On a learning curve, in life.
By Deepak M. Rao

Ten years ago I had no choice but to attend a Bharatanatyam rendition by a group of dancers from the same school as my sister (if you have a sis, you know that hell hath no fury than a sis scorned!). Almost as interested or intrigued as any child of twelve would be to attend such an event, I trudged into the auditorium with heavy footsteps, all the time thinking of my friends back home. The stage was being given the finishing touches, for the dancers to kick in and strut their stuff. The organizers were checking the lights, and inquisitive children were being shooed away by a fat auntie with a silk factory on her person, and a flower garden on her head. She seemed to be the kind who never liked children and believed they must never be left at large. Lights were continuously being switched on and off by the now stage-ostracized kids. Well, what more, I joined them. Close to three hours later we were being pushed out of the auditorium. The show was over and it had created no impression on me at all. I was bored.

Cut-to-the-present. It was one of those occasions when a weekend is reserved for a performance given by one of your colleagues at work, in celebration of some event or the other. A few messages and calls later it was decided who would take whom for the 'party' and who would wear what. The same feeling of not knowing what would happen on stage that I had witnessed a decade ago hit my stomach and I sat on one of the seats sipping a colorful mocktail. The musicians seated themselves on the stage and started to adjust their instruments to get the right tune and pitch and what-not. The feeling of déjà vu persisted through the stage-setting process while the dancers made their first appearance on the stage.

It was the story of Ramayan, enacted all through song and dance by a group of four dancers. One of them was my colleague. I tried waving at her and after being poked in the stomach by my neighbor, I diligently resumed sipping on my little poison that had been refilled for the third time already. The music started, the thumping of the feet on the stage began and somehow, the mood in the hall changed. People began to sit erect and involuntarily I did the same and put down my glass, rather engrossed in the proceedings. The scene was that of Ravana abducting Seeta when Rama and his brother, Lakshmana go hunting. I knew the story from before, in fact I grew up listening to it almost every summer, and today here I was watching with anticipation what would happen next. 'Gimme some monaaay' Ravana screamed in my head. And the beautiful Seeta told demurely that she is 'out of balance on her credit card.' I got interested and started to watch the dancers' expressions. Each expression of theirs, each nuance told a story. When Seeta is unwilling to cross the Lakshman Rekha, the dilemma that she might have gone through showed in the eyes of the dancer. The pain of not being able to do what she was taught all her life, 'never send a needy man empty-handed' and the situation that had bound her from fulfilling her dharma could almost be smelt in the hall. What an enchanting performance it was.

The show completely won me over. I have never felt the story of Ramayan so deeply in all my life. And that night when I got back home thinking what might have brought this change in me, I realized it is mostly the age. When we are kids, all we do is try to be someone. As age starts burdening our shoulders, we begin to 'get to our own.' We understand what we like and what we do not, and maybe that's when the whole culture that your parents have ingrained in you shows. It could be Bharatnatyam or Ballet, veena or the guitar, art definitely hits you at some time of your life. Keep your eyes open. You may just find something that has always been amiss in your life.