Midday Musings

After successfully putting off going to the zumba class for 2-3 months my success rate fell to zero as I succumbed to the persuasive qualities of my husband's smooth talking. It's amazing how he could make me believe that there's no harm in giving it a shot. And you would be surprised if you knew me. To say that I have two left feet is an understatement. And the one person who'll believe that without any doubt is my mother. Being a trained oriental dancer, she tried early on to pass on her skills to me. Like every other Bengali parent, she also had the wish that her daughter would know how to sing and dance and paint, the three things I found all of my friends and class mates engaged in, if not all three of them at least two of them with painting being the common factor. My painting, rather drawing skills at grade four convinced my parents that their money would be better spent in any other project than sending to me an art class. Since I could not draw at that time (I can copy pictures decently now and that too with pastel. If you hand me a brush I'll end up painting something like a 3 year old) all my science drawings were done either by mom or my bro, who is also a good painter. The day I drew the cow, I had a fight with my brother and he refused to help me. Proud that as I was, I drew the cow all by myself, and I can't quite describe to you how it looked. Any angle you turned the picture it didn't resemble a cow. At best it could be described as the symbolization of some pre historic animal. After seeing that picture my brother took pity on me, and drew the cow.

Coming back to the point, one fine day my mother decided to teach me how to dance. I was nine or ten years old. I think she tried to make my body move to the tunes of a rabindrasangeet. My body moved. But the way it moved was enough to convince my mom to say, with great sadness, that I don't have it in me. Dance is something not meant for me. And with that she had to let go of her dream. If circumstances were different she would either have been a professional dancer, or at least a dance teacher. And I could do nothing but feel sad to let her down. Some things are just not meant for you. After that there was no more dancing for me, other than the occasional group dances in college fests and stuff where basically you are having fun.

Then came my husband into the picture. Like my mother, he also had dreams that his wife would go to dance clubs and do the salsa and tango and you name it. To give him credit, he does know the salsa. in grad school he had taken salsa classes. I wonder which hot female in the class was the inspiration for this (sshh). So after two months in the U.S. he finally coaxed me into going to the downtown club which offered salsa lessons. So we went to the club and the lady who would teach us gave a performance before the lesson started. As she and her partner danced they were the epitome of sheer grace and rhythm. Their bodies moved in sync with the music like flowing water. Looking at them I realized that I had made a terrible mistake in succumbing to my husband's pressure. He did not know my skills. But I did. Anyways since the club had charged a fee of 20$ per person which was enough for me to gather up my courage and hit the dance floor. And contrary to my expectations I didn't do all that bad. Things were ok, I'd say though my hips didn't move as vibrantly as they are supposed to in a salsa. The best part was I was enjoying myself, until the time where we had to switch partners every few steps. And that was enough to put me off from salsa. I remember a few of my 'partners' – among them was a guy who trembled quite a bit and was so nervous that he couldn't hold my hands properly and I could feel the tremble between his fingers and there was another who probably had had a burger just before entering the club and he reeked of raw onions and sweat. I was relieved when my husband came along but that relief was short lived. So that was the end of my salsa and also my husband's and he very much rues the fact.

It is probably from this fact and the more important fact that I have gained some weight, actually a lot of it that my husband again found the enthusiasm to persuade me to go for the zumba. Upon entering the class I saw that most people were very fit and athletic but I also found a few who were in much worse shape than I was. Or so I loved to believe. Anyways the class started to the beats of salsa music and after staring at people for a while, trying to figure out what was going on I joined everyone. And once I let go off my inhibitions, put all those previous experiences behind me, I actually had fun. I didn't do it right all the time…when people went left I went right, when they bent down I stood straight like a sore thumb…but I found the rhythm that is part of dance. And at the end of the day that is what matters, finding your rhythm.

And in this endeavor I even formed a camaraderie with a Chinese lady who was next to me. Judging from the movement of her hands and feet I figured she was as good as a dancer as I was and her shy smile when our eyes met seemed to confirm it. We formed an invisible bond and smiled at each other when our eyes met while one of us was turning in the wrong direction. What struck me was the energy of the whole exercise. At home the very thought of exercising for an hour, coupled with seeing the youtube videos on zumba made my body ache. But out there on the floor the beats of the music, the energetic 1,2,3,4 of the instructor and the energy of the people around totally changed the scenario. Yes I did get tired, and I did pause frequently to catch my breath but I never felt like walking out of the room. And to think that I shook my hips to Shakira's 'Hips don't lie'…come on after all I have told you about my dancing abilities you have to admit that it is no mean task! (Luckily there was no video tape of the whole thing or else it could easily have made it into the funniest home videos show.) And then there was J.Lo and a whole bunch of lively music including 'Jai Ho' from Slumdog Millionaire and 'Yeh ishq hai' from Jab We Met. In the manner of exercise it also helped me brush up my almost forgotten salsa steps and introduced me to Bollywood dancing. The Yeh ishq hai number was quite exhausting with a lot of bending, stretching involved but the fact that it was a familiar desi number gave me that extra boost of energy.

And later that night I called up my mom and said that I had been to a dance class. Did I detect a subtle amazement, a flicker of happiness in her voice? Or was it just me in my still excited state?