Beats & Rhythm Dance My Passion Breath & Soul / Tread Your Pains Kravmaga IUKMF Noida
B-112, B Block, Sector 50, Noida, Uttar Pradesh 201301, India
http://www.manishasinghal.com/
Tucked between Sector-62’s shimmering glass offices and a quiet green belt, the studio appears at first like any other concrete slab—until the metronome kicks in. “Beats & Rhythm Dance My Passion Breath & Soul / Tread Your Pains Kravmaga IUKMF Noida” is not just a mouthful of a name; it is a deliberate promise split by a forward slash. Everything to the left of that dividing line moves to music; everything to the right rehearses violence so you never have to use it.
Walk through the brushed-steel door between 6:00 a.m. and 10:00 p.m. and the scent hits first: rosin from ballet barres, rubber from plyo-boxes, hints of lemongrass disinfectant.
Left wing—Beats & Rhythm: a floating maple floor framed by full-length mirrors that fog subtly at the edges because the freestyle hip-hop class never stops long enough for the HVAC to catch up. Subwoofers are recessed beneath the floor so every time the instructor drops a future-bass groove the planks themselves seem to inhale. Bollywood batches rattle ghungroo ankle bells, contemporary cohorts skim barefoot, and on Thursdays a lone Kathak guru stamps out taals that smack against EDM kicks thrumming from the next room. Monthly “glow nights” repaint the entire space in blacklight, white tapes on the floor marking squares for L-A-Z-Y shuffle challenges. For exams, the mirrors slide sideways to reveal a hidden box theater with 120 plush seats—a tiny proscenium where parents film tearful arangetrams and popping finals on the same day.
Step right—Tread Your Pains. Here the ceiling drops eighteen inches, soundproofed by charcoal foam that swallows the left wing’s bassline whole. Blue crash mats swallow most of the white-tiled floor; six hanging bags—three hessian, three water-core—sway like bored sentinels. Krav-Maga Global Instructor certification plaques line the rear wall under Spartan LED battens. Beginners learn “360 defense” against rubber knives while sweat forms Rorschachs on gray tees; advanced belts spar under the red glow of an Eggs-Eye timer that beeps every ninety seconds like a smoke detector. Female-only sessions run daily at noon, subsidized by the adjoining dance academy fees—“left-foot funding right fist,” the owners joke.
The slash itself: a corridor six feet long tracked by motion sensors that switch the overhead playlist from ODESZA to RATM the instant a dancer journeys to the darker side. Staff insist it’s theatre; students say it just feels true: the same heartbeat preparing you to flow and to fight.
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- Published: August 1, 2025
