<![CDATA[Navatman - Blog Posts]]>Sat, 11 Jul 2026 14:13:41 -0700EditMySite<![CDATA[Dance, Music, and How it Lights Up Your Brain and Body]]>Mon, 22 Jun 2026 14:14:35 GMThttps://www.navatman.org/blog-posts/dance-music-and-how-it-lights-up-your-brain-and-bodyA neuroscientist explains your brain on dance (it's wild!)

​As part of our upcoming production (just 6 days away!), artists and students dug deep into their learnings about dance and art to share with you.

This week’s post by neuroscientist and Navatman member, Abha Rajbhandari - what surprising functions of the brain light up when we move our bodies?

When the Sun Rises
June 26-28
Alvin Ailey Citigroup Theater
buy tickets
This post is part of an ongoing series reflecting on cross-cultural community, ancestral memory, and the ways dance carries both joy and resistance. These stories are not separate from the work on stage. They ARE the work.
​
When the Sun Rises brings these threads together in a live experience. Join us June 26–28 at Ailey Theater.

Be part of what we are building.
Picture
The brain is the organ that allows us to experience the world. It receives light, sound, rhythm, breath, touch, balance, and movement, and transforms them into perception, memory, emotion, and meaning.

As a neuroscientist, I have studied the role of the brain in stress regulation for more than 15 years. But the effect of dance on the brain feels especially powerful. When we dance, the brain is not simply controlling the body. It is listening to the body, predicting the next movement, remembering patterns, adjusting balance, feeling rhythm, and expressing something that words often cannot hold. The brain’s ability to listen to bodily rhythms such as breath, heartbeat, posture, and inner sensation is called interoception.

Dance is one of the most ancient human languages. Long before ideas were written down, human beings moved together in rhythm. We danced to celebrate, to grieve, to worship, to tell stories, to mark seasons, and to remember who we were as a community. I am learning that in classical traditions such as Bharatanatyam, dance is not only physical exercise. It is geometry, devotion, storytelling, discipline, rhythm, and emotion woven into the body.

From a neuroscience perspective, Bharatanatyam is especially meaningful to me. As I prepare for the student showcase with my group, I am observing how much coordination this dance requires. The dancer must bring together footwork, posture, hand gestures, facial expression, breath, rhythm, music, and narrative. Everything has to be integrated. The torso remains stable while the limbs move with precision. The face expresses emotion while the feet keep rhythm. The hands tell a story while the body maintains balance. This means that Bharatanatyam trains not only movement, but also attention, memory, emotional expression, and interoception-brain’s ability to listen to the body.

Modern neuroscience is beginning to explain why dance feels so deeply embodied. Dancing engages motor circuits that control movement, auditory circuits that process rhythm and music, vestibular systems that regulate balance, memory systems that store sequences, and emotional networks that give movement meaning. Unlike many forms of exercise, dance requires the brain to coordinate the body in relation to internal signals, external cues, music, space, and other people. It is truly a whole-brain and whole-body practice! 
This may be why dance and music are increasingly studied in neurological conditions. In Parkinson’s disease, where movement can become stiff, slow, or difficult to initiate, rhythm and dance can sometimes help the body move more fluidly. In Alzheimer’s disease and dementia, music and movement can sometimes bring back memory, emotion, and social connection, even when language and ordinary recall become difficult. Of course, dance does not cure these conditions. But it can offer a meaningful pathway for movement, expression, and care.

In yoga and dance, interoception resembles dhārana: the training of attention toward a chosen object. In dance, the object of attention is not only the breath or a mantra, but the living body itself. A dancer learns to ask: How is my breath? Where is my balance? Am I ahead of the rhythm, or am I inside it? Is my body tense, or is it open and alive?

This inner listening is not separate from mental health. The brain and body are in constant conversation. When we move rhythmically, breathe with awareness, and coordinate attention with action, we influence the autonomic nervous system, stress physiology, mood, and emotional regulation. This is one reason dance can reduce anxiety and depression. It allows the body to express, release, and reorganize what the mind may not be able to say.

One of the most beautiful parts of preparing for this showcase has been the social connection. As a group, dance has allowed us to listen to one another, coordinate with one another, and move within a shared rhythm. In this sense, dance is not only individual expression. It is collective regulation. It teaches us how to belong to a rhythm larger than ourselves.

Neuroscience is now catching up to what many cultures have known for centuries: movement is not separate from thought, and the body is not separate from the mind. Dance supports neuroplasticity because it asks the brain to keep learning. It supports emotional health because it gives feeling a rhythm and shape. It supports social connection because it brings people into synchrony.

To dance, then, is not only to move. It is to remember with the body, to listen from within, and to transform rhythm into awareness. Dance reminds us that the brain does not live only inside the skull. It lives through the moving body. How beautiful it is to experience all of this as human beings! 

References: 
https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/31481910/
https://www.mdpi.com/1660-4601/18/21/11618
https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/37549216/
About this post
This post is part of an ongoing series reflecting on cross-cultural community, ancestral memory, and the ways dance carries both joy and resistance. These stories are not separate from the work on stage.

They ARE the work.

When the Sun Rises brings these threads together in a live experience. Join us June 26–28 at Ailey Theater.

​Be part of what we are building.
Every dollar puts a dancer on stage. ​
About us
Navatman and Baila Society joined forces in 2024 for a uniquely New York City experience: a place where two women-led arts organizations based in the cultural traditions of Afro-Latinx arts (Salsa, Latin Hustle, Afro-Cuban) and Indian arts (Bharatanatyam, Kathak, Hindustani and Carnatic music) come together.

