That thai tha ha.. the notes coming over the phone call fill the room, and I am concentrating on moving my hands and feet in time to the beat. As I move from one adavu to the other, I enjoy the movement and the moment so much. I am completely overwhelmed - am I really dancing? Well, these are baby steps and I have only finished a month of classes but still, I am moving in time to a beat.
I have wanted to learn to dance for as long as I can remember. At first, it was the dancers' beautiful bright costumes that attracted me. I was also enthralled by the way their jewellery glittered when the spotlight fell on it at a particular angle. I grew up watching dance performances at the auditorium not far from our home, and learnt to appreciate the synchronisation between the dancer and the accompanists. Our financial circumstances were not such that I could be sent for dance classes, so I learnt to be satisfied watching a lot of performances, and sometimes trying out a few steps at home. I can still recall how I was once given a pair of fancy glass bangles, and the first thing I did after wearing them was to strike a pose that involved crossing my wrists to an imaginary beat, instantly shattering one of the bangles. Even while writing about it, I can still feel the sorrow I felt then.
The first time I saw an Odissi performance was when I was 17 years old. The drape of the sari, the understated jewellery, the haunting music and the beautiful graceful movements completely captivated me. Traumatised by the constant eve-teasing incidents every time I stepped out in Delhi, I never even thought of finding out more about where once could learn the dance form. And anyway, by then I had resigned myself to the fact that I would love dance, and enjoy watching it, but it was not something I would ever do myself. My sister-in-law was a dance teacher, but we had never lived in the same city, so learning from her was not an option, though I did keep telling her that I would one day learn from her.
During the pandemic, it suddenly struck me that I now had the time and the means to learn. My sister-in-law had relocated to Hyderabad recently, and her classes had stopped due to the move and the lockdown. So much of our communication was happening over the internet so why not this? I asked her if she would be willing to teach me. I will be eternally grateful to her for immediately saying yes, and for sounding so overjoyed at the idea.
I am 59 years old, definitely no spring chicken, but no one can say I am lacking in enthusiasm or determination. There is a nagging pain in my left knee that prevents me from doing the 'aramandi' properly, but I am confident that as I continue with my classes, the knee will realise I have no time to pander to minor inconveniences, and learn to bend painlessly. Knowing that I am dancing only for my pleasure removes all stress of what an audience will think of my abilities and I can move freely and fearlessly, mastering one adavu after another.
Just knowing that I am dancing gives me indescribable joy, and I feel blessed.
