Imagining Through Appropriation? Exploring Contested Migrations of Bollywood Dance

Abstract

This essay examines the intricate relationship between Bollywood dance, authenticity, emerging media, and cultural appropriation. Crucially, I suggest that Bollywood dance itself as a messy amalgamation of diverse cultural influences that cross media formats. From classical Indian dance to hip-hop, jazz, and contemporary dance, I define Bollywood dance as a complex and at times problematic blending of Indian-veneered influences that now compete with Indian classical in representing an imagined India to the broader global public. And yet, the mixing of styles and character-driven choreography that have long been inherent to dances in Hindi films since their inception continues to imbue the process of creating localized live Bollywood dances with tacit permission for dancers and teachers to create “original,” yet profoundly remixed, compositions. In fact, one could say that Bollywood dance is a dance form that has historically benefited appropriation, raising questions around how cultural authenticity is constructed. In this essay, I lay out my thinking and approach to mediated Bollywood dance as an invitation into a more nuanced consideration of the intricate interplay between cultural exchange, emerging media, authenticity and appropriation.

Why does appropriation have such a negative connotation when we think of Bollywood dance? It seems like it is something that actually strengthens the art form.

This question was asked by a student attending the “Dance and Appropriation” panel organized by Stuyvesant High School in New York City on December 17, 2020. Convened by the school's dance team, the panel brought together dancers and choreographers to engage questions surrounding appropriation and dance. The tone of the panel, which also included dancers based in hip-hop and tap dance, was overwhelmingly cautionary. The students and their dance coach came to it with the best intentions, wanting to understand how they might be able to avoid the pitfalls of appropriation. They worried about insulting another person's culture and acting out of cultural ignorance. They cited incidents they had encountered in their school where student-created choreographies had generated debate and controversy because of content that others saw as being appropriated from another culture.

I had been asked to speak about my experiences with Bollywood dance and had been candid about my hesitations about the framing of the panel given my previous work on Bollywood fandom, dance, new media, and migration. And yet, as I listened to the other panelists speak about the histories of their dance forms and instances where their histories, legacies and traditions were erased by people they deemed to be outsiders to their dance community, I understood why they felt the injustice of these extractive practices. I listened as they shared how their choreography had been used and monetized without permission and nodded when they advised the students to exercise caution when they approach dance traditions that they did not feel were their own. I understood why the specter of appropriation loomed large for well-intentioned young dancers who wanted to respect the cultures of those around them.

And, then it was my turn to speak. My experiences with Bollywood dance diverge from, and possibly even challenge these understandings of appropriation. Crucially, I see Bollywood dance itself as a messy amalgamation of diverse cultural influences. From classical Indian dance to hip-hop, jazz, and contemporary dance, I define Bollywood dance as a complex and at times problematic blending of Indian-veneered influences enabled by new media practices, which now compete with Indian classical in representing an imagined India to the broader global public. In fact, one could say that Bollywood dance is a dance form that has historically benefited appropriation. In this essay, I lay out my thinking and approach to Bollywood dance as an invitation into a more nuanced consideration of the intricate interplay between cultural exchange and appropriation. As Jenkins et al. (2026) argue in the introduction to this special issue, popular culture plays a significant role in transcultural experiences enabled by emerging media practices. I make the case that Bollywood dance, similarly, operates as a vibrant, and contested, site of media-centric cultural imagining.

Can we expand the conversation?

Today cultural appropriation has a largely negative connotation and describes what happens when a group or individual adopts elements of a culture that is not their own, particularly in contexts involving economically, socially or otherwise marginalized communities and geographies. In her book So You Want to Talk about Race, Ijeoma Oluo (2018) defines cultural appropriation as “the adoption or exploitation of another culture by a more dominant culture.” Distinct from a more equitable cultural exchange, appropriation is thus seen as extractive, involving a power imbalance where elements of a culture are taken without permission or understanding (Kwon, 2023). Economic exploitation is often central to these critiques of cultural appropriation—wherein the “appropriator” benefits from the act while the communities of origin benefit very little or not at all. As Sara Li of Teen Vogue (2024) warns its young readers:

Cultural appropriation is seen as problematic because it can perpetuate harmful stereotypes, strip cultural elements of their significance, and ignore the history and struggles of the culture from which they are taken.

