In the summer of 2024, I was posted in Nagaland and living away from my family.
My wife and children were in Maharashtra. My leaves were limited, and travelling to Nagpur was not always easy. Then came the summer holidays, and for once, the timing worked perfectly. The children were free, my wife managed to take leave, and all three came to Nagaland.
For some time, we were a family living together again.
Gold Rate
Sept 17,2026 - Time 10.30Hrs
But there was a small problem.
Life in Nagpur was full of school, work, household responsibilities, friends, classes and the usual running around. In Nagaland, we suddenly had more time with each other, but fewer things to fill that time.
I didn’t want those days to become just another holiday.
I wanted something that would give us fitness, entertainment and, most importantly, quality time together.
So I thought:
Why not do something together?
That is how we landed at Lamgrace Dance Studio.
None of us was a born dancer.
In fact, learning the steps did not come naturally to us at all. Sometimes our hands and legs seemed to have completely different plans!
Lamgrace had to put in a lot of effort. We were slow learners, but she was patient and didn’t give up.
And neither did we.
We practised as much as we could.
That one hour of dance soon became much more than exercise. We were learning, laughing, meeting people and making friends. The choreographer, who had initially been just a teacher, gradually became a friend. Her assistant choreographers became friends too.
A dance studio had quietly become our little social world in Nagaland.
There was another interesting part.
Lamgrace was comfortable teaching the energetic and more masculine movements. But for some of the delicate feminine movements, especially with Sonal, she felt she needed another pair of hands.
So she brought in Priya Bareil.
Priya was a short, cheerful, energetic and wonderfully expressive person. She helped Sonal with those movements.
It taught me another small lesson: you don’t have to do everything yourself. Sometimes, the best way to make something work is to bring in someone who can do one part better.
Eventually, we completed four short dances, each around a minute to a minute and a half.
They were not professional performances.
They were definitely not perfect.
But they were ours.
Lamgrace filmed them for us, and even today, when we watch those videos, we are transported back to Nagaland.
Back to the studio.
Back to that summer.
Back to the people who became our friends.
Back to that rare time when the four of us were together.
We had gone there to learn dance.
We came back with memories.
We shall always be grateful to both the ladies.
When the Team Changed
When we returned to Nagpur, we were eager to perform what we had learnt.
But slowly, Sonal’s interest in continuing with Bollywood-style practice reduced. She seemed to enjoy Garba more and was anyway looking forward to Navratri.
I tend to become very focused once I decide to practise something. I like repetition, routine and doing things until they become reasonably smooth.
Sonal has a different rhythm.
So rather than making dance another source of pressure, I told her:
“If you don’t mind, I would love to do this with my sisters.”
My younger sister Jui and my cousin sister Harsha were happy to practise with me regularly.
And that was it.
The dance continued.
The team changed.
Our first Nagpur performance happened during the Ganesh festival in August 2024, in our small little universe of socialisation—our own Rachana Sayantara Society.
Instead of choosing the latest Bollywood numbers, we went for evergreen retro songs like Aajkal Tere Mere Pyaar Ke Charche Har Juban Par and Gustakh Dil Tere Liye Betab Hai O Janeja.
But there was a small complication.
I came down with chikungunya.
Those who have suffered from it know how debilitating the joint pain can be. Practice resumed with a heavy dose of paracetamol.
The steps were simple.
But they were well rehearsed.
And that made all the difference.
I took one last dose of paracetamol about half an hour before the performance, and somehow it worked wonders when combined with the excitement in my mind.
The senior citizens of our society especially loved the performance.
For them, these songs were not just songs. They were memories of youth, romance and another era.
We were dancing.
They were remembering.
And for a few minutes, the generations met somewhere in between.
When Fitness Met Dance
Then came August 2025.
This time, we chose more popular Bollywood numbers like Soniya Dil Se Milale Dil – Just Chill Chill and Neend Churai Meri Kisne O Sanam.
The energy was completely different.
I also decided that this was my chance to show off the fitness I had been working on.
So I wore Sonal’s tight black T-shirt and my jeans.
And just before the performance, I did more than 30 push-ups.
The idea was simple: get the chest and arms nicely pumped up for the stage.
It worked.
There was only one problem.
The muscles were ready. The lungs were not.
By the time the dance started, I was already tired and panting.
