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Low stone embankments were ubitquitous, creating steps, delineating areas, providing earth reinforcement but lacking the harsh grey of concrete. The stage area itself and the buildings for artists and production staff also have become substantial and the floor of the stage is now safe for feet without toe shoes or sandals.

Into this enhanced setting danced the Non-stop Bhangra Collective, with the Dholrhythmns Dance Troupe, a tall DJ named Jimmy Love, Dhol exponent Dave Sharma with Tarun Nayar on Tabla, all to be heard at near ear blast sound.

The Dholrhythmns Dance Troupe is comprised of some eight or more females prancing and jerking their shoulders enthusiastically, hopping forward and back or side to side in the 1-2-3, halt 4 count, a staple rhythm pattern for folk dance throughout the sub-continent. Their garments of solid slinky satin salwar and kameez purples, greens, yellows and reds were occasionally enhanced by a traditional ornamental chain dividing the sides of the head left and right. The bodies shimmied to the beat, with rhythmic accents marked by hip wiggles. Like most folk dances, the number continued beyond novelty despite the angles and directions arms, hands and torso movements attempted.

The four male contingent danced out in yellow satin kurtas, vests of scarlet, their jaunty turbans or pegs of yellow a vibrant contrast to the black beards and hair of the exponents. It was the bhangra proper; the prior women’s dance was neither an authentic Gidda or a bonafide bhangra. The men bore poles with jingling attachments. Too brief, they provided a bonafide testosterone rush and enthusiastic response.

I did not know what to expect of Anoushka Shankar and Karsh Kale; certainly drawn by the name Shankar, the Bhangra component justified my qualification to enjoy the press table position. The skill Shankar and Kale evidenced confirmed solid training and stripes earned in mastery of their instruments. But if I somehow expected something verging on a traditional sitar and tabla exposition, I was bound to be disappointed. While not quite all the way, the impulse for the sounds I heard rose in the massive taste of The New Age.

What I remember most of all about the afternoon was the cluster of swaying bodies in front of the stage, arms raised skyward, totally carried away, and the Indians of all generations there to enjoy the new version of sub-continent culture in one of the great summer charms of San Francisco, a Stern Grove Festival performance.