As such notions of authenticity (and respect) are central to this understanding of appropriation, as the very act of borrowing (or rather stealing) from another culture necessarily assumes a traceable cultural origin which appropriation misrepresents, trivializes or misrepresents (Heaf, 2018).

Those seeking to overcome cultural appropriation are often advised to engage in “cultural appreciation” as a more desirable, but still problematic, alternative to the exploitative practices associated with appropriation. To demonstrate cultural appreciation, one is expected to demonstrate a genuine (albeit subjective?) interest in and respect for another culture. They are asked to honor cultural origins and significance and where possible seek out permission or collaboration with members of the source culture (Li, 2024). While this distinction between cultural appropriation and cultural appreciation may be helpful in navigating some cultural interactions, I have always found it to be an insufficient response to a truly complex issue of cross-cultural interactions, particularly those that trace complex colonial, migratory and other histories. As Lenard and Balint (2020) argue, “cultural appropriation can be defined as the taking of a valuable, yet reusable or non-exhaustible aspect, of another individual's culture (usually a symbol or a practice), for one's own use, where the taker knows what she is doing (or reasonably should know), and where the context of this taking is contested.” In other words, the problem runs deeper.

While debates surrounding cultural appropriation (and appreciation) foreground real power inequities, they also obscure the dynamic nature of traditions and cultural practices. Cultural appropriation assumes that there is a hypothetical authentic point of origin and ownership that anchors cultural practices, a perspective that is easily problematized when we examine historical realities in which cultures are challenged, disrupted, re-established, and constructed through processes associated with migration, circulation, imperialism, and cultural exchange (Johnson, 2002). Crucially, as anthropologist Jocelyn Linnekin reminds us in her review of literature on authenticity, constructed cultural traditions are “not inauthentic”:

… rather, all traditions—Western and indigenous—are invented, in that they are symbolically constructed in the present and reflect contemporary concerns and purposes rather than a passively inherited legacy (Handler & Linnekin, 1984; Linnekin, 1983). (Linnekin, 1993)

In a similar, though ideologically distinct vein, Edward Said (1994), a formative thinker in post-colonial studies, reminds us that no-one and no culture is today purely one thing:

Labels like Indian, or woman, or Muslim, or American are not more than starting-points, which if followed into actual experience for only a moment are quickly left behind. Imperialism consolidated the mixture of cultures and identities on a global scale. But its worst and most paradoxical gift was to allow people to believe that they were only, mainly, exclusively, white, or Black, or Western, or Oriental. Yet just as human beings make their own history, they also make their cultures and ethnic identities.

Crucially, Said also reminds us that colonial and other histories of exploitation persist and manifest in cross cultural exchanges:

No one can deny the persisting continuities of long traditions, sustained habitations, national languages, and cultural geographies…. (1994)

Even so, he argues that there:

… seems no reason except fear and prejudice to keep insisting on their separation and distinctiveness, as if that was all human life was about. … But this also means not trying to rule others, not trying to classify them or put them in hierarchies, above all, not constantly reiterating how “our” culture or country is number one (or not number one, for that matter). (1994)

What emerges from Said's discussion and Linnekin's observations is a much more nuanced (and troubling) understanding of the processes that surround appropriation that make it much more challenging to fall back on cultural gatekeeping as a corrective measure for cultural exploitation. Imperialism, Said argues, has irreversibly interwoven cultures and identities globally, but paradoxically, it has also ingrained the belief that people belong exclusively to one cultural or racial category. These legacies of colonialism and exploitation continue to influence cross-cultural interactions. So, while cultural appreciation and cultural appropriation may be helpful in rendering visible cultural practices linked to economic gains tied to these processes, they really do not help us unpack how the dynamics surrounding cross-cultural exchanges are shaped by much more complex and intertwined histories and more importantly how we move through them without reinscribing them.

