Abha Dance Classes
T3, 806, White Orchid, Gaur City 2, Greater Noida, Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh 201318, India
Abha Dance Classes began fifteen years ago when classical danseuse Abha Joshi decided the city needed a studio governed by rigor rather than trend. She converted the third floor of a modest heritage bungalow in Kalyan Nagar, stripping walls down to exposed brick, laying sprung maple flooring to cushion knees during hours-long Kathak tatkar practice, and installing nine-foot mirrors salvaged from a defunct cinema to give students the unforgiving reflection that classical training demands. The one-room school now houses thirty pairs of ankle bells, two harmoniums tuned every full moon, a pakhawaj bought in a village near Pune, and a smell somewhere between burning camphor, rosin, and sandalwood that lingers after every evening class like muted applause.
Classes run six days a week, but a visitor on Monday evening arrives for the signature batch: Kathak beginners aged eight to fifty seated in a semicircle before Abhaji in her faded corduroy kurta. She begins by tapping exact eighth-note syllables on the floor—dhaa, dhin, dhin, daa—until twenty-five right feet answer in unison, heels clipped to ankles, bells chiming like low tide on metal. Every newcomer is allotted a yellow spool; students wind it around each ankle glistening with talcum, learning to count until their soles burn. Between cycles the harmonium punctuates fragments of teen taal, and Abhaji’s voice slips from commanding Nagma sharper! to coaxing Amishaben, stretch your wrist like a jasmine bud opening. By the end of the forty-five-minute lesson, newcomers already execute a simple tukda under the metronomic slap of the tabla.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays the focus shifts to semi-classical Bollywood, the genre Abha calls the city’s heartbeat. The room dims; fairy-lights above the mirrors glow fuchsia and cobalt as Abhaji cues a remixed Sufi track. Young professionals in breathable Lycra rehearse two signature choreographies per season—the winter 2024 routine is set to a slowed-down version of “Kesariya.” Students absorb gestures twice: once to translate Urdu ghazal longing into thumri hasta mudra, again to drop shoulders, pop hips, and pivot until sequinned dupattas arc like impatient comets.
Weekends belong to Odissi taught by guest guru Devdatta Maharana, veteran of Nrityagram. Students unfurl linen pallavs dyed temple-marigold, line up center to mimic sculptures of Konark; you can almost feel stone breathe when Devdatta adjusts an elbow to the angle of an apsara’s elbow. Advanced students work with live mardala drum; its goatskin head warms under oil lamps until the space thrums like a giant heart.
Fees remain deliberately modest—₹1,900 monthly for Kathak, ₹1,200 for Bollywood—because Abha insists sponsorships from tech firms offset scholarships. A cork-board lists alumni who have joined Attakkalari, performed at Purana Qila Sound & Light, or taught at corporate off-sites. Any student may ring the brass ship’s bell by the exit after passing an arangetram or audition, but most simply linger barefoot, chatting about ankle-bell repair or downloading Hindustani tal charts from the Abha Dance Classes WhatsApp, reluctant to step off the sprung maple into Bangalore traffic and a city that seems suddenly graceless without counted rhythms.
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- Published: August 5, 2025