In this shared space, we explore how the force of artists and students working together can promote, define, and create a sense of stability and strength, joy and love within communities at large - particularly through artistic endeavors.
]]><![CDATA[The Children Are Leading Us]]>Mon, 08 Jun 2026 21:10:57 GMThttps://www.navatman.org/blog-posts/the-children-are-leading-usI was surprised to be invited.

Navatman's black box theater holds about fifty people, and I knew every seat would be filled. This was a family occasion, an intimate celebration, the kind of night that belongs to the people who have been there from the beginning. I have only known these girls for a year or two, since BAILA Society's residency at Navatman began. I am a guest in this space, still learning its rhythms.

But they call me Ahtoy-didi. In Hindi, didi means big sister. And after every rehearsal, they honor me with Namaskar, a gesture of reverence that I receive with deep humility. It reminds me of manginge', the CHamoru practice of my own indigenous tradition, a greeting that moves toward the elder as an act of respect and recognition. These gestures exist in cultures that understand reciprocity and mutual respect: the young offer reverence for wisdom and experience, and the elders offer protection, guidance, and the responsibility of holding space for what comes next. In a culture where that reciprocity breaks down, where reverence becomes an opportunity for exploitation, these gestures have made me nervous. Here, under Sahi’s guidance though, they settle into something that feels ancient and correct, reassuring. They make me feel the weight of something real and utterly beautiful.

Tonight, they performed. The studio that I have described to you in another post (overstuffed, noisy, perpetually repurposed) had been transformed again, this time into something that felt like a garden and a sanctuary at once. Candles lit the space with a warm glow. Strings of flowers hung from the ceiling, dangling photographs of the girls, adorable at every age. Sahi herself is baby-faced in many of them. There is something like a shrine with a photo of Sahi surrounded by her little cherubs, all making silly faces. She was in her early 20’s, already holding the vision that would eventually become all of this. There were samosas, chapatis, pakoras, kati rolls, and homemade chai served in tiny clay cups that guests collected neatly in a bin after drinking. Everything was saturated with color: teal, royal purple, magenta, sapphire, emerald. I was grateful I had dressed for the occasion. I am not well-versed in the complex and beautiful art of South Asian fashion, but I am a long-time admirer. The girls were generous with their compliments on my outfit, which I received with genuine gratitude. I told them it was only my second kurta (the first had been gifted to me by Sahi), and that maybe one day I will graduate to sari status.

What the Junior Troupe built for their graduating friend was an act of devotion. They moved through both Kathak and Bharatanatyam, a rare dual fluency that most adult dancers never achieve, and they did it while telling two stories at once: the ancient ones their bodies have been trained to carry, and their own. The story of these particular girls, in this particular studio, growing up together under the particular grace of Sahi's mentorship.

The older girls taught the younger ones their repertoire, passing on knowledge the way knowledge has always been passed on at its best, not as instruction, but as gift. They performed pieces they had admired from Navatman's professional company, work they had watched on YouTube for years, hoping quietly that one day they might get to inhabit it. They sang. They moved through stories about when they had first performed certain pieces, what was happening in their lives at that time, what the work had meant to them then and what it carries now. They built, in the space of one evening, a living archive of themselves.

I cried for most of it.

In my last post, I wrote about exhaustion, about how the conditions of our lives make it so hard to gather, how the freelancer misses rehearsal because they had to take the gig, how we arrive depleted and leave still owing. I wrote about adults too fragmented to show up fully for the work we love most. And then these children showed me something I needed to see.

They had learned their parts. They had also learned ours. In When the Sun Rises, BAILA Society and Navatman are not just performing side by side. We are partnering, our bodies actually crossing over into each other's traditions, learning to move together in ways that require sustained presence and deep listening. The adults have been struggling with this, held back by the grinding reality of schedules that belong to whoever is paying us on any given day. The kids had already absorbed it. More than once, they have been the ones teaching the partnering back to us, patiently, because we have not been in the room enough to carry it in our bodies the way they do. And while we were out there surviving, they were here, preparing a show for their friend.

I was inspired. I want to be careful about what I mean when I say the kids are leading us, because it would be easy to reach for the comfortable idea of kids being cute and innocent, and that is not what I witnessed tonight. These girls are not naive. They know exactly what world they are inheriting, and they hold that knowledge with a clarity that most adults have learned to soften or avoid. What makes them extraordinary is that their creativity has not yet been crowded out by the machinery of survival. They still have access to something that exhaustion quietly steals from us over time: the capacity to ask what something is truly for, to make beauty on purpose, to insist that how we do a thing matters as much as whether we finish it. Most of us learn, somewhere along the way, to stop asking those questions. We get so consumed with meeting our obligations that we forget to examine them.

Coming to Navatman from the salsa world felt, at first, like stepping out of a current I hadn't known I was swimming in. In my career, I have spent enormous energy justifying our depth to others, to people of the dominant culture and those that internalize that hierarchy. Our dances are ancient, technically demanding, spiritually rooted, and historically layered in ways that most people who consume it only as entertainment will never fully appreciate. And yet in order to survive, we present it as something light and accessible, something you can buy for $20 and call it a night.

At Navatman, no one asked us to justify anything.

Their dance carries the word “classical” like a kind of armor. Even though they face their own version of what we face, the minority status, the underfunding, the art world's persistent indifference, they approached our collaboration with a simple and generous assumption: if our tradition is deep and sacred, yours must be too. What is your special thing? Tell us. Show us. We want to know. That kind of curiosity can only come from a place that has taught you, from the beginning, that other people's depth is real and worth encountering. Sahi taught them that. And they extended it to us as naturally. They don’t know another way.

