Tags:
Journalism of Courage
Only a muted alarm bell sounds as I enter the room for my first ballroom dancing class. I8217;ve made sure I8217;m 20 minutes early, giving myself a few moments to prepare for the anxious transition between my lazy street-gait and the Foxtrot. The hall is located on the periphery of a shabby suburban college campus, but it8217;s large and airy. Welcoming me at the entrance is the spiffy, tall instructor Sandip, 27, who8217;s dressed in a dark shirt, tailored brown slacks, and shiny black Pradas.
8220;Where8217;s your partner?8221; asks a smiling Sandip. It8217;s a valid question and I shrug awkwardly. Before coming to the class I asked three female colleagues if they were interested in learning to Ballroom dance. All of them, usually so willing to hang out, thought about it for a moment, smiled nervously and then proceeded to come up with some lame excuse.
I lumber along trying to keep step with Sandip, who8217;s so graceful that I just want to quit and leave. At first we do the Cha Cha standing next to each other, trying to keep symmetry but after a while he gets bored, turns towards me and rests his arm on my shoulder. I respond positively. He8217;s the woman and I8217;m the male, which is perfect, except that he8217;s about 4 inches taller.
Since the Cha Cha doesn8217;t come naturally to me, I usually fall out of sync after eight steps and trample all over Sandip8217;s shoes. He seems annoyed but doesn8217;t say anything. 8220;Look up at my face8212;stop gazing at my feet,8221; he booms, adding, 8220;Do you want the lady to think you8217;re staring at her legs?8221;
8220;Never hold a lady by her waist,8221; he goes on, shifting my hand to his shoulder blade. 8220;If you draw attention to that area, other men will start noticing her and you don8217;t want any trouble8212;the technical reason is it8217;s easier to turn her if she8217;s being held by the shoulder.8221;
The class starts filtering in and I8217;m pleasantly surprised to see a largely youthful group of about 20. 8220;People associate ballroom dancing with being old and stuffy but seven out of the ten dances are done at a frenetic pace,8221; says Sandip, pointing to the mix of college-going students and young married couples. He then introduces me to Meghna, my partner for the evening.
Her face is familiar and we figure we went to the same college at around the same time. Meghna8217;s wearing a pastel orange blouse, knee length black skirt, thick black heels, and is looking very Latin. 8220;I insist that men wear formal trousers and shoes with leather soles8212;how you look determines how you feel and how you dance,8221; barks Sandip. I8217;m in loose jeans, a faded T-shirt and clunky Doc Maartens.
It8217;s the class8217; second-last session and they8217;ve nearly perfected 50 dance steps. We start with the Foxtrot, and Meghna leads the way. I learn a few moves but goof up regularly. My partner, on the other hand, moves with panache and purpose. I throw my hands up after a few attempts and start talking to her. 8220;Ah, you8217;re chatting with your partner8212;this dance is perfect for that,8221; chimes Sandip, adding, 8220;since the music is soft for the Foxtrot, this is when you ask a girl where she stays and for her number; you can interact but still feel like you8217;re dancing.8221;
We move on to the Samba, a festive dance of celebration from Brazil. 8220;I love the Samba because it8217;s fast and peppy; most of our film songs follow a Samba beat,8221; says Sandip. The temperature in the room is rising and Meghna gathers her shoulder length hair into a tiny bun, revealing a slender neck. I8217;m awful at the Samba and she puts me out of my pain and begins dancing
on her own.
I just watch. 8220;Maybe you8217;ll like the Jive,8221; says Sandip who notices I8217;ve slunk into a
corner. 8220;You can spin the lady from here to
there and she8217;ll be impressed.8221; I8217;m a little better at jiving and Meghna decides to keep me for the time being.
Just when I8217;m getting comfortable, Sandip announces that we8217;re shifting to the Rhumba, the Cuban dance of love. 8220;It8217;s very sexy, dark and full of lust,8221; he says, 8220;it8217;s bursting with passion.8221; I take to the Rhumba instantly, the slow, deliberate pelvic movements flowing with ease. My partner seems to be enjoying herself too. 8220;The beauty of the Rhumba is that you can express yourself without saying a word,8221; says Sandip. 8220;The chemistry is in the dance and you can convey any message through your movements. All will be understood.8221;
The next time my relationship turns sour, I know where to head for therapy.
