Featured Posts
Recent Posts
Search By Tags
Follow Us
  • Facebook Basic Square
  • Twitter Basic Square
  • Google+ Basic Square

A Beginning

I have ironed the saree, the purple Kanjeevaram. We purchased it from Nallis in Chennai last Diwali, but your father wanted me to keep it as a surprise. We all have been looking forward to this day.

Today you will step on stage as a dancer, as an artist, as a part-custodian of an art form that is more than 2000 years old, an expression of grace and form in a world increasingly marred with noisy and gaudy fixations.

I remember your first day of dance class. You were 5. Shy and awkward amongst a bunch of girls on that smooth wooden floor out in the courtyard, trying to squat with your coltish legs, the toes of your feet pointing in opposite direction. Your teacher, Subhadra, a woman with bright laughing eyes and sinewy limbs stood there on that little elevated platform explaining the Arai Mandi position, her body erect yet supple.

I stood outside the door of the classroom, peeking in, my heart swelling with pride as you picked the moves slowly but precisely. My parents couldn’t afford to send me to dance class, but you, my girl are lucky.

Just before dawn, I woke up to the sound of the door being softly unlatched. It was your grandmother. I drew back the curtains and watched her shriveled figure hobbling out to the creeper trailing in the garden compound wall to pluck the just opened buds of jasmine flowers. The light was spilling over the edge of the hill in swathes of pink and purple, lending everything a surreal glow. Post her prayers, she sat on the temple steps by the river to string your garland, bent fingers trembling, as she slowly threaded the needle it into each flower careful not to bruise it. I think we will have to change her spectacles again, as she kept squinting.

Your father has been at the car the whole morning, polishing it with a mixture of vinegar and olive oil. He got the idea off the internet he says. I just hope the car doesn’t smell vinegary when we get in. I have called him three times already for breakfast. But you know your father, he will keep grumbling if he misses even one corner, especially today.

But I can’t bother about it now. I have to get you ready.