For desi teens, Indian classical dance isn’t just an art form — it’s an anchor to their roots.
heritage behind the dance form.
The allure of dance has captivated humankind through the ages. When we see dancers onstage, the rhythm of their steps and the grace of their movements can render us speechless.
Dance holds an especially sacred place in Indian heritage. Lord Shiva himself is famously known as Nataraja, the Lord of Dance. Our mythology is also filled with stories such as that of Mohini, Vishnu’s female avatar, who used dance to defeat the demon Bhasmasura. I have always seen dance as more than just an extracurricular activity. Thanks to a year of Kathak classes when I was 12, I came to understand that it possesses a kind of cosmic power. After all, dance is beautifully woven into the intricate web of our rich history and mythology. Consider Krishna’s leela, most iconically expressed through his dances with the gopis in Vrindavan. As an avid believer in these mythological stories, I have secretly admired dance as a form of magic.
Far from disappearing amid the pressures of American life, various forms of Indian classical dance are thriving here — and playing a crucial role in shaping the identity and confidence of the next generation.
According to Anupa Thakurta, founder and director of Deeksha School of Performing Arts in metro Atlanta, “Indian classical dance is a living embodiment of India’s cultural, spiritual, and artistic heritage. And for Indian Americans growing up in the United States, it can become a powerful bridge between the two cultures.”
Shruti Sunil, a rising high school senior, underscores the role dance has played in shaping her identity. After learning Bharatanatyam for 13 years and working toward her dance diploma, Shruti says that her sustained commitment to this dance form has helped her feel more connected to her Indian identity — even though she visits India for no more than a summer break every other year. With Bharatanatyam as an important pillar of her life and her Indian heri- tage, she feels confident as an American-Born Desi rather than an American-Born Confused Desi, the often-disparagingly used term for the generation of Indians born in America.
That confidence is not unique to Shruti. Tarini Gajelli, a disciple of Thakurta and a student at the Morehouse School of Medicine, has studied Bharatanatyam for nearly 18 years. Having started at just 5 years old, Tarini considers the art form closer to a way of life than an extracurricular activity.
Like Shruti, she says practicing dance has brought her closer to her culture. “When you dance, you have to tell a story,” Tarini explains. “You need to know a little bit of the mythology or the sentiments of the time in which the piece was created.”
That curiosity prompted Tarini to research her own heritage more deeply. “While dance has increased my curiosity toward my culture, learning something about Indian culture sometimes prompts me to also learn more about dance,” she says. “That discovery works both ways.” Learning Indian classical dance has also exposed Shruti to traditions that many desi teens may miss while growing up in America. Hours spent in the studio, dancing in kurtis, and working tirelessly to match the rhythm of the group, have strengthened her perseverance and taught her the importance of a guru.
As Thakurta explains, “The discipline required to learn any Indian classical dance form teaches patience, perseverance, humility, and respect for teachers. These values extend well beyond the dance studio.” For Shruti, the connection becomes most powerful in the moments before she steps onto the stage. As she lines her eyes with kohl and adorns her feet with salangai, she feels transported — and connected to the generations of dancers who came before her.
Yet Shruti has not been entirely free of the quintessential struggles of Indian American teens. She, too, has endured the haunting internal monologue that asks whether she is truly Indian — or American — enough.
Fusion dance, in particular, has helped quieten those doubts. By combining classical styles such as Kathak and Bharatanatyam with Western genres such as hip-hop and jazz, fusion allows her to express both sides of her identity.
Through these dances, Shruti says, “I developed not only my endurance to withstand 45-minute pieces, but also my confidence to hold my chin high with pride when asked about my culture — a type of confidence that not many teenagers may have.”
Although Thakurta cautions against compromising the artistic foundations of classical forms, she does not consider fusion dance a threat.
“When created by artists who have mastered the classical form and who deeply understand its vocabulary, fusion can become a meaningful bridge between traditional and contemporary audiences,” she explains. Tarini has benefited from this very bridge. While acknowledging that fusion dance has its critics, she says it reflects the reality of growing up Indian American. “Growing up in America, we’re gonna identify with a lot of Western things,” she says. “And so, this is kind of like our own creation — a way for us to express our unique selves and our creativity.”
In many ways, Indian classical dance today no longer tells only the stories of great gods and goddesses. It also tells a new story: our own.
It is a story built on balancing the bol and taal passed down by our ancestors with the hip-hop pops and locks of our American lives. Dance has become a safe space where we can be our whole, unfiltered selves. We must protect this inheritance and pass it down, whether we live in India or the United States. In doing so, we can preserve our history while making room for the next generation to reshape it.
“I could not imagine the person I would be today without dance,” Shruti says.
Her words remind us that even after the music ends and the curtains close, the power of that bol and taal never truly leaves us.
Column host Gia Agarwal is an 11th grader who, when not crushing it in her advanced writing classes, is out there living every book lover’s dream. She can be reached at Teen- Talk@Khabar.com