I was five when I started dancing, which means I didn't choose to dance. Dance was chosen for me — by my mother. If you've read my other posts, that will come as absolutely no surprise.
Classical first
It began with videos. My mother and I would sit together and watch, our eyes moving wherever the dancer moved. Something about it got under my skin quietly, before I even had words for what I was watching.
Kathak became my first language of movement. The tabla and the harmonium made me feel alive in a way I hadn't expected — that particular combination of sound and rhythm that seems to pull the body forward before the mind has caught up.
"Kathak taught me to appreciate my body for the movement it does. I grew up learning about my culture not just through festivals, but through my own body."
It gave me more than steps. Through movement — depicting stories of gods, of seasons, of emotions — I was learning about the cultures and histories of my country without sitting in a classroom. I was becoming disciplined without being told to be disciplined. And because I started young, my body absorbed things my mind couldn't have explained — the flexibility, the muscle memory, the instinct for rhythm.
Then came Western
Western dance arrived later, and it brought something different with it — a freer kind of expression. Less structured, more instinctive. Where Kathak had given me precision, Western gave me release. I didn't know I needed both until I had both.
Between the two, I found a kind of balance I hadn't known I was looking for.
What it has in common with the rest
People ask me how three such different things — trekking, birding, dancing — fit together in one person. I used to struggle to explain it. Now I think I understand.
On a trail, you are completely in your body — feeling every step, every incline, every shift of weight. At a lake watching birds, you are completely in the moment — aware of every sound, every movement in the stillness.
And when you dance, when you really dance, you are both. Fully in your body. Fully in the moment. Aware of every breath and every beat.
Dance didn't find me at five.
I found it — slowly, over years.