Broken

I feel you slipping through my grasp.
like sand through my fingers,
tiny fragments of your being,
crash to the ground at my feet, and splinter,
so why, tell me why, is it that i'm the one,
who feels so broken.

Your hand is lying in mine,
but your heart is far away,
and the pleasure i should feel
of having you by my side,
is shattered, ruined, damaged
by your love.

You let yourself walk away,
i want to run, catch up,
beg and plead, on bended knee,
cant think of anything that
would keep your love
entwined with mine

And I feel you slipping through my grasp.
like sand through my fingers,
tiny fragments of your being,
crash to the ground at my feet, and splinter,
so why, tell me why, is it that i'm the one,
who feels so broken.

3 AM Blues

I'm almost violently ill with emotion.
but still happy, sad, pleased, amused, longing
drowning in the pool of feelings,
gladly slipping away into the beyond,
my body and a part of my mind reacts normally,
and the rest of me is a purple and silver,
gauzy dress floating, in layers,
all around me, like a tent, covering me,
allowing my arms to slip through the sleeves,
my head to push through the neck of the dress,
draping me, becoming me,
but is that who I really am?
is that who I'm meant to be?
or who I long to be?
or will I wake up to another tomorrow?

Unfortunately, Me

What would i give for bee-stung lips and tear-filled doe eyes.
a save-me look and a miniscule size
of dress hanging in my cupboard, along with others
just as pretty. and for some brothers
who'd beat up a boy for me, and punch
him across the face. a bunch
of lovely flowers and some elegant, tiny earrings,
long fingers and silver rings,
that adorn and enhance their beauty, a shape
thats slim and sexy, a nape
thats beatifully curved, tiny perky breasts
and a pendant that nests,
amongst them like it belongs, a voice that's clear
and that all want to hear,
lovely long wavy tresses, smooth and silky,
and skin thats pale and milky
slender ankles with slim golden chains,
frail wrists and the main
thing is, i'd rather that, a man would sit and stare
at me, and maybe dare,
to ask me out, fervently hoping that i would agree.

But unfortunately, thats just not me.




I slip, i trip, i fall down and do stupid things,
I cannot sing
a true-blue note, i'm extremely wide-hipped,
and unfairly thin-lipped
and i chew those damn nails, and my eyes,
are small and beady, guys
dont ever want to lift my bags or hold my books,
I never get lingering looks,
unless they're directed at my "weird" fashion sense,
long earrings and my size ten,
skirts that cling to each and every curve, the staring
of men at my shirts, baring
and exposing my ample chest, the graceless walk
and the incessant talk.
the short stubby fingers, a nose thats uneven
tangled messy hair, my heathen
-like demeanor, my wide strong capable shoulders,
which should be lifting boulders,
a hearty shrug, a wicked grin, salsa-thighs
that wobble and a size
that isnt 'conducive to dancing'. i'm plain, as plain as could be.

That, unfortunately, is definitely me.

The Bhangra-Tango Chronicles

This is the first in the series(hopefully, there will be a series)

The reason for this post:
Ever since i started dancing, (learning/teaching), The Mother and her bunch of friends (here forth called the 'Abacus Biddies', but that's another story) decided that they also want to learn to salsa. Salsa, mind you. Salsa. Fast, spinning type dance. Biddies + Salsa = Broken bones = Hospital bills and Bed rest = monetary trouble for Old fogey husband men and mommy sitting duties for dutiful daughters/sons (collectively known as the AB babies, no connection to the Bachchans whatsoever).

So, after a lot of procrastinating and persuading them to start with a slower dance like the rumba or with a dance like the cha-cha which is danced to songs that they would appreciate, i.e. music which is a part of their generation. But no, NOW they want to learn the tango. The Argentine Tango, no less. Which, like Pierre Dulaine (played by Antonio Banderas in the movie 'Take The lead') says, 'needs to be earned'. Heck, I didn't have the guts to learn it until i finished almost 2 years of dancing.

