Dance of life – Short Story with Moral Lesson
Photo credit: kfjmiller from morguefile.com
Dance of Life
By Naila Grewal
The New Delhi Railway station… abreast the sapping boundary wall where the railway track began, languished huts of the itinerant stood in abundance. Ahead, riddled with potholes, lay a two-way road, relentlessly swarming with livid, loud vehicles that are driven with such incessant urgency. To come to think of it, without them, a sort of emptiness filled the air.
Contiguous to this two-way road, there ran a brick pavement. One would assume it was to ease the lives of the pedestrians, who were perhaps more in number than the cars. But instead, the pavement was unofficially the official property of the street-purveyors and moochers alike. Pedestrians prodding past one another, while on the road, wheezing buses lumber with the congestion of sweaty, frazzled passengers. Cars reeking billows of black smoke onto an even busier pavement, leaving nothing but pollution and dirt to stay entrapped in the atmosphere. Living here were the Indian beggars, incessantly abused and treated harshly for when they dogged you. Those who slept in the open and shivered in the cold and in the summer were tortured by the heat.
On this very pavement lived Shabina, a nineteen-year-old aspiring dancer. Having left what remained of her dysfunctional family back in her village, Shabina had accepted the pavement as her home. She only possessed one pair of clothes… her threadbare Salwar Kameez, pungent with the smell of her sweat and fragile due to its overuse. Her frail and weak body did not help but accentuate her left leg, shorter than her right. This deformity didn’t deter her dreams of being a famous dancer though. Often, she would have crystal clear dreams where she would glide across picturesque backdrops and have the world sway with her. But soon she would have to awake to the tiring reality on the street.
One day, as she stood on the bustling pavement, absorbing the warmth radiated by the sun, she noticed a car carrying a family. Not like the usual families she saw, that seemed detached and too busy to be with each other. This family was different. This family effused happiness! As she gazed at them, she brushed over a rusted layer of her memory. The blurry image of her small home in ‘Kila Satwari’ village near Pune, surfaced into Shabina’s mind. She recalled that chilly winter morning when her violent, drunken father returned home after a long night of intoxication. How he aggressively entered the house and began to strike Afreen, Shabina’s mother. Shabina’s bitter remembrance of her father’s constant male chauvinistic remarks troubled the then thirteen-year-old Shabina.
“Why are you so inefficient? Did I marry you, so that you can produce a useless girl, that too with a deformity? I want a “normal” son! Marrying you was a waste!”
Her father would reiterate to Shabina’s crying, helpless mother while Shabina would watch in horror… Suddenly her reverie was broken by the sharp horn of a passing car.
Walking back towards her house, Shabina reminisced the time when she first arrived at the slum. She began with dancing at the red light. It kept her from becoming saddened by her state, for the only thing she had for sure was her passion and love for dance. She would go on for hours. Her hair tied tight to her skull. While the vehicles rested during the red light, Shabina would steadily ascend on her toes and spin like a ballerina. Though she tended to limp while moving about, Shabina tried her best to avoid making her deformity impede her dance. Yet, most people ignored her deformity; men would instead ogle at her frail and almost child-like figure, like blood-thirsty animals waiting to pounce. However, dancing at the red light was the only way Shabina could make a living for herself and satisfy her love for dance.
The following morning, Shabina woke up and walked towards the usual pavement where she performed. As the vehicles stood at the red light, she impulsively tied her hair in a bun, stretched out her arms like a delicate swan and flowed across the pavement like a gush of fresh air. Shabina gently twirled, as she noticed a car window gradually roll down. A man was sitting inside and he gestured for her to come his way. Shabina eagerly trotted towards the luxurious, black car to see M R Khan, the world renowned dance choreographer emerge from inside.
“What’s your name, young girl?”
Shabina couldn’t believe her eyes! Gasping with excitement she stuttered,
“S…Sir, Shabina.”
“You dance very well, I must say.”
Shabina blushed with delight and before she could say another word, he handed her a card. Trembling with joviality, Shabina took the card, in which it said,
“Dance Audition for new TV show!”
She beamed with joy. Shabina could finally see her dreams shape into reality.
“The audition is tomorrow. The address is mentioned on the card.”
“Sir, I will definitely be there! Thank you so much!” Shabina exclaimed.
Soon the car whizzed away, and Shabina began to tear-up with joy. Suddenly, it felt like everything would be as good as she had long imagined…
The next day, Shabina travelled to the location mentioned on the card and was thrilled to see the magnificent building that lay before her. She diffidently walked into the building and was ushered into a dimly lit, empty room. Shabina anxiously waited for the audition to start. After thirty minutes, the door steadily opened and M R Khan slowly sauntered in. Shabina began to speak, when he instantaneously gestured for her to show him her dance. Shabina nervously stood up and made her way to the centre of the room. She then gradually extended her sculpted leg and twirled her hips from the left to the right. She rotated her wrists in a circular motion and raised them up high. As Shabina danced, an awkward silence filled the room for what seemed like hours. M R Khan then struggled to his feet and lethargically strolled towards Shabina. Unaware of what he was planning to do, Shabina continued to dance. But soon, Shabina could sense his presence right behind her. She stopped dancing as she could now feel him breathing on her shoulder… His breath heavily impregnated with the tang of whisky. Beads of sweat formed above Shabina’s brow. M R Khan steadily raised his small, rough hands and slithered them down Shabina’s arms and across her waist, as he whispered,
“You can be much more than a dancer, young girl.”
Frozen, then still enraged by yet another situation of male domination and abuse, all Shabina could do was run. She ran out of the room, down the long spacious corridors, the gate, and she continued running till the soles of her feet tore and bled.
Two weeks later, Shabina with twenty other dancers, vigorously rehearsed a dance routine to the song ‘Jai Ho’ for an upcoming film, ‘Slumdog Millionaire’. They were coincidently chosen out of a hundred other dancers to perform in the film. Despite the painful experience with M R Khan, the thought of stardom and glamour still continued to fascinate Shabina. ‘Jai Ho’ means ‘may victory be yours’ and Shabina was adamant to feel victorious, no matter what. The bitter experience of that day did sadden Shabina; however it did not stop her from viewing her dance as an appreciated art form. Shabina’s blood stirring passion for dance seemed to grow and blossom even more after the incident with M R Khan. Shabina was now determined to never concede to the demands of others…
By Naila Grewal