So how does all this help us respond to the question the students posed during our panel at Stuyvesant High School? I propose we start by asking these questions of the cultural practices we seek to understand:

How is authenticity constructed in cultural practice? Who defines it and who claims ownership over it? Why do they want to claim this ownership?

Why does an individual or community want to engage with this cultural practice?

Who can benefit from this cultural interaction? Whose story is foregrounded? Whose story is obscured?

What are the meanings created? What inclusive and exclusive imagination do they inspire?

With this in mind, I now answer their question by pivoting to Bollywood dance.

Constructing authenticity: from Hindi film song-and-dances to Bollywood dance

I start by making a distinction between song-and-dance sequences contained in Hindi films and Bollywood dance as live performance. Song and dance sequences have been integral components of Indian cinema from the beginning, and scholars such as Ravi Vasudevan have analyzed these sequences within the framework of the “complex narrative systems” (2011) to argue that song-and-dance sequences play an important, crucial role in the narrative and emotional arc of a “typical” Hindi film. Lalitha Gopalan's notion of the “cinema of interruptions” underscores the important role these sequences play in narratives, offering moments of emotional release for both characters and audiences (2002).

Song-and-dance sequences may coincide with moments of celebration within the narrative, such as weddings, festivals, or triumphs, serving as vibrant expressions of joy and communal spirit. They may also provide opportunities for characters to reveal hidden emotions and conflicts. They may provide an escape from the tension and drama of the plot, offering audiences something akin to a “green space” diving back into the narrative (Forker, 1985). Historically, song-and-dance sequences also allowed directors to bypass stringent censorship and cultural norms, inviting audiences to let their imaginations roam while conforming to stylized and socially acceptable portrayals of sexual intimacy, desire and other transgressions (Mishra, 2009; Nijhawan, 2009). Madhava Prasad's concept of “temporary permission” (1998) similarly suggests that song-and-dance sequences create temporary spaces where characters can express otherwise concealed secrets and desires. As such song-and-dance sequences in Hindi films have long been about inviting a moment of imagining.

Choreographically, Hindi film song and dance sequences have similarly responded to shifting social and cultural influences. As such, the dance vocabularies choreographers (or dance directors) used have always drawn from Indian and non-Indian movements, allowing distinct historical periods to emerge over the decades. Before the 1940s, dances in films were often influenced by traditional folk and theatrical performances prevalent in India at the time and by artists from other countries who migrated to the region. In the 1940s and 1950s, increasingly codified classical Indian dance forms such as Kathak and Bharatanatyam exerted a significant influence on song and dance sequences as did Hollywood musicals and films by Charlie Chaplin. Moving into the 1960s and 1970s, song-and-dance sequences continued to blend elements of traditional Indian dance with Western influences. This period witnessed the rise of the “cabaret” style, inspired by Western nightclub performances epitomized by the sultry performances created by Helen (a dancer of Burmese origin).

At the same time, films like “Pakeezah” (1972) continued to engage the courtesan theme, borrowing heavily from Indian classical dance vocabulary. This at times jarring blending of Indian and non-Indian dance styles continued in the 1980s and 1990s even as directors like Yash Chopra increasingly acknowledged diasporic and diverse audiences (Kao & Do Rozario, 2008; Punathambekar, 2005) within the film narratives. Over the decades critics of Hindi cinema argued that song-and-dance sequences perpetuate stereotypes and misrepresentations reinforcing power imbalances that exist within and beyond India. These ongoing critiques have sparked somewhat peripheral conversations about cultural sensitivity within the industry. Still the 2000s brought even specialization and recognition to film choreographers of Hindi film song and dance sequences as Shiamak Davar, Farah Khan, Remo D'Souza, and Terence Lewis became household names and introduced innovative techniques, incorporating elements of hip-hop, salsa, and contemporary dance into their routines. Resurgent interest in classical Indian dance forms also facilitated the emergence of a distinct genre under what we now refer to as Bollywood dance.