The mother of the graduating senior spoke after the performance. She had met Sahi before Navatman even had a permanent home, before the studio, before the Junior Troupe, before the black box theater. She brought her three-year-old daughter to be Sahi's very first student because she believed in the vision before the vision had a room to live in. She followed Sahi through all of it: the different iterations of the organization, the different studios, the particular difficulty that minority-owned arts businesses face in New York City when trying to simply hold onto space year after year. What she admired most, she said, was that Sahi had always taught tradition without imposing its limitations. The girls could play any instrument, dance both styles, inhabit the full range of what they were capable of, without ever being told that capability had a ceiling. She mentioned BAILA Society by name, that we were there too, teaching salsa, Afro-Cuban and Latin Hustle, woven into the world these children were being raised to move through with grace and curiosity. I was honored to be named. I was honored to be in that room.

There was a moment near the end of the performance that I’m still thinking about.

One of the girls lost her balance during a fantastic sequence of turns, and the girl behind her extended her hand at exactly the right moment, steadying her with such quiet precision that it looked choreographed. It was not choreographed. It was simply someone who knew her friend well enough to catch her without making a moment of it.

Afterward, some of them went to their makeshift dressing room and cried. They felt they had fallen short. They regretted that it was their last performance together with their graduating friend, not yet understanding that the moment everyone in that room will remember is not the stumble but the hand. The reaching out, the graceful refusal to let someone fall alone, contained the entire argument for why we do any of this. They will understand it eventually. They may understand it sooner than most, because Sahi has been teaching them from the beginning that the journey holds more truth than the destination, that the relationships forged in the process outlast the performance itself, that what we build together is always more durable than what we achieve alone.

Look up in our studio and you will find a disco ball, hung there by Sahi to honor Latin Hustle, to say without saying it that our tradition lives here too and deserves its own light. Beneath it, on any given day, you will find Bharatanatyam bells and conga drums, gymnastics rings and a book cart, a futon and a massage table and rows of shoes at the door and children who have learned both sides of a partnering sequence while the adults were too depleted to be present.
The system that depletes us is not accidental. It wants us too tired to gather, too consumed with meeting our obligations to ask what we are meeting them for, too broken to discover what becomes possible when people like us get in a room together. And yet, when we watch these children, we know instantly that we are inspired. We know what we hope for them.

Tonight, they performed a program they built themselves about love and time, about admiration and the passing of knowledge, about sisterhood and the particular hope of people who understand that what they are inheriting is both broken and worth fighting for. They did all of this because someone gave them a room, a tradition, and the foundational belief that they were worth taking seriously.

That belief is what When the Sun Rises is also reaching toward. We are making something for everyone who needs to be reminded that their culture is sacred, that their joy has always been a form of resistance, that the hand extended at the right moment, quietly, gracefully, as if it were always part of the dance, is what holds everything together. The children are leading us there.

Join us.

When the Sun Rises — June 26–28 | Alvin Ailey Citigroup Theater, New York City

​Written by Ahoty Juliana
tickets
]]><![CDATA[You’re Not Lazy, Just Burnt Out by the Daily Grind. Here is an Antidote.]]>Mon, 08 Jun 2026 20:46:41 GMThttps://www.navatman.org/blog-posts/youre-not-lazy-just-burnt-out-by-the-daily-grind-here-is-an-antidoteWhen productivity becomes a trap, art becomes an act of rebellion.
​
This post is part of an ongoing series reflecting on cross-cultural community, ancestral memory, and the ways dance carries both joy and resistance. These stories are not separate from the work on stage. They ARE the work.
​
When the Sun Rises brings these threads together in a live experience. Join us June 26–28 at Ailey Theater.

Be part of what we are building.
Let’s be honest... When you’re planning your monthly budget, “dance show” isn’t going to be on the top of your list. You’ve got bills to pay and an endless cycle of daily stress to navigate.

But this is more than just a dance show. It is a mission for our collective sanity. 

If you are feeling burnt out by a world that treats people like cogs in a machine, this is for you.

​
Trapped in the machine

Living in a hyper-competitive late-stage capitalist culture where time is money, we are conditioned to believe that your worth equals what you produce. Chase commercial trends. Feel guilty to indulge in rest and leisure. Everything has a price tag and everyone is stressed.

Disconnected from nature, from community, from ourselves. 
Picture
People over profit

We are resisting the machine by throwing out the script. You already know our philosophy sessions - about viewing each other as complete human beings; about connecting beyond the stage; about building friendships and breaking down barriers.

Thus, this shared community project, where the process matters as much as the final performance.
​ 

Step out of the grind.

​Stand with us.When you support this project, you’re not just paying for “entertainment”. You are funding a sanctuary for: 
  • Humanity > Productivity: Art being authentic expression, not a commercial product chasing social media algorithms.
  • A space to breathe: An environment where you can let go of the pressure to be perfect. Valued for who you are, not just what you produce.
  • True equity: We refuse to charge exorbitant prices that exacerbate inequity. And we refuse to turn away artists due to financial hardship. 

We can’t change the system overnight, but we can choose actively where to invest our energy and support.
About this post
This post is part of an ongoing series reflecting on cross-cultural community, ancestral memory, and the ways dance carries both joy and resistance. These stories are not separate from the work on stage. They ARE the work.

​When the Sun Rises brings these threads together in a live experience. Join us June 26–28 at Ailey Theater.
Be part of what we are building.
Every dollar puts a dancer on stage.
About us
Navatman and Baila Society joined forces in 2024 for a uniquely New York City experience: a place where two women-led arts organizations based in the cultural traditions of Afro-Latinx arts (Salsa, Latin Hustle, Afro-Cuban) and Indian arts (Bharatanatyam, Kathak, Hindustani and Carnatic music) come together.
​
In this shared space, we explore how the force of artists and students working together can promote, define, and create a sense of stability and strength, joy and love within communities at large - particularly through artistic endeavors.

