The mark of intelligence is being able to accept life with all its limitations and acknowledge that limitations exist for your own good. So i don't rebel anymore. I follow rules. I sweat through every pre-requirement of organizing a grand show but when my team performs on stage, i take my place among the thousand odd people who turn up to watch their performance. It feels great to be here among them now, and even though their deafening cheer threatens to tune out every thought from my mind, it is easy to recollect just how difficult giving up dancing was initially.
Those days aren't long gone when dancing was as good as breathing. But then i was forced to pick between the two. I chose to breathe the conventional way, the one that didn't involve risking my life. The other kind of breathing someone else does for me. Watching him dance makes up for most of the loss. I shudder every time i recall how close i was to letting go of this due compensation. When i was first diagnosed with asthma and i learnt that i couldn't dance anymore, i thought i had become contagious all of a sudden, and that if he came too close he'll catch my bad luck. He came close anyway. Its partly because of that that today i enjoy being on this side of the stage as much as i enjoyed being on the other side.
As my team appeared on stage I joined my hands and cheered with the crowd and waited in anticipation for the commencement of their act. There was nothing more thrilling than the perfect start when i used to be on stage. I would usually count my breath in multiples of two and my playful mind would try and distract me, trick me by whirling pictures in my head, pictures of the early sunrise, of the half-eaten toast at breakfast, of the sidewalks that rushed backward as i drove to the venue, of the greenroom where in we left all our stuff, and yet i would feel my torso twist skilfully at the correct count, not a beat early, not a second late. I would then celebrate my triumph with a sequence of swift and effortless moves that would encapture my audience once and for all. That would be my perfect start.
When he moved fraction of a second earlier i was all set to believe that he was tripping on stage or something but the stage started vibrating the very next moment as they all moved in synchronization. So that was the cue for others to begin. He was shouldering the responsibility of all of their perfect starts. A team player wasn't he? What an ass!! I wasn't surprised though. This is Swayam we are talking about. He has more goodwill in his fingertip than what i could hope to have in a lifetime. I giggled at that thought and waved my arms over my head as they swayed to the track. People behind me joined me in the movement which soon spread through the entire stadium. We would have done it in ripples next if the next segment of their routine hadn't rendered people unable to stir. They feared missing a great deal with every blink of an eye.
This had to be my favourite part of any performance, that part when the tempo increased and you had to move so fast that it seemed like you have lost all control over yourself and that its really intertia that's moving you. Regardless of the number of hours you have rehearsed, your body follows the music as a reflex at this point, and all you hear is your own heart pounding. That is when you feel most alive. I wonder how Swayam manages to find me in the crowd every time and why at all he lets his gaze wander in my direction when he should really be busy listening to his own heart beat. If this is his mechanism to feel alive on stage, i really don't get it. I just feel he wasted a precious moment staring at me.
The dance drew to a close extracting squeals and applause from every direction. This was nothing compared to the uproar that greeted their finishing pose. The group hug at the end of the performance was a tradition none of us were willing to break. I would usually stand at the centre as we would throw ourselves on each other. I would feel not only their hands but their very souls on my cotton shirt, which would soon be seeped in gratitude, relief, pride and when it came to simmi and rinni, an assuring sense of hero-worship. The hug fed my ego as much as the applause from the audience did.I could see swayam clinging to Rey even after they all broke apart. He punched vicky on the arm and patted nilesh on the back. He was feeding their ego. I made my way towards back stage as the curtain closed.
I guess there is no 'right' or 'wrong' way to dance but there is definitely a his way and a my way. Is this what living your passion through someone else really means? To watch them at it and know better than ever how you would have done it or how you would have felt? In fairytale lingo i am sure it means something very dramatic but in reality it is as simple as that. Perhaps opposites attract because our own sense of self is heightened when we perceive someone who is nothing like us. May be that's why when i watch him dance i end up finding myself. It doesn't seem like a loss anymore. So before i congratulate him on his performance or tell him that i cant be any more proud of him even if i tried, may be i should thank him for being such a contrasting personality.
THE END
Hope u enjoyed.. much love.. :)