In this brief overview of Hindi song-and-dance sequences, I seek to make clear that: (1) song-and dance sequences open up temporary narrative spaces within film narratives and invite audiences in a moment of collective imagining, and (2) dances in Hindi films have always drawn on a myriad of dancer backgrounds and movement genres. While sequences may celebrate Indian cultural motifs and even put nationalism on display, they may equally provide spaces for exploring and expressing desires that transgress social norms (Shresthova, 2020). In fact, the constructions of Indianness in Hindi film song-and-dance sequences are just as common as presentations of transgression and foreignness. This dual function showcases the ambivalence and porousness of Hindi film song-and-dance sequences, allowing it to serve both as a constructed repository of cultural practices and an invitation for expressive imagination.

The emergence of Bollywood dance as live performance coincided with advancements in technology advancements in new media technologies, renewed global circulation of Hindi films, migration (particularly the growth of Indian and other South Asian diasporic communities), and economic and political shifts in India (Kavoori & Punathambekar, 2008). By the late 1990s, Bollywood dance classes had started to proliferate in cities around the world, catering those interested in experiencing the dances they had seen in films firsthand. From Honey Kalaria's Dance Academy to Bollywood Axion in New York city, these schools were often run by instructors with only some or even no connection to the film industry.

Throughout this expansion, the mixing of styles and character-driven choreography that have long been inherent to dances in Hindi films since their inception continued is enabled by new media practices in which dancers create localized live Bollywood dances with tacit permission draw on dance elements from commercial films and mix them with their own movement vocabulary to create “original,” yet profoundly remixed, compositions. For Bollywood dancers, originality was (and largely still is) valued just as much as the dancers’ ability to signal towards the original film dance sequence. In other words, the long-established norms of permission to change and remix moves from dances in Hindi films supported Bollywood dance as it grew into a participatory interpretive globally practiced dance form.

And yet, debates now surround what Bollywood dance is and whether its boundaries need to become more clearly delineated. As summarized by Asha, a Bollywood dance school owner in Los Angeles, some stakeholders would like to see a more formalized understanding of what is (or is not) Bollywood dance and who gets to dance it:

I do think there is [a discussion]. I think Bollywood needs to be streamlined a little bit, because it is so vague. And there's so many interpretations for Bollywood. It's hard to pinpoint. I get very sad when people are like, Bollywood is just moving your hands to Indian music. It's not. You have to have form. You still have to pay attention to lines and technique. I wish there could be a community forum where we talk about what Bollywood dance means and what styles it incorporates, and that there is technique behind Bollywood…I'm constantly thinking about a curriculum for it, and it would be nice if there could be something that is more centered around Bollywood?

The tension between viewing Bollywood dance as an open, porous style versus codifying it is central to current debates around this dance form and connects to the questions I was asked about Bollywood and appropriation.

I believe choreography and interpreting dance sequences circulated through new media currently defines how meaning is created in Bollywood dance. When dance directors create dances for Hindi films, they consider narrative, musical, character and other needs in creating dance movements. Conversely, when local dancers and instructors interpret dances for live performance, they engage in a process of choreographic translation between dance content in films and local preferences. Sometimes, the meanings associated with the dance movements in a Hindi film song-and-dance sequence align. At other times, the danced meanings in Hindi films need to be censored, Indianized or otherwise altered. In any case, I believe Bollywood dance is defined when we examine the choreographic translations that occur between film and performance, and not through a codification of what is or is not Bollywood dance, thereby complicating a simple relationship between Bollywood dance and appropriation.

To further explore these complexities, I turn to four specific case studies that highlight how Bollywood dance operates as a dynamic cultural form that invites continuous reinterpretation and redefinition, challenging simplistic notions of cultural ownership and appropriation. From schools and festivals to dance competitions, each case study unpacks localized meanings created by a live adaptation of Bollywood dance.