So, one day, The Mother and The Father are both at home one evening (which is a rare occurrence) and they started harassing me to teach them the tango. So, bracing myself, muttering curses under my breath and platitudes to Terpsichore to save me from These Two, I reluctantly agree.

Shift the furniture around, put the dog out into the balcony and close the door(she is very jumpy and tends to dance along with you) and put on some music.
I explain the basic 8 steps, and The Mother interrupts with a "I don't get it". To which i reply, "Ma, can I please finish my sentence?"


They dutifully follow my movements and directions for the next 2 minutes, then The Father asks me whether he needs to place his foot where he is currently placing it or a centimetre to the right. The tango is precise, my friends, but not THAT precise.


After they practise a bit more, I explain some more to them(not going into the details here, not worth my time and your lack of attention/interest), and The Mother goes, "See if you explain it this way, then I understand. Say it like this"
Who is the teacher here?! She doesn't even know the 'T' of tango!

I tell you, these parents!

BUT this is not the worst bit. And this is just the much-needed background for my topic.

The next day, The Mother, during one of her interminably long phone conversations, proudly announces to one of The Biddies, "Yesterday, my daughter taught me tango"
"Yea of course she'll teach you also"
"Why don't you and D and R and S(various other Biddies) come over on such-and-such day at such-and-such time....(to me: "baby, you don't have class then na?" i shake my head).. haan, she's free."

:O (In my head: HELP! MOTHER, WHAT IN HEAVENS NAME ARE YOU GETTING ME INTO NOW?)

so she looks elsewhere and keeps talking.

Darn it.

I manage to convince her and them, along the line, somewhere that it would be much better to start with a dance like the rumba.

D-day arrives and I come home to find a gaggle of middle aged women in my living room along The Sister(who claims to have two left feet and hates dancing) and one of the AB babies, P, who I know for a fact, cannot dance.
So, all professional, I go and put on my shoes and start setting up the music.
The Mother: "Baby, we're all very hungry, why don't you order bhel for us from around the corner?"

After half an hour, when all the plates have been put away and people are fed-up and full-filled (;)), I say, "Shall we sta..."
only to be interrupted by Biddy N: " haha, I'm so full now, I cant even move"
Me: "umm...."
Others: " yea OK, come on, lets get up"


So we start doing the basic step and everybody is going out of time. I say follow my counts "one, two, three, four", but nobody follows except for Miss Two-Left-Feet (The Sister) and The Mother who has had a secret private class in the rumba before.

Every time someone messes up, they all stop and giggle, P abuses and shakes his head, The Sister stays mum. And I try to restore order, without much success.

NO ONE follows my count, or the timing of the music. The Biddies have a Bollywood jhatka way of moving their hips, P moves like a caveman and The Sister is the only one who seems to show some semblance of the Latin hip movement required for the rumba. *SIGH*


I've been teaching the rumba for 1.5 years, I've taught old and young alike, I've taught people who cannot move and people who you have to only demonstrate a move for and they copy it perfectly, I've taught one-on-one and a class of 30, BUT I've never had so much problem as I did with this bunch.

Honestly, the only saving grace was The Sister, who listened to every word I said and managed to execute the steps well. This from a girl who doesn't like dancing, and who claims not to be able to dance! Sheesh.




Later that night, i tried to figure out why this was so difficult and I realised that, these women, can never look at me as being "superior" to them in any respect. They cannot see me as their 'teacher'; for them I will always be a child in their eyes, especially since I am, in effect, their (this refers to ALL of them) child.

Thus they could not give me the respect they would give a teacher/professor type of person.
I'm not saying that they're incapable of it, just that they didn't
then.You never know, tomorrow is another day and I might just have a better class with them sometime in the near future(hopefully).

*Keeping fingers crossed*

That's all for now, I shall keep y'all updated as and when the next class happens. Over and Out.