That day I learnt an important difference between looking ready to dance and actually being ready to dance!
Fortunately, the choreography was well rehearsed. The steps had become almost automatic, so even while my lungs were protesting, the body knew what to do.
There was also a small family story behind that performance.
The whole dance journey had originally started with Sonal and me in Nagaland. So perhaps, somewhere inside, there was a little feeling of:
“This was something we started together.”
I wouldn’t call it serious jealousy.
Perhaps it was simply a little possessiveness about something that had once been ours.
And honestly, I found that rather sweet.
Dancing With My Son
Then came another chapter.
My son Kedar decided in 2025 to participate in a solo dance competition at his school.
I used to take him to his evening dance classes and wait while he practised.
He worked hard and eventually won a prize.
We were extremely happy.
For me, it was especially satisfying because it reminded me that children have different strengths. Academic performance is only one part of their personality. Sometimes another interest gives them a completely different kind of confidence.
In 2026, I asked Kedar whether he wanted to perform again.
His answer came immediately:
“Yes!”
So I suggested that we practise together.
He could perform the dance alone at school, and we could perform it together during our society’s Ganesh festival.
He agreed.
This time, we chose something completely different.
The inspiration was the iconic Tanhaji Malusare, portrayed by Ajay Devgn.
The choreography was energetic, heroic and warrior-like.
We rehearsed thoroughly and arranged proper warrior costumes and armour.
The dance was performed to the energetic beats of Ghamd Kar.
Kedar looked like a cute, bouncy young warrior.
I, perhaps, took the role a little too seriously!
With the armour, sword and intensity, I gave the performance everything I had.
At one point, I noticed a little boy sitting in the front row.
After seeing the sword and my rather fierce performance, he actually moved away!
That became one of the funniest memories of the evening.
But what stayed with me was not the applause.
It was the fact that I had spent that time with my son.
For Kedar, it was dance practice, a school activity, preparation, performance and another opportunity to build confidence.
For me, it was father-son time.
One Hour. Many Outcomes.
Somewhere along this journey, I started seeing dance differently.
We often say:
“I don’t have time.”
I say it too.
Work needs time.
Family needs time.
Children need time.
Fitness needs time.
Learning needs time.
Social life needs time.
And the day still has only twenty-four hours.
So we keep trying to fit more and more activities into those hours.
But perhaps there is another way.
Instead of always adding activities, combine them.
That one hour of dance in Nagaland was:
Exercise + family time + learning + social interaction.
Practising with Kedar was:
Father-son time + school co-curricular preparation + performance + memory-making.
One activity.
Several outcomes.
The same hour.
No extra hour required.
That, to me, is a different way of thinking about productivity.
Productivity is not always about moving faster.
Sometimes it is about making one activity do more.
And that is what dance quietly gave me:
Fitness.
Family time.
Learning.
Friendships.
Confidence.
Community.
Significance.
Fame.
Entertainment.
Memories.
The Value of Performing Together
There is also something special about performing in front of people who know you.
The people in our society know that we are working professionals, with children, office responsibilities, household responsibilities and a hundred other things competing for our time.
So when they see us perform, they are not comparing us with Bollywood stars or professional dancers.
They are seeing the effort behind those few minutes.
Perhaps that is why their appreciation feels so special—not because the performance is perfect, but because they know the story behind it.
Looking back, I realise I had gone to a dance studio in Nagaland simply because I wanted to find something for my family to do together.
What I found was much bigger.
I found fitness, friendships, laughter, community, memories, and opportunities to dance with my wife, my sisters and my son.
And I found a small lesson about time.
Don’t always look for more time.
Look at the hour you already have.
Can one hour become exercise + conversation + family time?
Can cooking become food preparation + learning + bonding?
Can a hobby become recreation + skill development + social interaction?
Can practice become preparation + parenting + memory-making?
Maybe the answer to our time problem is not always to find more time.
Maybe sometimes it is simply to use the same time better.
Maybe productivity is not always about doing more.
Maybe sometimes it is about doing things together.
That is what dance taught me.
When different rhythms find a common beat, one hour can become much more than one hour.
And I hope we continue to perform at least one dance every year on stage.
Not because we want to become professional dancers.
Not because every performance needs to be perfect.
But because someday, when we look back, those few minutes on stage may remind us of something far more valuable:
We made time for each other.