Case study 1: Bollywood dance as a lesson in Indianness

Founded in 1998 and based in Cerritos, Nakul Dev Mahajan Studios (NDM) is one of the oldest Bollywood focused dance schools in the Los Angeles area. By conservative estimates the school has served thousands of students over the years, with hundreds participating in the school's semi-annual recital. I attended one of these recitals on November 8, 2023. When I arrived, the lobby was crowded with people of Indian, and likely other South Asian origin and the smell of samosas filled the air. Each NDM recital has a theme and the one on November 8 named Shaadi, or wedding, immediately summoning forth mental images of the elaborate and extravagant events often associated with Indian weddings.

Made up of standalone performances designed to feature students enrolled in NDM classes, the performances are looped together with a story that follows a young man and woman as they plan their glamorous Indian wedding. The plans get out of hand, eventually turning the bride-to-be into a “bride-zilla” (enter an actual costumed dinosaur), leading the groom-to-be to break off the engagement. Thankfully, all ends well a few dances later when the wedding is saved as the bride-to-be realizes the error of her ways. Most, if not all, of the dances featured in the recital were identifiably “Indian,” reflecting an observation made by a dancer enrolled in NDM classes:

I learned a lot about India from Bollywood films. We didn’t get to go to India regularly, so Bollywood was a way for me to keep in touch. (Dance student)

This almost nostalgic understanding of Bollywood films as cultural memory aligns with what Henry Jenkins observes in relation to popular culture and diasporic communities in this issue:

Pop culture may be one of several factors encouraging new patterns of immigration and transculturation… Earlier generations of immigrants brought their foods and food ways with them, forging an entrepreneurial economy by introducing such dishes to others in their new environment; they also brought various kinds of cultural performances and forms of popular culture they enjoyed in private but often feared would not be appreciated by those outside their ethnic group. Today, immigrants have helped to transmit alternative pop culture genres and practices–from cosplay to Bollywood–to a broader public.

Indeed, the work of scholars like Rajinder Dudrah (2008), Aswin Punathambekar (2005) and others suggest that Bollywood dance, as live performance, did indeed initially emerge through “transculturation” as individuals and communities who trace their roots to India (and possibly South Asia) reached to Hindi films for their real or imagined cultural familiarity. As such these performers and audiences often needed Bollywood dance to remind them of India.

The choreography NDM created for the Khwaja Mere Khwaja from the film Jodhaa Akbar (2003) is a case in point. Jodhaa Akbar is a historical, and largely fictionalized drama, on the inter-faith marriage between Akbar (Muslim) and his wife (a Hindu). In the film the song “Khwaja Mere Khwaja” serves as a pivotal moment of spiritual and emotional revelation. The song appears at a crucial juncture in the narrative, as the protagonist, Emperor Akbar, portrayed by Hrithik Roshan, embarks on a soul-searching journey, which eventually leads him to an inter-faith epiphany. Set against the backdrop of a mystical dargah, the song unfolds with haunting melodies and mesmerizing rhythms, capturing the essence of devotion and transcendence. As Akbar grapples with questions of faith, identity, and destiny, “Khwaja Mere Khwaja” emerges as a poignant expression of his inner turmoil and quest for spiritual enlightenment. Notably, the song sequence in the film features no dance, as the focus is on the singers performing before the emperor. In reinterpreting this sequence, NDM leaned into the Mughal court setting and created choreography that borrows heavily from Kathak, a traditional north Indian dance form. The choreography incorporated complex footwork, chakkars (fast spins), facial expressions, gesture and unison movement, which are all associated with classical dance forms. Furthermore, the dancers were all dressed in formal Indian clothing, underscoring their ethnic Indian identities.

