It might just be easier to plot the path of light. Dance photography is quite literally a dynamic discipline, a question of two artists engaged in pursuits that are at times complementary, at times extremely antagonistic. The photographer is the one tasked with comprehending both the arts, for it takes an acute understanding of kinaesthetic patterns to be one with dancers whose swishing skirts may not wait for time, tide or the camera.

The late arrival of video technology meant that a generation of Indian dancers lost out on the ersatz immortality the recording industry offered. But music was luckier.

This Friday, Ustad Allarakha would have turned 92. A man ahead of his time, this doyen of the Punjab gharana popularised the tabla like never before.

Next week, male mythological figures, gentry or otherwise, are set to arrive in style.

The stage is covered with different surfaces, drums and sticks, all conducive to the creation of sound.

In Lucknow, a stroll through the heart of the old city can turn up interesting relics.

When the singer touches a high note, the music pierces through the crisp morning air with crystalline clarity.

Ballets are forgotten, ballerinas retire, choreographers die,” remarks noted dance critic Jack Anderson. He captures the fleeting quality of dance when he calls it “the most perishable of the arts”.