Written by Lavanya Jagirdhar
]]><![CDATA[Decolonize This. Who Decides What Counts as “High Art”?]]>Tue, 26 May 2026 20:08:23 GMThttps://www.navatman.org/blog-posts/decolonize-this-who-decides-what-counts-as-high-artFunding, fame, and why some art forms are protected while others are forgotten.​

Decolonizing culture is more than a checkbox. This highly informed academic critique of cultural canons by Navatman member, Johann Moore, discusses how “The Western Canon” maintains its power, who is expected to diversify it, and how non-Western classical traditions (like ours!) exist independently of Western approval.
This post is part of an ongoing series reflecting on cross-cultural community, ancestral memory, and the ways dance carries both joy and resistance. These stories are not separate from the work on stage. They ARE the work.
​
When the Sun Rises brings these threads together in a live experience. Join us June 26–28 at Ailey Theater.

Be part of what we are building.
Power, Praxis, and Inclusion

Canons are of course at least as exclusionary by design as inclusionary. Can The Western Canon be decolonised, should it be and by whom? How do material and especially, class interests affect and serve to delimit the canon? How does inclusion function to decolonize the canon? Questions to keep in mind perhaps? 

Indigenous cultural practitioners should feel no obligation to assume a burden which is not theirs, despite non-Indigenous spectators' apparent assumptions regarding who should do the work of inclusion. The work is in the including, as an active, conscious practice and even a politically aware praxis.

Non-Indigenous male practitioners as well as advocates are afforded perhaps greater interest and deference by Western audiences, being seen as quirkily multiculturally committed, an allowance made to white men but less to white women whose culturally eclectic interests are often dismissed as infatuations, frequently assigned to romance or romanticism.

​
Serenely Sovereign and Self-Sufficient

Indigenous canons, especially highly codified forms of cultural expression, exist serenely sovereign and sufficient unto themselves and their practitioners. Indigenous cultural canons, both formal, see state-recognised:
  • India with its eight (rumored to be nine?) classical dance forms
  • China with Kunqu, the rigorously classical form of Beijing Opera; but also Nanxi, the codified Cantonese variant and its melodically free accompanying Nanqu
  • Indonesia with its Gamelan percussion-driven orchestral compositions; and its Kecak Ramayana featuring Hanuman as monkey (Kecak) protagonist
  • Cambodia with its Royal Khmer dance (whose precious glass plate original images of dancers in frozen poses a la Mahabalipuram reside at the Musee Guimet in Paris)
  • Thailand with its court dance
  • Japan with its Noh, Kabuki, and Kyogen comedic interludes (akin to those expressing folk wisdom in Cantonese Opera) as well as some half dozen schools of Shigin (poetry-song) such as my own Shimpuryo school, and its mediaeval pronunciation of Chinese-character poems, especially composed by samurai 
​
​… and informal but grassroots-determined "canons" such as Black diasporic or Latine dance (admitted to a canon by West Side Story?) and musical traditions exemplify this.
Picture
Hegemony, Influence, and Advocacy

​Arguably the Western canon is uniquely hegemonic, both in "high" culture and at its most permeating in pop culture. However Afro-Latine influences on Balanchine, Bernstein and Copland as well as the more recent widespread popularity of Bollywood show that the influence can run the other way, however much it may retain a sense of exoticism for culturally Western audiences.
​
Cognoscenti may however become canon advocates, such as the NYT's much-missed and exquisitely erudite Alastair Macaulay whose coverage and serious reviews of South Asian dance remain memorable. 

Or my own much more modest request (through an onboard letter through my shipmate from Chennai to Singapore, his Excellency the Ambassador of India to Singapore) to the Government of India in 2019 to expeditiously add Nautch to the eight classical dance forms. As a canonic protection against Ul-Haq's ongoing impacts decades later of politicized religious fundamentalism which destroyed much cultural creation and caused the dispersal of its practitioners to the Persian Gulf.


Institutional Solidarity

Acknowledging Lincoln Center Library's canonizing inclusion of the work of Sridharji (including iconic stage-lighting!) means considering an ask such as a Lincoln Center dance exchange programme. Even perhaps a joint tour of the resident ballet companies alongside canonically less included dance traditions practiced here and a complementary participation by classical companies and soloists dancing in South or East Asia, to perform here.
​ 
Institutional advocacy, such as by Navatman and Baila Society, relieves individuals of the risk of being targeted for cultural advocacy, especially under current parlous conditions. Or rather collectivizes it, as solidarity does. Material and class interests determining a canon, primarily through funding but also ticket sales, remain a key fraught topic perhaps better addressed separately alongside the political-ideological obligations that tend to accompany governmental funding.
About this post
This post is part of an ongoing series reflecting on cross-cultural community, ancestral memory, and the ways dance carries both joy and resistance. These stories are not separate from the work on stage. They ARE the work.

When the Sun Rises brings these threads together in a live experience. Join us June 26–28 at Ailey Theater.

Be part of what we are building.

Every dollar puts a dancer on stage.
About us
Navatman and Baila Society joined forces in 2024 for a uniquely New York City experience: a place where two women-led arts organizations based in the cultural traditions of Afro-Latinx arts (Salsa, Latin Hustle, Afro-Cuban) and Indian arts (Bharatanatyam, Kathak, Hindustani and Carnatic music) come together.

In this shared space, we explore how the force of artists and students working together can promote, define, and create a sense of stability and strength, joy and love within communities at large - particularly through artistic endeavors.