In the case of NDM's Bollywood dance recitals, authenticity is constructed by drawing heavily from recognizable Indian cultural motifs, such as classical dance forms like Kathak, traditional clothing, and narrative themes related to Indian weddings. The choreography for “Khwaja Mere Khwaja” from Jodhaa Akbar exemplifies this by incorporating complex footwork, chakkars, and facial expressions rooted in Kathak, thereby grounding the performance in a classical Indian aesthetic. The students and their families, who often have roots in India or South Asia, also claim ownership over this authenticity as a way to connect with their heritage. The inclusive imagination inspired by these performances is one of a shared cultural heritage that brings together individuals of Indian and South Asian origin, fostering a sense of community and belonging. However, there is also an exclusive aspect, as the focus on traditional Indian elements may inadvertently marginalize other cultural influences and hybrid identities within Bollywood dance.

Case study 2: queering Indian-American identities through Bollywood dance

Trained in contemporary and Indian classical dance, Amit Patel's choreography intentionally pushes past the authenticity largely embraced by NDM. As a dancer based in northern California, Patel lays claim to Bollywood dance as material they can manipulate and transform. Their “Bollywood in Heels” explicitly “challenge[s] the norms of sexual identity in dance.” As such, Patel reinscribes new meanings onto Bollywood dance, specifically ones that reflect their queer Indian-American identities. In interview with a local radio station, Patel explains:

As a kid watching Bollywood, I didn’t necessarily question Bollywood …. All those traditional gender roles and expectations of a male dancer, that I would also be placed in. I didn’t necessarily resonate with that …. I just intended to create a space where any queer person that wants to come can explore this movement without judgment …. (Patel in interview with Charlotte Buchen Khadra from KQED, December 3, 2020)

Patel accomplishes this through embodying movements that challenge gender norms in Bollywood films. In a video posted to their channel on YouTube, Patel performs an apparently improvised dance set to Sharara Sharara from the film Mere Yaar Ki Shaadi. In the film version of his song, the “item dance” is performed by Shamita Shetty to entice the film's protagonist (Jimmy) to cheat on his fiancé. As such the dance features frontal movements that accent the hips and eyes, using the camera to invite what can reliably be identified as the “male gaze” (Mulvey, 1975). In their rendition of the dance, Patel plays with the gaze allowing it to follow and linger on them, without fully surrendering to it. They also free their movements, changing levels, rolling on the floor, flailing, strolling, turning, only to occasionally introduce a gesture that can remind us of the filmed song-and-dance version. This is a choreography that aims to shatter any sense of homage, as it pushes past the original choreography to free it from its constraints and introduce an irreverent, and fully embodied version of the dance.

As such, Patel claims the dance and breaks it out of its original narrative constraints and gendered norms (Das, 2021), updating it to become an irreverent and fully embodied version that transcends homage to assert a queer sensibility within the realm of Bollywood dance.

Patel releases themselves from the need to embody the NDM-endorsed normatively acceptable definition of Indianness. Nevertheless, they justify this behavior to themselves by claiming their Indian-American identity. As such, Patel redefines what it means to perform and interact with Bollywood dance in modern settings, pushing beyond the genre's conventional bounds while simultaneously infusing it with a subversive and inclusive attitude. In other words, Amit Patel both accepts normative understandings of Bollywood dance and challenges them to reflect their own culture and experiences. By doing this, Patel claims control over the dance style, making a broader statement about the meanings that can be created through its practice.

Case study 3: choreographing “other” Bollywood dance imaginaries

While NDM and Patel differ in their engagement with Hindi films as source material for their choreography, they both tap their Indian-American identities as the starting point for performances that put these experiences on display. Founded with a similar impulse, Erasing Borders is a dance festival which prides itself on bringing Indian dance to New York City. Yet, its Indo-American Arts Council organizers gave many stalwart Indian dance aficionados pause in 2012 when they made the decision to both open and close the festival with performances by Mayuri, a Bollywood dance troupe from Petrozavodsk, Russia. The troupe's inclusion was interesting on multiple levels. For one Erasing Borders had previously been more focused on classical and contemporary forms of dance, popular culture had a much more marginal presence. But even more significantly, a majority of the dancers and choreographers who participated in Erasing Borders tended to be of Indian, Indian-American or South Asian origin. Mayuri was founded by Vera Evgrafova, who claims no Indian heritage; none of the troupe's dancers present as Indian or South Asian. In the words of New York Times dance critic Alastair Macaulay Mayuri dancers surprised their audiences:

… with zest, glee and an array of costumes so admirably vivid that audience members exclaimed about them. Combinations of azure with gold, emerald with cream, and black with scarlet flooded the cityscape with color. The dancing, often with lip-syncing and flashing eyes, had all of Bollywood's engaging vivacity.

