Padmini Ravi calls herself an unconventional woman, and within minutes of speaking to her, it's easy to see why. She questions accepted ideas, embraces change without abandoning tradition, and approaches both dance and life with curiosity. She is as happy discussing Bharatanatyam and quantum physics as she is talking about old films or laughing at herself.

A self-confessed movie buff, Padmini watches everything—from timeless classics to films most people would dismiss. For her, every film has something to offer, and every artist has something to teach. That openness extends to her dance as well. While deeply rooted in Bharatanatyam, she believes dance should never become rigid or formulaic. Her students are encouraged not to dance like her, but to discover their own voice.

Behind her warm humour is a teacher who is uncompromising about discipline. She believes dance is built on practice, resilience, and honesty—not perfection. Her classes are demanding because, in her words, she isn't just training performers; she's helping people become the best version of themselves.

Today, much of her life revolves around family, research, films, and dance. Her PhD on the intangible benefits of dance grew from a simple question: why do dancers continue despite the sacrifices? That curiosity continues to shape everything she does. Whether she's revisiting old choreography, experimenting with her senior students, or quietly reflecting on what dance can teach us about life, Padmini Ravi remains, above all, someone who is always learning.

In conversation with Padmini Ravi

You have a signature style of having short hair, which is quite unconventional for a classical dancer. How did that happen?

It's very simple. After I had my daughter, I lost a lot of my hair. I had very thick, long hair before that, but it became very thin, so I just chopped it off. This was sometime in the 1990s.

At first I thought it would grow back, but once you get used to short hair, the growing-out phase becomes annoying. So it just stayed short.

Today we have wigs, so it never felt like a problem to me. There are classical artists who never cut their hair, but I simply chose to. It was never an issue.

Can you explain the logo for your dance academy?

Originally, my academy was called Funky Guru. People often say that although I teach a very traditional art form, I'm not a conventional teacher. I'm liberal, progressive, and have a slightly unconventional approach to dance, so the name felt appropriate.

Later, my brand manager pointed out that my own name had recognition, whereas "Funky Guru" would require constant explanation. That's when it became Dance Academy, but I decided to retain the original logo.

When did you start living in Malleswaram?

I got married in 1979, and my husband's family home was on 18th Cross, Malleswaram. The entire property belonged to my husband's family, so I moved there after marriage. Behind our house there was a large hall, which I used as my dance studio.

Do you have any memories of Malleswaram that still stay with you?

I never really left Malleswaram. I still teach there, and much of my work, including my recording studio, continues to be based there. Even though I now live in Hebbal, I still come to Malleswaram regularly—for dance classes, programmes at places like Seva Sadan and Chowdiah Memorial Hall, and even to buy puja items.

The Malleswaram I moved to in 1979 was very different from today's. It was quiet, peaceful, and far less crowded. We could decide after dinner to watch a movie at Natraj Theatre and be there within minutes. By the time we moved away in 2014, traffic had changed the neighbourhood considerably, but for me, Malleswaram still retains its old Bangalore charm.

How would you describe your teaching style?

I did mention earlier that I'm unconventional, but as a teacher, I'm as strict and old-fashioned as they come.

I believe dance is not about fun—it's about discipline and practice.

That's why I don't accept students younger than eight. Traditional training is physically demanding, and I don't want children to associate dance with pain. I focus on building both the body and the mind because true stamina is as much mental as it is physical.

I'm not just training dancers for the stage; I'm helping them become the best version of themselves. My students often tell me I've mellowed over the years, but I've always been strict because I care deeply about them and want them to reach their full potential.

We read that you trained under Guru K. J. Sarasa. Were you living in Chennai during that time?

Yes. I was born and brought up in Chennai. I went to school and college there and moved to Bangalore only after my marriage in 1979. Until then, I was a thoroughbred Chennai dancer.

Do you have any memorable experiences from those years?

My guru never treated me as just a student—I grew up like her daughter. I lost my father when I was nine, so her family became an extension of my own. Along with my mother and grandmother, we shared much of our lives together. Dance wasn't just something I learned; it was part of my everyday life.

Growing up in a conservative Iyengar family, my world revolved around school, home, temples, and dance. Life was much simpler then, with very few distractions.

Did your teacher encourage you to pursue dance as a career?

