When you’re in your mid-20s, people expect you to have your life somewhat sorted out. A full-time job, a routine, a predictable rhythm, responsibilities you didn’t even know existed before.
What they don’t expect is for you to suddenly decide to learn a classical art form that many people start at the age of five. Yet here I am squeezing in rehearsals between shifts, practising mudra when I am stuck in Dhaka traffic.
I joined my Guru Arthy Ahmed’s classes last year out of a desire I’d been carrying for years. I didn’t grow up learning Bharatanatyam. I didn’t have the childhood classes, the early foundations, or the long head start many dancers have
I came in with adult responsibilities and a mind that juggles deadlines on a daily basis. But something about stepping into the classes made me feel like it wasn’t too late. That maybe, even in adulthood, you can begin again, fully, sincerely.
Navapallava 2, the annual showcase of Arthy Ahmed Dance Academy, is that reminder brought to life. “Navapallava” means new leaf, and it captures exactly what these classes have felt like for many of us, sprouting, stretching, and slowly learning to stand tall.
If you saw our performer lineup backstage, you are bound to smile. There’s someone younger than me tying her ghungroos. There’s someone who could be my mother’s age, fixing her saree. There are people who dance after school, after university, after long office hours, after putting their kids to bed.
Yet in this space, none of our ages or professions matters. We are simply dancers in progress, sharing the same stage, learning the same art, supported by a Guru who believes that dance should never be gatekept.
Navapallava 2, which took place at the Bangladesh Girl Guides Association Headquarters on November 21, wasn’t a competition. It was an annual reflection, a gentle but firm reminder that discipline, consistency, and courage are victories in themselves. Every performer on stage has fought their own miniature battles to be here: tight schedules, family commitments, aching legs, and fear of mistakes.
Yet here we are, celebrating every tiny step forward.
As the hall dimmed during Mangalam on Friday and we prepared to close the evening, I realised something: We may not have started dancing at five, but we started when we finally got the opportunity. And that counts for something.