One of the dances that Mayuri performed at the Erasing Borders Festival was set to the song Aaja Nachle from the film Aaja Nachle (2007). The film's narrative centered on a dance school and featured Madhuri Dixit in a lead role as Dia. In the film, the Aaja Nachle song is performed as a part of a performance organized to save the school. The dance takes place on stage and with Dia in the lead and is choreographed in a style that Madhuri Dixit is known for, namely a combination of intricate classically inflected, yet flowing movements. In creating their dance, it is notable that Madhuri chose to replace almost all of the movements, for different yet energetically similar movements and gestures. Crucially, they chose to follow the rhythmic and affective flow of the original film dance but made it completely their own. As such their dance presented a marked departure from the original dance, while still paying homage. By including Mayuri, the festival challenged assumptions about Bollywood dance's identity-based connections to India, inviting Mayuri to use their choreography to claim their own connection to this dance style, one that maps other, much older, global meanderings of Hindi films.

While the post-1990 global distribution of Hindi films coincided with the coming of age of Indian and South Asian diasporic communities in the West, the international reach of Hindi films in other regions of the world, including the former Soviet Union, significantly predates this period (Rajagopalan, 2011). In the 1950s, the films of Raj Kapoor, particularly “Awaara” (1951) and “Shree 420” (1955), found immense popularity in the former Soviet Union. This popularity continued into the 1980s with the film “Disco Dancer” (1982). Though Hindi (Bollywood) films subsequently faded somewhat, Bollywood fandom has endured in the region and is even growing given current geo-political conflicts. Bollywood's influence in Russia has continued to grow, fueled by the emergence of dedicated fan communities, film festivals, and academic studies exploring the cultural significance of Indian cinema in the Russian context.

When I interviewed members of Mayuri in December of 2023, they shared that they generally perform for “Russian audiences… who are a very appreciative audience and I think they are the most enthusiastic audience we have ever had.” They also shared that Mayuri online audience (YouTube) over the last year break down as follows:

India – 40,4%, Bangladesh – 14,0%, USA – 8,5%, Pakistan – 4,3%, UK – 2%, Philippines – 1,8%, Indonesia – 1,7%, Russia – 1,7%, Saudi Arabic – 1,3%, Malaysia – 1,1%. (Email interview with Mayuri founder)

This data highlights that most of Mayuri's online audience comes from India, suggesting that there may be even more layers to the cyclical nature of Bollywood dance circulation.

This viewership breakdown also renders visible an alternative transcultural dimension to Bollywood dance, one that is not defined, or even influenced by diasporic nostalgia. Here authenticity is constructed through a combination of adherence to the stylistic elements of Bollywood dance as Mayuri showcases the choreography that incorporates, but does not mimic, the intricate movements and dramatic expressions contained in filmed song-and-dance sequences. Mayuri's performances inspire a more porous imagination, demonstrating that Bollywood dance can be embodied by performers far removed from its geographic and cultural origins.

Case study 4: unabashedly “remixed” Bollywood dance

Finally, I turn towards India, where Bollywood dance continues to be created and remixed as just one of many influences aligning with the porousness that has long been typical of the movements used in song-and-dance sequences in Hindi films.

