Save the Last Dance

There are two things which I hate more than anything else, i.e. weddings/receptions/engagements and dancing, and this weekend I was subjected to both!

Now, I have trained as a classical dancer for nine years and got myself a diploma in Bharatnatyam since my parents were a little worried with my academic performance (or the lack of it) and decided to enroll me into an alternate career path, just in case. But all those grueling sessions in Alarippu, Jatiswaram, Shabdam, Varnam etc. and the pages and pages of history of evolution, decline and rebirth of the dance form, since the tender age of five have left me scarred for life, and every time someone even SUGGESTS dancing, I break down, pretty much like the Greece defence against Germany. So, despite all the dancing in the dark in college thanks to all the freshers’ parties, rooftop parties, birthday parties, new year’s eve parties and farewell parties, I am still as awkward as Sonam Kapoor in an interview, when it comes to dancing in office parties. Hence, my standard solution in any social situation which involves some amount of dancing is to hide in one corner, drinking excessive amount of alcohol and avoiding eye contact with the dancing queens/kings. I sincerely believe (and I can’t stress this enough), dancing simply KILLS the joy of unlimited free alcohol. All I need to complement an open bar is some good music, a sports channel (preferably with some live action) and a few friends who know when to be quiet. So on Friday night, when I was convinced that I had abused the free food and the combination of Antiquity Blue/Smirn Off/Blue Riband, I sneaked out of an office get-together as my so-called ‘friends’ gatecrashed into my house, with more alcohol and combiflam to rejuvenate me. BUT THIS TIME THERE WAS NO DANCING, as we put on some music, made ourselves comfortable on the floor, opened up the JD and Old Monk bottles and watched a GREEK TRAGEDY in the hands of the Germans. Now, that’s perfection personified…

If that wasn’t enough, two of my closest friends decided the get engaged (to each other), considerably weakening my Singledom Brigade. I was there, again, awkward and uncomfortable in a saree, trying to fend off curious family friends/acquaintances. Since I have grown up with both these friends as neighbours in Kolkata, I was an easy target for all the familiar faces who annoyed me as a kid and continued to bombard me with unsolicited advice like they did ten years back. From “Don’t worry beta, there is a private engineering college in Jhumritalaiya and I know the Director there. I am sure if I put in a good word, he would admit you to their Civil Engineering branch, which usually has a few seats left anyway” to “Don’t worry beta, I know this guy whose parents are looking for a girl. He has done his Civil Engineering from Jhumritalaiya Institute of Technology and is working with TCS. I shall put in a good word for you”, the circle was finally complete.

Somehow, I managed to survive the ceremony, posing for the pics and holding on to my drapes, as my friends also barely made it, overwhelmed with all the good wishes, hugs and the general aura of everlasting happiness (plastered smile causing havoc with jawline). But the real fun began after the ceremony as eight of us squeezed ourselves in an Alto and escaped to Marine Drive to cleanse our system of all the premonitions of a joyous union. While my friends heaved a sigh of relief, I stared out at the Queens Necklace and the stereo blared out the Eurythmics number: “Sweet Dreams are Made of These”

And then we danced, in the dark, in the rain, in the middle of the road…