By Sanskriti Arora
Katyayani had never seen a man with aalta on his fingertips before. His feet too were
stained red. He even wore gajra around
his wrists as outside their dance studio, he was just a man. He could not have long
hair, and have his hair adorned. Katyayani understood his bravery.
He was a man who taught little girls
how to stiffen their backs and keep their forearms steady as they danced around the
slippery wooden floor. Katyayani ran into
the studio, but saw Sita exit Sir’s room. Sita! You are early today! She gave her a soft
smile. Her hair was disheveled
as though
she had been dancing for hours. The way all their golden
headsets try to escape the
entanglement of
their hair
as soon as they had practiced
the same song a few times. Sita ran into the
bathroom to fix herself.
Katyayani waited
for her to join the rest of the girls.
Sir walked over to the stereo and sounds of tabla and sitar filled the
room. Katyayani tried to focus on herself in
the mirror, while examining the straight lines of other girls. She realised that she is the
only one without a gajra in her hair.
There was no sign of Sita.
Ta, tak, tayi, tak.
Katyayani! Focus! Follow!
She could hear her mother wince.
She needed to focus.
She regained her composure and looked at Sir to follow the beats, as all the girls did.
Synchronised
tapping of feet, and the loud noise of
ghungroos engulfed her. She had escaped into the rhythm of Sir’s hand tapping once
on his palm and then the backside
of his hand as usual. She followed his lead in making her eyes wide,
and nostrils flair
to demonstrate anger. She was surprised when
she was chosen for this segment. She did not know if she could embody Goddess
Durga, even after being named after her.
Eyes wider, Katyayani! She could not widen her
eyes anymore, she compensated with
stiffening her posture more.
Moving her eyeballs left and right, as sir had told them,
to assess your prey, and
to see if your surroundings
cower in front of you.
No one had ever cowered in front of her before.
She saw sir’s gaze on someone in the first row,
it was Sita. Her mother, too, had her eyes stuck to her.
Katyayani understood.
She was a brilliant dancer.
Sir moved to help her
correct her hand gestures, though Katyayani thought they were perfect.
And it was then
that Sita fell, and screeched,
Get away from me!
Sir’s eyes widened, not in performance, but reality. He moved closer to her.
What is it, dear?
His eyes were angry, his body was heaving
Yet his voice had softness…and fear.
And that is when Katyayani understood. Her mother ran into the studio. She never really
leaves: she lingers to watch. Not Katyayani.
Do not yell at your teacher, you stupid girl! How could her mother not understand?
She walked towards her with an expression stuck
on anger, somehow, she could not move her face from anger. Her face distorted with
disgust, and her eyes turned as
red as her saree. What are you doing, mummy?
I am teaching this girl some manners. Her mother put a hand on the man’s arm. She was
consoling him. She understood.
Of course, she did, she is a woman, Katyayani thought.
But why was she standing so close to him and so far from her and Sita?
Coward.
She had never thought of her mother as a coward. She would drink freely at parties, and she
would…she thought she was like her.
Mother saw her ugly daughter’s body move closer to her. She felt her body jolt and fall onto
the ground. Everyone screamed.
The man moved away from the two females fighting; only one of them was fighting for the
man. And the other knew no one,
Not even her own mother. She helped Sita get up and exited the class. Without the mother.
By Sanskriti Arora
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