Written by Johann Moore
]]><![CDATA[You Don’t Have To Go It Alone]]>Mon, 18 May 2026 20:41:39 GMThttps://www.navatman.org/blog-posts/you-dont-have-to-go-it-aloneReturning to the fold; what it taught me about myself, motherhood and community
​
We spend lifetimes believing that we have to do it ALL and do it SOLO; thinking that self-reliance is the way and hyper-independence is the ultimate armor. This profound post by Navatman member, Shruti Sharma, reflects on unlearning this. By returning to dance amidst the chaos of motherhood, she found strength in surrendering to the village and embracing the warmth of community.
This post is part of an ongoing series reflecting on cross-cultural community, ancestral memory, and the ways dance carries both joy and resistance. These stories are not separate from the work on stage. They ARE the work.

When the Sun Rises brings these threads together in a live experience. Join us June 26–28 at Ailey Theater.
​
Be part of what we are building.
​Raised with a highly competitive mindset, I was the textbook eldest daughter with a go it alone attitude. I was so thoroughly subscribed to the idea of hyper-independence that I had convinced myself it was the only way to exist. The superior way, even.

When I started dancing, I was in a different phase of life than most of my fellow dancers. My schedule was dictated by the availability of a babysitter, the recovery from a new monthly virus my daughter had picked up at school and invariably shared with me, or figuring out if my aching ankle could handle a short day of riyaaz on top of the 10k steps I was going to inflict on it chasing my daughter at playgrounds. Every moment of my day had to be meticulously rationed into prioritized calendar blocks, just as every bit of my post-partum and maternal energy was strictly allocated to the various roles I was required to perform.

When I finally ceased my dancing - unaware at the time that it was merely a temporary departure - I struck a solemn bargain with myself: I would refuse the siren call of reminiscence. My days had freed up some, yet I found myself adrift and untethered. I told myself that the feeling would pass, but the reality was this: dance had become so inextricably woven into the very fabric of my existence that, without it, I was unraveling.
Picture
Upon my return, I was struck by the realization that it was the village I had surrendered that I had yearned for the most. While I craved the dance, it was the embrace of my mentors and peers - offered with such unreserved warmth - that instilled in me the comforting sense of  never having truly departed from the fold.

It’s easy to overlook the importance of community, especially in systems that propagate and incentivize bootstrap individualism. The benefits are often intangible at first. For me, they manifested as co-regulation- a neurological phenomenon where we calm each other down just by being together. The meditative nature of repetitive dance movements coupled with the mutual soothing of the central nervous system helped dim the din of everyday life in profound ways. It made me realize that finding these nooks of stillness ultimately empowered me to show up as a better version of myself in all walks of life. 

A personal memory surfaces, one that I hope illuminates the essence of the thoughts I have shared:

On an evening heavy with rain and a theater brimming with expectant eyes, as my fellow dancers and I stepped onto the stage to perform a piece that had lived in our bodies for months, something transformational took hold. As I looked into the eyes of a young dancer, I found them mirrored in mine, both glimmering with unshed tears. This singular moment, spontaneous and entirely unchoreographed, held us together in a state of pure connection - a transcendence that dissolved every difference that once stood between us. In that instant, the importance of why we do what we do truly crystallized for me, as it did I am certain, for my fellow dancer.
About this post
This post is part of an ongoing series reflecting on cross-cultural community, ancestral memory, and the ways dance carries both joy and resistance. These stories are not separate from the work on stage. They ARE the work.

When the Sun Rises brings these threads together in a live experience. Join us June 26–28 at Ailey Theater.

Be part of what we are building.
About us
Navatman and Baila Society joined forces in 2024 for a uniquely New York City experience: a place where two women-led arts organizations based in the cultural traditions of Afro-Latinx arts (Salsa, Latin Hustle, Afro-Cuban) and Indian arts (Bharatanatyam, Kathak, Hindustani and Carnatic music) come together.
​
In this shared space, we explore how the force of artists and students working together can promote, define, and create a sense of stability and strength, joy and love within communities at large - particularly through artistic endeavors.

​Written by Shruti Sharma
]]><![CDATA[Claim Your Power Through Art]]>Mon, 11 May 2026 14:43:01 GMThttps://www.navatman.org/blog-posts/claim-your-power-through-artCreativity, community, and the courage to dance through times of upheaval

When the world feels like it’s fracturing, creativity is a vital act of resilience. This insightful post by Navatman member, Sonia Sekhar, reminds us that art is more than a metaphor. For Navatman and Baila, it is the practice of dreaming a better world into reality.
This post is part of an ongoing series reflecting on cross-cultural community, ancestral memory, and the ways dance carries both joy and resistance. These stories are not separate from the work on stage. They ARE the work.

When the Sun Rises brings these threads together in a live experience. Join us June 26–28 at Ailey Theater.

Be part of what we are building.
Bruce Springsteen opened at a recent concert by calling “upon the righteous power of art“ to help get us through these terrifying times. It’s a striking declaration - because in a moment of crisis we tend to focus on how we can ensure physical safety and provide basic human needs. But for the students of Navatman and Baila Society, art is critical to our survival.

“Art is a service.” “Art is a form of dignity.” These aren’t abstractions. They’re the convictions of Navatman and Baila Society students of all ages and backgrounds - from those who grew up dancing in New York City to those who began as adults, from people raised in India to those who found movement as a second language. What unites them is not biography, but in belief: that art can be “a form of self preservation” and “a declaration of love”, and that they need art when the world feels unwelcoming and unsafe to so many.
Picture
So when politics and power feel captured by money and disinformation, does art have any real influence? In every period of upheaval, artists are among the key messengers of moral clarity and advocates who bring us back to our collective humanity. James Baldwin, Langston Hughes, Nina Simone delivered profound messages directly, with rhythm, and brutal simplicity. We are all human. Can we not show each other humanity? That clarity - that insistence to meet each other as our true and raw selves beneath all that meets the eye and our biases - is what made their work break through. Art also widens the circle of movements, bringing in and gathering those who may not look or sound or move like those in power. 

