Aayana Dance Company Stages Dhruva in New York City

Before the performance began, I was curious how Aayana’s expansive choreography and elaborate production style would translate to Gibney’s intimate studio with no lighting or stage.

I was pleasantly surprised. Rather than shrinking to fit the room, the dancers seemed to feed off its closeness. They held prolonged eye contact with audience members and jumped onto the windowsill mid-composition as if it were always meant to be part of the choreography. Even more impressive was watching such a large ensemble navigate formations seamlessly in a room where more than half the floor space was occupied by people.

Aayana seems to be developing a recognizable movement vocabulary of its own. The dancers are unquestionably grounded in bharatanatyam fundamentals. Their choreography also seems to reflect a knowledge of charis, bhedas, and angas (executed with some creative liberty), yet these are consistently interwoven with movements that feel distinctly Western contemporary. The result lands somewhere between contemporary bharatanatyam and semi-classical, though I found it leaning more toward the latter because of how heavily these contrasting movement qualities are embraced for dramatic effect. 

Before I get into the production, I wanted to call out three observations I found interesting:

First, Director Krishna Balaraju spoke about the inspiration behind Dhruva, describing choreographies and songs the dancers held onto during COVID as a source of strength and community. He referred to parts of the movement vocabulary as “bedroom choreography,” a phrase that resonated with me. Dancing around my apartment, I’ll often throw in a random spin or kick between a few adavus, or steps, simply because it’s what I want to do. That same uninhibited quality found its way into the production.

Another aspect that stood out was the group’s sparing use of padartha. Rather than relying on literal hand gestures to explain lyrics or narrative, they favored evocative movement that conveyed the emotional essence of an idea instead.

Above all, what I felt watching Aayana was heart and an unapologetic willingness to dance exactly as they feel.

What is stopping you from screaming the lyrics as you dance them on stage?
Nothing.

The production began with Valmiki Namana and Maruti Ashtakam, which flowed into a Vayu Pushpanjali set to Raga Nattai. Here, the offering was not flowers but the dancers’ own breath, an offering to Hanuman, the presiding deity of the production. I found this choice intentional and memorable. The following Thyagaraja kriti, Vandam O Raghunandana, juxtaposed a young, pre-enlightenment Thyagaraja familiarizing himself with the Ramayana and Hanuman, the immortal, chiranjeevi, devotee who had lived the epic itself. I loved the duality between the innocence of discovery and the certainty of lived experience.

Here, however, I found myself wanting more restraint. The same dramatic movement quality, loud footwork, and consistently heightened energy sometimes felt at odds with the musicality of the composition. Softer abhinaya and greater subtlety would have communicated even more in this piece. It occasionally felt like the dancers were speaking entirely in capital letters, while I was searching for quieter sentences to offset the punchlines. These are talented artists, and I would have loved to see that complexity emerge alongside their undeniable power.

Their movement style in general demands such physical rigor. The force with which their feet meet the ground and their hands slice through the air occasionally comes at the expense of precision in finishing. Yet in the context of Hanuman, I don’t necessarily view this as a flaw. Hanuman is devotion expressed with abandon. This movement quality made sense here, but I suspect I would feel differently if I saw this stylistic choice applied uniformly across different presentations.

The latter half of the production included the Hanuman Chalisa and Pavamana Jagada Prana, continuing the ensemble’s use of vachikabhinaya, expression through voice. Since many of these pieces are more commonly sung than danced, hearing the dancers themselves sing, and at times shout, the lyrics added another layer of authenticity. While effective as an accent, I found the sustained intensity somewhat overwhelming in such a small studio. I imagine it would translate better in a larger theater.

What resonated most throughout the performance was the group’s sincerity. It was visible not only in their expressions but also in gestures like the rose petals laid across the floor, which were eventually handed directly to audience members. Nothing about it felt disingenuous. 

Aayana has developed a recognizable aesthetic built on sincerity, physicality, and emotionally direct storytelling. Sometimes that aesthetic sacrifices nuance, but it is undeniably authentic and deeply effective. 

A final parting thought – Aayana has been performing across South Asian cultural conventions this year as a part of their tour. Being closely tied to these organizations, I’ve heard people I know speak about this company recently with genuine interest. Aayana is leaving audiences excited about bharatanatyam and carnatic music. In today’s landscape, that feels like a meaningful achievement.

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Meghana B currently lives in New York City and is active in the local classical arts community. A bharatanatyam dancer herself, she is interested in the evolution of South Asian classical dance in the diaspora.