I begin with a brief description of the “Range Lage Tere” song-and-dance sequence in the film Goliyon Ki Raasleela Ram-Leela (2013). In this sequence a young woman stands (Deepika Padukone), her back to the camera. She seems to be deep in thought or prayer. She turns and walks, holding a bowl filled with lit incense. Aromatic smoke follows her as she makes her way to a balcony where a man (Ranveer Singh) lies on the wide banister, bare-chested, smoking a cigarette. She walks towards him and catches his eye. Her gaze is filled with meaning, almost a wistfulness. He sits up, stares, and moves towards her with determination. He walks towards her, flicking his cigarette. The music speeds up as she takes his hand, her eyes downcast. He moves away but cannot resist as their eyes meet again. Enveloped in incense smoke, they fall to the bed. The music crescendos. In the film, this sultry scene is the “temporary permission” moment when the star-crossed lovers almost consummate their love, before the realities of community strife, conflict, and religious differences separate them again, this time for good.

In 2020, this song-and-dance sequence was adapted for and performed by Sweta Warrier for the first season of India's Best Dancer, a televised dance competition created by Sony Entertainment featuring judges with strong ties to the Hindi film industry. Warrier's rendition of the song subtly nodded to its cinematic origins but ultimately diverged, showcasing a choreographic blend of Bharat Natyam with contemporary flow and hip-hop influences. This hybridity was not merely a stylistic choice but a deliberate exploration of dance as a fragmented and layered art form. Through self-referential nods and global influences, Warrier's performance demonstrated an intertextual engagement with dance traditions, pushing boundaries and defying categorization. With each staccato rhythmic composition giving way to fluid upper torso waves, hip-hop articulations, and expressive gestures, Warrier's choreography showcased her mastery of multiple dance traditions while simultaneously creating something new and remixed.

Warrier's performance echoed current dance trends in India described by dance scholar Pallabi Chakravorty (2017) in her study of dance competitions in the country:

The “remix” genre is now designing new dancing bodies that are no longer bound by geographical boundaries or boundaries between high and low culture. In this form and practice of dance, high and low, classical and folk, and Indian and other cultural forms combine and recombine to produce hybridity. The dancing in reality shows is a heightened expression of this ongoing transformation and precarity.

In other words, the current trend in dance shows in India represents a new era in Bollywood-influenced and inspired dancing in the country. As a prominent Bollywood choreographer summarized it:

Today, more dance techniques are coming to India and others are adopting our Bollywood dancing all around the world. It's not about copying. It's about liking something and appreciating it. It's not about copying …. We took a lot of things from them and now it's payback time. (Personal interview)

Conclusion

So where does all this leave us in answering the questions about appropriation that I was asked in 2020? And what does Bollywood dance teach us about how authenticity is constructed in cultural practice? What meanings are created? And who benefits?

Authenticity and meaning in Bollywood dance are created through the cyclical interaction between globally circulating filmed sequences, new media practices, and embodied live performances. This cyclical relationship complicates simple mappings of cultural authenticity and ownership. The NDM recital showcases a deeply ingrained sense of Indianness through choreography that blends historical nostalgia with contemporary expressions. Amit Patel's “Bollywood in Heels” disrupts traditional gender norms within Bollywood dance, asserting a queer identity that transcends conventional boundaries. Patel's choreography reclaims and transforms the dance, moving beyond homage to introduce a liberated and embodied expression of queer Indian-American identity. Mayuri's performance at the Erasing Borders festival further complicates notions of appropriation by presenting Bollywood dance through the lens of non-South Asian performers, rendering visible Hindi film complex global histories. Finally, Sweta Warrier's performance on India's Best Dancer exemplifies the hybrid nature of contemporary Bollywood dance, reflecting an ongoing self-referential transformation and precarity of cultural forms in transcultural contexts. These examples collectively invite us to engage with a more nuanced understanding of Bollywood dance, one that centers on the processes of transcultural imagining and the dynamic interplay between media and performance over simple definitions of cultural authenticity and appropriation. Ultimately, the significance of Bollywood dance lies not just in its constructed origin, but in its porousness, malleability, expressiveness, and creativity. Without appropriation, Bollywood dance as we know it would not exist.