Art reaches deep into spaces that policy cannot. It bypasses rational (or irrational) arguments into feelings, our core.
Picture
Sarah Sentiles puts it plainly “Artists were made for moments like these. This is what we have been practicing for. This is why we’ve been exercising our imaginations. So we can come up with alternatives. So we can dream up a better world. So we can remember who we are.”

We cannot absorb the misery and suffering of these moments in silence. We must paint it, dance it, sing it, in community, into reality the world we want.  For the Navatman and Baila Society community, this isn’t a metaphor, it’s practice. Together, we keep the music going, dancing toward a world where love is what moves us.
About this post
This post is part of an ongoing series reflecting on cross-cultural community, ancestral memory, and the ways dance carries both joy and resistance. These stories are not separate from the work on stage. They ARE the work.

When the Sun Rises brings these threads together in a live experience. Join us June 26–28 at Ailey Theater.
​
Be part of what we are building.
About us
Navatman and Baila Society joined forces in 2024 for a uniquely New York City experience: a place where two women-led arts organizations based in the cultural traditions of Afro-Latinx arts (Salsa, Latin Hustle, Afro-Cuban) and Indian arts (Bharatanatyam, Kathak, Hindustani and Carnatic music) come together.

In this shared space, we explore how the force of artists and students working together can promote, define, and create a sense of stability and strength, joy and love within communities at large - particularly through artistic endeavors.

Written by Sonia Sekhar
]]><![CDATA[Moving Through the Noise]]>Mon, 04 May 2026 17:01:41 GMThttps://www.navatman.org/blog-posts/moving-through-the-noiseDance is therapy for an uncertain world

In a philosophy session for our upcoming June program, we experienced a connected share that the world feels chaotic globally and personally. How do we find our way back to center? This evocative post by Navatman member, Abha Rajbhandari, explores dance as a means to finding flow, healing, and connection at the intersection of neuroscience and ancient wisdom.
This post is part of an ongoing series reflecting on cross-cultural community, ancestral memory, and the ways dance carries both joy and resistance. These stories are not separate from the work on stage. They ARE the work.

When the Sun Rises brings these threads together in a live experience. Join us June 26–28 at Ailey Theater.

Be part of what we are building.
Scientifically with uncertainty, stress accumulates, purpose can blur, and fear can sometimes leave us feeling stuck. In these moments, an important question arises: can we find grounding, flow, and understanding through movement? More specifically, can dance be a form of therapy?
​
Emerging research suggests that it can. Dance engages the body and brain together, flow state, supporting emotional regulation, cognitive flexibility, and a sense of connection. It is not just movement but it is a way of processing, expressing, and reorganizing experience. For many, including myself, dance has been one of the most direct ways to enter a flow state, a space where attention is focused, self-consciousness softens, and action feels both effortless and deeply engaged for a bigger purpose.

Both science and spirituality point toward a similar insight: creativity and healing in these times can flourish when we quiet inner noise, expand awareness, and create space for new possibilities. From a scientific perspective, dance integrates imagination, memory, attention, and flexible thinking. When we are less reactive and less caught in overthinking, the brain shifts away from threat-based actions toward exploration and adaptability. From a spiritual perspective, creativity like dance is something we allow to happen. As the mind becomes quieter, we become more receptive. Movement becomes less about effort and more about listening.
Picture
This understanding is deeply reflected in the tradition of Bharatanatyam, rooted in the ancient Natya Shastra, which describes a powerful sequence of awareness:

            Yatho Hasta Tatho Drishti | Where the hand goes, the eyes follow
            Yatho Drishti Tatho Manah | Where the eyes go, the mind follows
            Yatho Manah Tatho Bhaava | Where the mind goes, emotion arises
            Yatho Bhaava Tatho Rasa | Where emotion flows, experience is evoked
​
This progression shows how movement shapes perception, perception shapes thought, thought shapes emotion, and emotion becomes a shared experience for the dancer and the observer. Dance, in this sense, is not just performance but it is a pathway from awareness to connection.
Picture
​In times when everything feels heavy or uncertain, dance offers something fundamental: a return to the body. Fear can feel paralyzing, but movement restores a sense of agency and of being able to feel, respond, and express. Dance becomes a space where emotions such as uncertainty, anger, or frustration are not suppressed but transformed into something meaningful.

It is also a reminder that even in difficult times, there is still rhythm, still expression, still life moving through us. Dance does not deny the complexity and dualities of everything and the world we are in, but it allows meeting those complexities of the world with the non-dual presence and awareness.

Ultimately, dance is more than art. It is regulation, expression, awareness, and connection. It brings light not necessarily by removing darkness, but by allowing us to move through it!
About this post
This post is part of an ongoing series reflecting on cross-cultural community, ancestral memory, and the ways dance carries both joy and resistance. These stories are not separate from the work on stage. They ARE the work.
​
When the Sun Rises brings these threads together in a live experience. Join us June 26–28 at Ailey Theater.
Be part of what we are building.
​About us
Navatman and Baila Society joined forces in 2024 for a uniquely New York City experience: a place where two women-led arts organizations based in the cultural traditions of Afro-Latinx arts (Salsa, Latin Hustle, Afro-Cuban) and Indian arts (Bharatanatyam, Kathak, Hindustani and Carnatic music) come together.
​
In this shared space, we explore how the force of artists and students working together can promote, define, and create a sense of stability and strength, joy and love within communities at large - particularly through artistic endeavors.

