Leena's Dance

There were only twenty minutes left until the curtains went up and Leena was firmly rooted in place. The roar of the crowd dimmed to a far away murmur as her thoughts grew louder, chasing each other in circles around her head- this was it, her first performance with this team, and hopefully not her last performance. The other dancers dashed here and there, putting on last minute make up, angling their hats to the perfect angle, and nervously fidgeting with their oversized T-shirts. Jennifer scurried past her, giving her a quick tap on the shoulder. It was time to start.

The lights under the curtain darkened, and the beast quieted in anticipation. Her breathing slowed and she breezed across the stage to her spot- this was her favorite moment. To step and point, weave and bend, to drape and leap, and take her audience and music to the climax, and then drop them back into their bodies, spectators jealous of her nimble grace.

“Leena!” roared her mother from downstairs “come eat right now!”

Pungent asafetida filled the air, insinuating itself into the smallest pores of the walls and carpeting in the house. Not to mention Leena’s hair, clothing, bag, and everything else that could keep a smell. Her Kuchipudi outfit was folded neatly in a bag at the bottom of the steps and her brother’s agitated back and forth at the door told her she was already running late. Her dance teacher would have already started the class, clapping and singing nonsensical dance terms while the other students stepped and turned in unison.

Her father sat in the chair at the head of the table, wearing his lungi and holding his chai in front of him as he absent mindedly scanned the newspaper. It was a garish sheet, full of riotous colors, all orange, green, blue, proclaiming headlines for the local Indian community. Her mother stood at the other end of the table, brandishing a silver cooking spoon at Leena like a weapon. She rattled off instructions as fast as Leena spooned the deliciously hot sambar into her mouth.

“Eat your lunch and go quickly. Don’t forget your music, your performance is tomorrow! Tell your teacher we will bring extra flower garlands!”

It was a daily Saturday ritual in her household. Her life was filled with Kuchipudi practice, Kuchipudi performances, and then hours of following around physicians, reading about medicine, and working on school work. Her friends could be tanning at the beach, and Leena would still be practicing the coy look of Radha greeting her beloved Krishna, or the enraged and victorious stance of Durga after defeating a Rakshasa. But she did not really resent the dancing- the feeling of executing the perfect mudra, of artfully portraying Meera’s longing for God, or the hours of work that went into the turns. Nor did she have an issue with her parents’ insistence that she dance. It was something else entirely.

At 2:00 pm, Leena tied the last thread of her ghungroo around her shin and straightened up to survey the crowd. This was the final act for her. 

The singer had yet to begin, and the audience was loud and unruly. Leena lifted her knee towards the ceiling pointing her toes to the ground, and then slowly lengthened her leg to complete the first of the ceremonial steps towards the center of the stage. Now, she was a supplicant to God.

It was an act of intimate worship between the dancer, the stage, the music, and Divinity. Her bare feet shaped gently to the wood as she bent at the waist and her fingers formed an elegant triangle from which she lovingly poured flowers as tribute. She bowed her head, seeking her center and giving thanks. The singer glanced her way, and Leena gave a small nod. The violinist slid his fingers to the scroll of the violin and moved his bow in a long and languorous stroke, sending a single note snaking into the air. The audience quickly quieted and Leena began her story, dancing many characters, many faces, and many moods. Twenty something years culminated in this twelve minutes of absolute devotion. Her lithe form transitioned over and over again from one pose to the next, molding to the music and being molded by it in turn.

The curtains lifted and the bright glare of the lights momentarily blinded her. But in her space, everything was at peace. The first loud bass note vibrated up through the stage and sounded across the auditorium. A single fluid movement took Leena up from her prone position on the stage and she snapped her cap off, tossing it to Jennifer. The beats thumped from the speakers, pulsing through the dancers as they danced their way into the hearts of the city- the premier hip hop and R&B dance crew was back.

Her family’s reaction was as expected. It came in intervals, where her mother would ask where she went wrong and her father swung between loud anger and quiet isolation. It wasn’t often that an Indian daughter would quit her “doctor in training” routine to be a professional dancer. She knew she had hurt her parents, but it seemed essential then to explain that she was nothing if she wasn’t a dancer- whether it was Kuchipudi, ballet, or a hip-hop dancer. Maybe it was too much to ask that they come to the performance and watch their daughter pop, lock, to them, gyrate on stage. She asked anyway, unwilling to sever the ties that brought her to dance in the first place.

Jennifer drove her home from the auditorium, joyously babbling about their performance line-up, going over the minute details of the dance and brainstorming new choreography as they sped down the quiet suburban roads. It was late and the house was dark. Leena waved to Jennifer from her driveway and strode towards the front door.

The key clicked in the lock and the door creaked open. The darkness within was welcoming and she stood there in the front hall, letting her bags drop to the floor. The asafetida smell lingered in the air, reminding her of her of the morning. It seemed a long time in the past.

She left her bags where they had fallen and took off her shoes one by one. She turned them the same direction and placed them in a line next to her father’s shoes at the entrance. Her bare feet sank into the heavy carpet on the stairway as she made her way up to her room. When Leena finally fell into bed, her head made a crinkling noise against the pillow. Her fingers quested towards the sound and encountered folded paper.

Smiling, Leena succumbed to sleep.