On a weeknight in Melbourne’s west, while most people are winding down after work, Lalitha Narayanan is just getting started.
She has already finished her day job in accounting and operations. Now she is at a community hall in Point Cook, tying ankle bells, checking the music, and calling her students into position. For the next two hours, six days a week, she teaches Bharatanatyam, the classical Indian dance form she first stepped into as a five-year-old child.
“It’s a way of life,” Lalitha says. “I approach everything from problems to decisions through what dance has taught me.”
That sentence sums up her story. It is a story of discipline and devotion, but also of survival, reinvention and quiet courage. It is about carrying an ancient art form across oceans, and building something lasting in a new country.
Lalitha is Tamil, but she grew up in Kochi, Kerala. She speaks Malayalam easily, and talks about Kerala with the familiarity of someone who belongs to the place.
“Yes, I was born and brought up in Kochi,” she says. “I graduated in Kochi. For my post-graduation, I moved to Tamil Nadu.”
Her introduction to Bharatanatyam came early—and in a way that still makes her laugh.
“My elder sister used to learn dance. I would go with my mother to drop her off. That’s how I ended up in class.”
The first teacher she met left a strong impression. “She was very strict,” Lalitha recalls. “She used to use the talam (wooden rhythm stick) and would throw it when someone made a mistake.”
As a child, Lalitha was terrified. She told her mother she would never learn dance, especially not with that teacher.
“And that’s exactly the opposite that happened. I learnt with her for about 15 years.”
She did her arangetram at around 14, and by her late teens she was already being asked to teach younger students—a turning point that shaped the rest of her life.
“Teaching came to me through my first guru,” she says. “When I was 16 or 17, she asked me to teach younger students. That’s when I realised I loved teaching.”
Lalitha’s training is rooted in the Kalakshetra tradition, a school of Bharatanatyam known for its structure, clarity and strong lines. In Kerala, she trained with Kalakshetra Vilasini at Nrithyasri, an academy for classical dance. She spent more than a decade there, performing in major productions and accompanying her guru across different cities in India.
Later, she continued her learning under the late Padma Shri Adyar K. Lakshman and his daughter, Induvadana Malli. Their guidance, Lalitha says, helped her grow as a versatile performer with a strong stage presence.
“The Kalakshetra style is more structured and disciplined,” she explains. “Kalakshetra is derived from the Pandanallur style, which was later structured by Rukmini Devi Arundale.”
That training shaped not just her dance, but also her temperament. “Dance taught me calmness and composure. Once the curtain goes up, you smile.”
A new chapter in Australia
Lalitha moved to Australia in 2013 through her then husband’s job. “I moved here as a dependent. That’s how the Australia chapter began.”
New country, new suburb, new routines—and still, the same art form calling her back.
She began with performances, the way many classical dancers do.
“Temples were my first platform, especially ISKCON,” she says. “That’s how I began in 2013.”
Soon people started asking if she taught. In the beginning, it was only three or four students. She did not have a studio. She taught wherever she could at community centres, rented spaces, halls.
Over time, those small beginnings grew into Nrithyopasana School of Bharatanatyam, based in Victoria. The school has expanded into Melbourne’s west and south-east, and now has around 55 students—a number that still surprises her.
“What makes me happy is that students who started with me 10 years ago are still learning.”
Lalitha has performed in traditional spaces, but she has also taken Bharatanatyam to places where people do not expect to see it.
One early highlight was a multicultural anti-racism program at Melbourne train stations around 2014–15, where different stations featured different cultural performances.
“I performed Bharatanatyam. And I even improvised to African beats on the spot.”
It is the kind of moment that captures what she does so well: staying rooted in classical technique, while still being open and brave in the moment.
“Pepple were very curious,” she recalls. “They asked about the bells, the costume, the music, the meaning.”
That curiosity has turned into connection. Today, Lalitha teaches students from Sri Lanka and Fiji too, and her school is regularly invited to multicultural and community events across Melbourne.
In 2023, she had a rare opportunity: a collaboration with the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra. She did not dance that day—she played nattuvangam, the rhythmic accompaniment used in classical dance, for another performer.
Every year, Nrithyopasana holds an annual concert—a showcase of students and their progress. This year it’s on February 28. It is not a ticketed event. “It’s purely passion-driven,” she says.
Bharatanatyam is not just an activity in her calendar. “It is my way of expressing life and it has always been my emotional compass and anchor—a mirror of my inner world.
“Dance helped my mental health and kept me grounded,” she says. “Teaching and interacting with students lifts me whenever I feel low.”
A single mother, a steady stage
In the middle of building a school and working full-time, Lalitha went through a difficult personal chapter. She is now a single parent to her eight-year-old son. She separated when he was four, and later divorced in 2024.
“It was a very difficult phase,” she says, and adds that domestic violence was involved. She does not want to go into details. But she is clear about one thing: “Dance gave me strength.”
Melbourne has many Bharatanatyam schools; Lalitha estimates more than 40. There is competition, she says, but there is also collaboration.
So what makes Nrithyopasana stand out?
“I balance discipline with openness. My students say they can talk to me, that matters to me.”
For her, the goal is not just performance. It is confidence. It is character. It is community.
When asked how she explains Bharatanatyam to an Australian audience, Lalitha uses a simple comparison.
“I describe it as Indian ballet, but with more storytelling and emotion. Bharatanatyam has abhinaya or expression and a strong theatrical element. It is not only technique. It is also feeling, narrative, and presence.”
And she believes the art form is changing in a healthy way.
“It used to be only about deities,” she says. “Now there is innovation. It doesn’t have to stick to a certain deity or religion.”
Art, she believes, should be able to speak beyond language and boundaries.
“It shouldn’t have a language,” she says. “It should be storytelling.”
In multicultural Melbourne, that idea lands well. “Absolutely,” she says, when asked if Bharatanatyam fits beautifully into the city’s cultural landscape.
Lalitha’s Her week is full: work, parenting, classes, rehearsals, planning an annual concert, mentoring older students, guiding beginners, attending workshops to keep learning herself.
But passion is what fuels her to keep showing up, even when life is heavy.
Because once the curtain goes up, you smile.
And you dance.
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