She absolutely did. In fact, she wanted me to become a professional dancer.

Ironically, I was the one who didn't want to continue.

When my husband wanted to marry me, my mother-in-law insisted that if I wasn't going to remain a dancer, I couldn't marry her son.

Even so, I was happy to step away from dance. I stopped dancing between 1978 and 1980.

During that time, I lost my first child. It was a full-term baby, and I went into a deep depression.

My husband then said, "You don't have to perform anymore, but why don't you start teaching?"

That's how I returned to dance.

What was it like when you first started teaching? Had you taught before?

When I started teaching, I realized I knew how to perform, but I didn't fully understand the fundamentals of dance. We had simply been taught and expected to reproduce what our teachers showed us. So I had to go back and learn the craft from the ground up.

It was challenging, but there were very few dance teachers at the time, so I had the space to explore and develop my own approach. Being a performer and being a teacher require very different skills, and over time I learned to become both.

We were looking through your Instagram posts, and they were very refreshing because most dancers don't really show who they are behind the performer. How has your experience with social media been?

I don't really think of myself as being part of the social media world. For me, it's simply a platform to share my thoughts about dance in its purest form.

If I feel I have something meaningful to say, I post it. If I don't, I'm happy to stay away. I'm not someone who wants to put on makeup and make reels every day. I'm too old—and honestly too bored—for that.

But if I have something that can benefit the next generation of dancers and teachers, I'll always share it.

What does a typical day in your life look like?

I usually wake up around 5:30 or 6:00 and begin my day by cleaning my puja room myself. Since my husband passed away, I've been living with my daughter, my son-in-law, and my grandchildren.

Once everyone leaves for work and school, I teach online classes and spend time researching for my PhD on the intangible benefits of dance. I also go to the gym, walk, practise yoga, and watch a lot of films.

I'm at a peaceful stage in my life now. I no longer do things because I have to—I do them because I want to. Most of my day revolves around dance, family, and films. I enjoy revisiting old classics featuring dancers like Kamala, Padmini, and Vyjayanthimala, and I spend much of my time researching older movement traditions and experimenting with new choreography alongside my senior students.

Do you have any favourite director or any film that you really like watching?

I can rewatch even trash multiple times! But I enjoy films like What Lies Beneath with Harrison Ford, Michael Douglas films, and, of course, old Hindi cinema. I keep watching those reruns all the time.

Who's your favourite female character that you'd like to portray in dance?

I'd like to portray courtesans because I'm fascinated by the sensuality, sexuality, and eroticism in our poetry. It also gives you the opportunity to become someone you're not and explore a very different character.

I'd love to portray someone like Amrapali because we're constantly performing the same mythological characters—Draupadi, Sita, and others. I enjoy performing Javalis and Padams because they revolve around these more layered, complex women.

I like reaching a point where I lose my own identity and become the character I'm portraying.

What is something you've learned from your students that has stayed with you?

I'm a very disorganised person. I've never been professionally organised.

My students, on the other hand, are extremely professional. They know how to market themselves, organise performances, and manage everything systematically.

I really admire that quality in them. They're focused, disciplined, and systematic.

Could you tell us more about the PhD you're working on?

About six years ago, I began asking myself why people choose to dance despite the sacrifices involved. Dancers often spend their own money on performances, yet they continue because the experience of dancing offers something deeply meaningful.

That question led me to my PhD. I started exploring the origins of dance.

You have a very unusual approach to dance. Like you said, you like to portray courtesans because they're different, and you're not a fan of the Brahminical way dance has become. Are there any traditions in dance that you think should be changed or left behind?

I don't think dance was ever as rigid as people imagine it to be today. When I started learning, every great dancer had their own style. There wasn't one "correct" way to dance.

Today, there's so much emphasis on perfect aramandi, perfect lines, and perfect technique. But nothing is perfect except God. Dance should have room for imperfection.

Have people ever told you that you look like Trisha, the actress?

(Laughs.) Yes, they have.

I always feel bad for Trisha because she's so beautiful. People keep telling me I look like her, and I say, "Please don't tell Trisha! She'll have a heart attack."

I'd love to see Trisha when she's seventy. By then, I'll probably be gone! But yes, people have been telling me that for years.