
The dance is smooth and graceful. It is performed by any gender in order to tell a story, apparently. The dancer this evening was Fasih-Ur-Rehman. He is a man who comes off quite effeminate with his slender arms, subtle body movements, and flowing dresses.
Beyond the storytelling through mime and brief vocals, the performance is a interplay between dancer and a group of musicians: Sajid Ali (tabla), Basharat Ali (vocalist), Mohammad Baksh (harmonium), Babar Ali (flute), Khawar (sarangi), and Sabir Ali (tanpura). They sat on a rug to the dancer's right and, especially the drummer and vocalist, mimicked the dancer's motions and choregraphed his movements for him.

I characterize the dance as a series of footwork, arm motions, and both hand and head gestures around a torso that is kept erect and as still as possible. My favorite portion was when he entered the stage with a rope around each ankle loaded with at least a hundred tiny bells. He controlled the rhythm, the intensity, and the balance with the music; sometimes it looked like only his toes kept the rhythm before he increased the intensity again.

I enjoyed the performance even though I was quite lost in the nuances that compose kathak dance. I got the brief pleasure to meet Fasih-Ur-Rehman afterwards backstage; he was courteous, overjoyed with the attention his earned, and exhausted after the long dance performance.
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