rishibani, Mishai bonthai jibani, Madaikhilimbani and others.
Read more about this topic: Dimasa People
Famous quotes containing the word dances:
“We have dancing ... from soon after sundown until a few minutes after nine o’clock.... Occasionally the boys who play the female partners in the dances exercise their ingenuity in dressing to look as girlish as possible. In the absence of lady duds they use leaves, and the leaf-clad beauties often look very pretty and always odd enough.”
—Rutherford Birchard Hayes (1822–1893)
“Annie: Dances like Pavaliver, that child.
George Grainger: Dances like who?
Annie: Pavaliver—the Russian dancer. Don’t be so ignorant.”
—Reginald Berkeley (1890–1935)
“When I wrote of the women in their dances and wildness, it was a mask,
on their mountain, gold-hunting, singing, in orgy,
it was a mask; when I wrote of the god,
fragmented, exiled from himself, his life, the love gone down with song,
it was myself, split open, unable to speak, in exile from myself.
...
No more masks! No more mythologies!”
—Muriel Rukeyser (1913–1980)