​Written by Abha Rajbhandari
]]><![CDATA[Stop Thinking. Start Moving.]]>Mon, 27 Apr 2026 17:42:43 GMThttps://www.navatman.org/blog-posts/stop-thinking-start-movingChanneling emotions and finding release in movement

Long before words, there was movement. As kids, we didn’t sit with our emotions - we flowed with instinctive expression. As adults, we have lost that connection replacing movement with (over)thinking, structure, responsibilities. This deeply felt post by Navatman member, Dolonchapa Chakraborty, explores why movement is not a luxury but rather the very core of how we process emotion. The body remembers what the mind tends to forget.
This post is part of an ongoing series reflecting on cross-cultural community, ancestral memory, and the ways dance carries both joy and resistance. These stories are not separate from the work on stage. They ARE the work.

When the Sun Rises brings these threads together in a live experience. Join us June 26–28 at Ailey Theater.

Be part of what we are building.
Childhood: Before emotion had language

​Hobbies and extracurriculars: Two words that mean something very different when you hear them as a child versus when you live them as an adult.

As a kid, especially if you grew up in an environment where structure was non-negotiable, extracurriculars weren’t optional. They weren’t something you “fit in when you had time.” You made time. Period.

And more than that, they weren’t just activities. They were movement. Expression. A way for emotion, energy, and discipline to have somewhere to go.

I still remember my dance teacher once looking at me and saying, very simply: Did you brush your teeth? Yes. Did you eat breakfast? Yes. Then why didn’t you practice dance?

For context, I had an SAT-equivalent math test that day. But in that moment, I remember feeling something very specific: not rebellion, not anger — just shame. Like I had misunderstood what was supposed to matter more. And I never missed another class again. That’s the part that stays with me.

Because looking back, what I was learning — without having the language for it — was something simple but physical: emotion doesn’t stay still.

And for a long time, the body was where it went.

You ran, you danced, you played, you showed up. With less inhibition and a smaller vocabulary, emotion had a direct route out — through movement — before it ever became something you could explain.

Adulthood: When everything became structured
Then you grow up.

And everything becomes a hobby, or a side gig, or “something for your mental health,” or a passion project you get to only when life allows it. These are all very adult words. Negotiated words. Words that sit behind the “real” work of the day job.
Picture
​Now, I actually like what I do. I’ve maybe had six months in my life where I didn’t. But even when you enjoy your work, adulthood often turns everything into structure and deadlines. You move from one deliverable to the next, one meeting to the next, one fire drill to the next. And slowly, the space where emotion used to move freely starts getting compressed into whatever time is left.

So creativity becomes something you schedule. Not something you inhabit.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently — especially with AI, automation, and agents taking over more of the execution layer of work. Less time formatting slides, aligning boxes, fixing decks. In theory, that should create space.

But space is not the same as expression.

Because if the body is not part of the process anymore, then what fills that space is often more thinking. More optimizing. More managing.

And emotion — unless it is given somewhere to go — doesn’t disappear. It just stays in quieter, unprocessed ways.

The body remembers first
Neuroscience increasingly supports what many people intuitively already feel: emotional states are not purely mental events. They are physiological.

The autonomic nervous system shifts heart rate, breathing patterns, muscle tension, and hormonal activity in response to stress, grief, anger, or anxiety. The mind may interpret the experience, but the body carries it first.

This is why emotion can feel stuck — not because we haven’t thought enough about it, but because thinking alone does not complete the cycle.
Picture
A tight chest before you’ve named why.
A heaviness in the shoulders with no clear origin.
A restlessness that doesn’t resolve through thinking harder, planning better, or explaining it more logically.

And yet, we are often taught — directly or indirectly — that emotions are something to understand first. Name them. Analyze them. Reframe them. Solve them. But not all emotional experiences begin in language. Some begin in the body, long before they become words.

This is why emotion feels embodied even before it is understood.

Because the body doesn’t wait for language. It reacts first.

Movement as emotional completion
Movement is one of the most direct ways the nervous system regulates itself. Not in a symbolic sense, but a biological one. Yoga shifts breathing patterns. Shaking releases muscular tension. Dancing integrates breath, coordination, and sensory input in a way that changes internal arousal states. Even simple repetitive motion — walking, pacing, stretching — helps the body move from activation toward regulation.

But most of this is already familiar, even without explanation.

A walk that unknots a thought you couldn’t solve sitting still.
Dancing alone in a room until something shifts without explanation.
Running until the noise in your head finally softens.

In these moments, movement is not performance or exercise. It is translation — turning something internal and dense into something physical that can pass through. The body is not separate from emotional life. It is where emotional life unfolds.
Picture
And yet modern life pulls us away from that. We are trained to sit through discomfort, think our way through tension, optimize response instead of inhabiting sensation. Even rest becomes structured. Even recovery becomes another task.

So emotion doesn’t disappear. It accumulates differently — less as rupture, more as noise. A subtle distance from the body. A sense of being more in thought than in experience.
Movement interrupts that loop: not by explaining emotion, but by moving it. By restoring circulation — of breath, attention, and sensation.

You don’t need to do it correctly. There is no method that matters more than the act itself. Often it is something small: a change in pace, a shift in rhythm, a return from interpretation to sensation.

Because movement is not something added to emotional processing. It is part of the processing itself.

Emotion was never meant to stay in thought alone.
And the body was never meant to be separate from how we feel.

We tend to think of movement as something that comes after emotion — after clarity, after readiness, after control. But more often, it is what makes feeling possible in the first place.

