My feet stumbled at first.

The steps came too fast, the claps didn’t always land right, and I kept checking if I was doing it wrong. Everyone around me moved with such ease, like the rhythm already lived inside them.

Then something changed.

The dhol beat grew louder. The clapping found a pattern. My heartbeat slowly matched the music, and without realizing it, I stopped thinking.

I wasn’t learning anymore.
I was belonging.

No one laughed when I missed a step. No one corrected me. They just smiled and kept dancing, pulling me into the circle like I had always been there.

Under the open sky at Rann Utsav, surrounded by colors, laughter, and spinning dupattas, Garba felt less like a dance and more like a shared feeling.

By the end, my feet were tired, my face was glowing, and my heart felt full.

That night, I didn’t just dance my first Garba.
I danced my way into Gujarat.

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