Every year, Christmas brings with it the spirit of love, kindness and people spread the good vibes through carol songs, winter tales, gifts and greeting cards. We were fortunate enough to enjoy two Christmas events at the husband’s workplace in the last two weeks. Audience big and small, together they sang at the top of their voices, cheered each other up, performed various arts on stage and received big hugs and colorful gifts from Santa Claus. One of these events climaxed with a grand feast which was arranged on the roof top of one of the hospital buildings. The other event was held in a community Hall where parents get to see their little ones sing rhymes and perform various activities on stage.
Surprisingly, what these wingdings had in common was the liberty to dance. You get to notice two types of people in these social gathering. The kind who live to dance – whose hips, hands, feet and what do you know, even their ear lobes sway to the beats they hear. Then there is this whole other kind who think they are too old or busy for dance and music, hence hardly notice what they are missing out on life. And then there is me. My affinity of physical response to music lurks between these two extremes. Having spent a significant part of my college life watching my roommates dance for Sheila ki Jawani, perpendicular hand-clapping coupled with synchronized toe-tapping is all that I have honed over those four long years.
The husband is no different. Infact he is worse but just like me, he doesn’t fall into the categories. Or perhaps a bit into the Drake end of the dancing scale when he demonstrates few self-taught, gravity-defying jumps to the kid, upon my insistence. We, the Krishnans don’t choose to dance. We don’t because we can’t.
This dance-muscle dysfunction has dissociated us from the rest of our group on many occasions. I blame it on various factors like suppressed phobia, meagre opportunities in the past, fear of being judged, stage aversion, sigh, I could go on.
My parents were never good at performance arts and the society barely noticed their ignorance. Back then, when I was a kid, all I could perform on stage was stand as a pole or an angel, blimey, no one really gave a damn about the same. Bid adieu to normalcy, we have landed on the irksome millennial era where our children (sometimes the parents too) are expected to master a long list of skills, the ability to dance being one of them.
Now that the Christmas season is on and more events are coming along, I risked teaching baby D a few dance moves which I had learned from Instagram videos a couple of days ago. He did seem to follow my lead with ease but I couldn’t help but notice my futile DNA inside him alter the purpose, making my dancing child look like what you call, a happy little robot.
It was fun watching him enjoy and explore a new world with his discreet butt-shakes and symmetrical hand movements. I could finally see through his eyes what it means to “dance it out”. The pride, attitude and to move in harmony with music comes from within and doesn’t necessarily require self-evaluations all the time. Sounds easy from a kid’s perspective but for super-stiff souls like me? Well, my dance bloopers would interest the family until next winter and that’s definitely something I can do. ‘Tis the season to be jolly, after all.