In childhood, emotion moved before it had language.
In adulthood, language arrives first — and movement is forgotten.

So maybe the question isn’t how to add more hobbies, or how to optimize creativity, or how to fit “self-expression” into a full calendar.

Maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe it’s remembering what we already knew before we had language for it: Emotion doesn’t stay still. It moves. And when it doesn’t, the body holds it until we finally do.

Movement was never separate from emotion.
It was where emotion went.

And movement is not what we do after life is “handled”.
It is one of the ways life gets “handled” in the first place.
Be Moved
We invite you to Baila Society x Navatman Season 2026!

Our June program brings together Salsa, Latin Hustle, Bharatanatyam, and Kathak under one original score, performed live, only in NYC. For one weekend, be part of a grassroots movement breaking barriers, connecting communities. 

Watch a clip from Roots of Resilience.
About us
Navatman and Baila Society joined forces in 2024 for a uniquely New York City experience: a place where two women-led arts organizations based in the cultural traditions of Afro-Latinx arts (Salsa, Latin Hustle, Afro-Cuban) and Indian arts (Bharatanatyam, Kathak, Hindustani and Carnatic music) come together.
​
In this shared space, we explore how the force of artists and students working together can promote, define, and create a sense of stability and strength, joy and love within communities at large - particularly through artistic endeavors.

Written by Dolonchapa Chakraborty
]]><![CDATA[The First Step is a Conversation]]>Wed, 08 Apr 2026 14:57:09 GMThttps://www.navatman.org/blog-posts/the-first-step-is-a-conversationPhilosophy sessions drive our work
This post is part of an ongoing series reflecting on cross-cultural community, ancestral memory, and the ways dance carries both joy and resistance. These stories are not separate from the work on stage. They ARE the work.

When the Sun Rises brings these threads together in a live experience. Join us June 26–28 at Ailey Theater.

Be part of what we are building.
“If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe.“ - Carl Sagan

This is, sort of, how we approach our productions too. One would think creating a show is just pick a theme, make music, make choreography, logistics, 1-2-3 and done! Not quite how we want it here. 

For us, the very first rehearsal is an open discussion, a philosophy session. There is something radical about a group of dancers sitting still in a circle. Not moving but thinking, speaking, listening, digging deep. Before we explore movement and formations, we must meditate for ourselves - individually and collectively - why we must do this.
Picture
How do we build new ideas around art? How do we truly create together to serve a community instead of just an audience? How do we empower ourselves to be more available to those around us; to participate in the world in a way that doesn’t feel defeated? What does this look like, albeit differently, for each of us? 

We sit with the complexity rather than try and simplify it. We embrace the uncertainty. We hope that this keeps our work honest - something for you to not just watch and enjoy but to experience. These philosophy sessions are the seed for you to connect beyond the stage; to reflect, question, and participate. 

The dialogue evolves over multiple conversations to bring us closer together. We find that we are not alone in our joys and traumas. We take up more space. We find comfort in the acceptance and belonging that we have with each other and of our shared purpose. 

These are not vague musings. They are a grassroots movement to inspire movement! So that we are not merely performing, but embodying our lived realities inside and out.
About this post
This post is part of an ongoing series reflecting on cross-cultural community, ancestral memory, and the ways dance carries both joy and resistance. These stories are not separate from the work on stage. They ARE the work.

When the Sun Rises brings these threads together in a live experience. Join us June 26–28 at Ailey Theater.
​
Be part of what we are building.
About us
Navatman and Baila Society joined forces in 2024 for a uniquely New York City experience: a place where two women-led arts organizations based in the cultural traditions of Afro-Latinx arts (Salsa, Latin Hustle, Afro-Cuban) and Indian arts (Bharatanatyam, Kathak, Hindustani and Carnatic music) come together.
In this shared space, we explore how the force of artists and students working together can promote, define, and create a sense of stability and strength, joy and love within communities at large - particularly through artistic endeavors.

This post is part of a series rendering our creative process.

​Written by Lavanya Jagirdhar and Aashutosh Mukerji
]]><![CDATA[Riyaaz (practice) for Mental Health]]>Wed, 18 Oct 2023 20:43:40 GMThttps://www.navatman.org/blog-posts/riyaaz-practice-for-mental-healthUse daily practice to cope and center yourself.
Some days feel too much. Perhaps the world is racing to catastrophe. Or the daily rut is suffocating. Or change is overwhelming. Or apathy has drowned out any hope. Things are out of control and there is nothing we can do. So how do we endure? 

We as artists (yes, even you, the artist in training!) turn to riyaaz, our daily practice. Practice is not meant to be solely for improvement, nor should it feel like an imposition by the teacher. As Sahi says in this clip, it can be an effective way to ground and release emotion.
Picture
There is an artist in each and every one of us. Your art is an intrinsic part of your being; it can bring you resilience, calm, strength, and contentment. 

Whichever your chosen art form, channel it everyday - even for a few minutes - to find peace, release, and self-love.


Watch the full video of how riyaaz can help your mental health: 
https://navatmanvideobroadcasting.uscreen.io/programs/mentalhealthandpractice


Available beginner courses:
Take 30 days to explore the basics of Kathak: 
https://navatmanvideobroadcasting.uscreen.io/pages/kathak30daychallenge
Take 30 days to explore the basics of Bharatanatyam: 
https://navatmanvideobroadcasting.uscreen.io/pages/bharatanatyam30daychallenge
Absolute Beginner Bharatanatyam Course
Absolute Beginner Kathak Course
Bharatanatyam Thattadavus course
Explore the catalog
Practice makes perfectly present in the moment.

​-Lavanya Jagirdhar

]]>