Last week, I attended the Dance Festival of India at New York City’s Carnegie Hall. This show marked the first time all five styles of Indian classical dance had been shown in the same evening in America. Host Anita Ratnam, a trained classical Indian dancer herself, kicked off the show with a recitation the traditional Sanskrit Ganpati Vandana, or prayer to Ganesh, which implored him to remove obstacles for the dancers. Anita then encouraged the audience to find similarities and differences between all five styles. Since classical Indian dances are usually done as solos, I suspected that the various companies had chosen to do group dances instead in order to fill up Carnegie Hall’s cavernous stage.

The show began with eight Bharatanatyam dancers from Chennai-based Nrithya Shree Company. Bharatanatyam, India’s most studied classical style, is a fitting introduction to how Indian classical dance incorporates religious themes. The elaborate poses and intimate gestures, including choreographed eye movements, have spiritual symbolism and often narrate religious tales from the Mahabharata, for example. Carnatic percussionists and a singer accompanied the dance. Each movement was fluid but also reminiscent of a geometry lesson. The basic Bharatanatyam demi-plié stance forms a base triangle upon which the arms float through various diagonal and circular poses.

As a dancer and a regular performance attendee, I found the dancers’ bodies in this act arresting. Most American ballet and modern dance groups routinely expose audiences to near-perfect bodies. The dancers in Nrithya Shree Company were notably soft by comparison, despite the strength and stamina required to perform. I thought their Rubenesque shapes heightened the devotional nature of the Bharatnatyam, a dance that’s meant to connect devotees to the divine. The diversity of age and body types among the dancers gave a relatable touch to the troupe’s art.

Two subsequent groups proved to be the heart of the Festival. Malaysia’s Sutra Dance Troupe performed Odissi, a style from Orissa. Sutra’s ensemble was comprised of true global nomads—Indian, Malay, and Chinese dancers. And as Anita noted, the group’s diversity also reflected the transformation of Indian dance from spiritual art to cultural commodity. Whether studied by the children of Indian immigrants looking for a tangible connection to their heritage or non-South Asians attracted to Indian culture, the multi-cultural ensemble was testament to Indian dance’s popularity beyond traditional borders. As the dancers assembled on stage for the first of two pieces, their costumes emphasized a pan-Asian approach to Odissi. Silver jewelry replaced traditional gold and muted headpiece had a southeast Asian motif.

Diversity didn’t just play a superficial role in clothing and ethnicity, but also in Sutra Dance’s choreography. Director Ramli Ibrahim trained in Odissi as well as in classical ballet (as a member of the Sydney Dance Company) and modern including Martha Graham technique. As a result, his Odissi choreography transcends national, religious, and ethnic boundaries. Audience members unfamiliar with classical Indian dance may have recognized many yoga poses in the piece titled “Suriya,” or “sun.” The twelve poses of Suriya Namaskar were seamlessly interwoven among more intricate Odissi movements.

I thought Sutra’s most provocative contribution to Odissi was incorporating sensuality into the movements, an element missing from other troupes’ performances—and arguably in classical Indian dance as it is now practiced. Odissi, like other classical Indian dance forms, has a tumultuous history. For centuries, Odissi was performed by Maharis (temple dancers) and their male counterparts, Gotipuras. But during British Raj’s colonial rule of India, the practice of Odissi was allegedly intertwined with prostitution and the dance was effectively banned by the British during the early 1900’s. During this time, nearly all Indian dance declined, but Odissi was practically abandoned.

Odissi’s revival, therefore, is a reconstituted form of the dance that, like other classical forms, has disassociated with its past by eliminating sexual overtones such as hip movements. Ramli’s choreography, however, unabashedly referenced Odissi’s sensual history; near the end of “Suriya,” for example, a female dancer languidly intertwined her legs around a male dancer’s midsection in a full body embrace. Other elements like ballet lifts required dancers to hold one another. These simple touches in Ramli’s choregraphy stood out because they were the only physical interactions among dancers (regardless of gender) the entire evening.

The sharp movements of the Kathak dance performed by New Delhi’s Kathak Kendra were a direct contrast to Sutra Dance Company’s sultry style. Kathak is north India’s dance tradition and, as the national dance of Pakistan, has a strong Persian influence from its use as entertainment at Mughal courts. The troupe entered with a series of staggering quick turns, known as chakkar, that are characteristic of the style. Once assembled in a single line downstage, the dancers stepped forward one by one, each performing his or her own fast, rhythmic footwork to the percussionist’s beat. In this way, this troupe stood out for having a playful, spontaneous element, highlighting the interplay between dancer and musician.

Kathak Kendra’s performance reminded me of the global reach of classical Indian art. As the dancers played with their footwork against the base tabla beat, I was reminded of flamenco. In this Spanish style, dancers assemble on stage in groups of four called a cuadro, and individually step forward to execute footwork to percussion. Kathak’s traditional outfits—fitted tops with flared skirts—were also similar to flamenco, which some historians argue is derived from north Indian dance. The standing ovation following Kathak Kendra’s only piece, choreographed to premiere at this show, acknowledged not only the dancers’ precise techniques and joyous demeanors, but also the contributions of this style to global dance.