Have Feet...MUST Dance

Tomorrow, when half of the world gets Monday morning blues (half because there are a few geeks who like Mondays), I DON’T. Reason-HIP HOP dance session in the evening. The eventuality of the dance session keeps me going throughout the day. It is not just because I have regaled and thoroughly enjoyed dancing since I was a kid, but I find it exhilarating and liberating. It gives me a HIGH… People smoke weed and do coke, get drunk-I don’t know how that feels, but if they feel high, I need to tell them just one thing- DANCE!!! It will take you HIGHER! (if it’s a couple’s dance LOWER, if you know what I mean!)

I am not a good dancer myself - I have a tummy that bounces when I jump, hands so frail that they can’t support my weight and stamina so less that it would put Po, from Kung fu Panda to shame. But nevertheless, I feel ecstatic watching people dance. What I don’t like is, some people performing the steps to the hilt, with annoying perfection very mechanically. Dance has to come from the heart. I will cite a few dancers from my family who don’t give a damn about the way they dance…its bad...but they STILL do it anyway.

1.       My Grandma: She is 68. She jumps with joy (literally), when she listens to music. I am saying literally because her signature step is raising her both hands in the air, and jumping with her both feet, perfectly synchronized with the music. Remember Aamir Khan from Dil Chahta Hai. They borrowed it from her.

2.       My Mom’s Aunt: She points her hands skywards. And then she charges…Yep! With no offence, she charges like a bull, like a Olympic runner. However, the fun part is: she does it standing in one place, just like on an imaginary trademill.

3.       My Mother and Father: They feel the couple’s dance is in. Whether it is a devotional song, they want to Tango... But in this household, it takes 3 to tango. They pester me to teach them steps. I oblige. But they end up, moving off beat…but happily.

4.       My Maternal-Uncle: Dances as if he is in a fight with his imaginary friend. Fierce and frightening.

5.       My Maternal-Aunt: She dances with a groove. She has poise. But she needs space. And in India, where everyone wants to dance, it’s hard to make space for yourself. But not for her… She moves in circles, as if possessed. I am in tow (I am her favorite). And then we take the entire floor. Way to go Maasi.

6.       My Roommate: When he dances, he thinks Rajnikanth, he feels Rajnikanth. He does the pelvic thrusts with no or very less shame.

7.       My Best Friend: He is a non-dancer, a very gloomy, dull person. But then one day he shocked us all by jumping around here and there, wearing dupattas and Dabbang glasses. It was more of charade then a dance.

8.       My Other-Best-Friend: He loves to dance. But his problem is that he thinks that he is an amazing dancer and can perform all the steps that Hritikh can perform. But he needs a reality check..that too ASAP!

9.       Dancer Friend: She is a refined Bharat Natyam dancer, at least that’s what she claims! She is a BIG girl and thinks she smiles like Madhuri Dixit. Well, she might smile like her, but she sure hell can’t dance like her.

10.   Me: Well, as I mentioned earlier my dance repertoire is not cast in gold. I am hopeless, disoriented, sluggishly paces at dancing. But then when I dance, I feel it is a moment where I am alone, a private affair! For those moments, I experience pure spirit. A HIGH!

So people, next time you are at a party, just let go! DANCE, if not for any reason but for one- have feet, must dance!!!

(Leave your comments and share it with your friends..Spread the dancing joy!)

My DADDY Strongest

22^nd December 1989 was a day that changed mine and his life. Mine because-well, that was the day I chose to be born (Yes, I chose it. I was a premature baby) and his because- he had been waiting for my arrival for quite some time. The man was bespectacled and held me in his wintery, withered hands, unsure whether he could be an ideal father. Well, we will later find out that he could NEVER be one- because he never had played by the rules as a son, as a husband and it wasn’t going to be any different this time. My mother was happy- but she was selfishly mirthful. Why so? Because she was happier about being a mother than about having a son (Please don’t fret over it if you don’t understand it). But he was happy to have me…(and that one day I would make him proud and (since we are Sindhi) I will earn a lot of money. See, there are two things written in stone: 1. The world WON’T end in 2012 & 2. Sindhis LOVE money, however cool or unconventional they may be read Vishal Dadlani/Ramesh Taurani)

I wasn’t proud of being born into a family that had a name that people confused with housefly. So he decided and gave me a name that is now common, but he tried and I like it. My mother was unimaginative and honestly admits to having thought of simpler, commoner names than my current one. So in this naming match-we had a clear winner-Dad, whom I grew up to call Pappppa (not papa). And it wasn’t a surprise to the world when it became the first word that I learnt. My mother, I believe, would have been crushed by the betrayal of her only child. When the world starts with Maa/Mom/Aai and the variations, I broke the custom. Daughters are supposed to be Dads’, but then once it happens in a blue moon that a son & father redefine the traditional nomenclature.  It was happening once again.

My mother’s role, however, cannot be disparaged. She was instrumental in bringing me closer to my father, telling me to be like him- honest, intelligent, and most importantly, a good person. She, herself a vivaciously innocent person, always took the back seat. I gave in to her persuasion-idolized my father, and became a Papppa’s boy. Anything that happened in my life, was known to him and the rule still holds true.

In this saccharine sweet relationship, we have had our melancholic moments. The fights over the TV remote control always ended up in me slamming the door and going into bed early; quarrels over my short temperament (which I, ironically, inherit from him) where he suggested I see a shrink; arguments over my career choices that he dictated (although, I never gave in). It has been a full circle.

Remember me talking about him not being an ideal father? Well, he never could and will never be able to. Because he is a FRIEND, that too a damn good one! It hit me one day, that he never imposed rishtey mein toh hum tumhare baap lagte hain ritual on me. Never did he make me feel like a dumb teenager about to make the worst choices in life. He let me be! And in fact more than that, he respected me, my thoughts and my ideas. He was the guy who told me “Don’t study so much!” during my exams, “Don’t give a damn about your assignments!” in college, “*******” something about my boss that I cannot write, “Tell me what is your problem, I can help you find a solution. Am I not your Best Friend anymore?” a day before his birthday.

That reminds me I have to wish him today... To many more fights- Happy Birthday!