let me open u up and slip inside,
let me caress every curve, the soft bits...and the hard.
let me turn you on, make you quiver.
let me take you around the world overnight.
sometimes slow and soft, sometimes hard and fast.
until youre falling apart, then ill take you home.
let me put you under the sheets, let me tuck you in.
let me, let me, let me, let me. let me drive you tonight.
My lumbering purple chevy impala.
...And i thought no one ever wrote me lowe songs. :P
Wednesday, 5 September 2007
Friday, 31 August 2007
Poetry With Young People
When I was in boarding school, we had a poet come stay with us - Gieve Patel. He made us listen to poetry and inspired us to write some too.
The following two poems are mine which were recently published in a book called Poetry With Young People, edited by Gieve Patel.
My Mother Before Her Morning Cup Of Tea
The eyes flash,
Like a lighthouse,
Against the expose of (her)the cheeks,
Her breath comes out short and fast -
A sea about to erupt from her bed.
Trapped
I stared at myself in the mirror,
Wanting to free (me)myself,
Yet, as hard as I tried
to peel off the layers
accumulated,
I couldn't;
(I was) Trapped
By my own biases,
And those of my peers.
These are the edited versions of the poems. The originals are slightly different but I felt and still feel that it makes all the difference. The brackets indicate what I had written originally.
The following two poems are mine which were recently published in a book called Poetry With Young People, edited by Gieve Patel.
My Mother Before Her Morning Cup Of Tea
The eyes flash,
Like a lighthouse,
Against the expose of (her)the cheeks,
Her breath comes out short and fast -
A sea about to erupt from her bed.
Trapped
I stared at myself in the mirror,
Wanting to free (me)myself,
Yet, as hard as I tried
to peel off the layers
accumulated,
I couldn't;
(I was) Trapped
By my own biases,
And those of my peers.
These are the edited versions of the poems. The originals are slightly different but I felt and still feel that it makes all the difference. The brackets indicate what I had written originally.
Tuesday, 21 August 2007
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?
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?
Wednesday, 1 August 2007
Cinnamon Oil (In Your Eyes)
It's a golden sunset, pulling you under
It's Mondays child, full of wonder
It's liquid gold, a shimmering hue
It's a story untold, beckoning to you.
It's a candy coated dream, sugary sweet,
It's the soft rubbing of palms against your feet,
It's a handful of pills to put you to sleep
It's not looking four ways before you take the leap.
And when you feel you're a fraud and nobody cares,
When you feel like you're dead, but hope's always there,
When your eyes are burning with the sweet smell of spice
And when all you can rely on is the roll of the dice,
It feels like you've got cinnamon oil in your eyes.
It's the flame inside you that flickers and dies,
It's the spark inside you that kindles and incites.
It's pain and its joy, ecstasy and sorrow,
It's yesterdays dreams that speak of tomorrow.
And when you feel you're a fraud and nobody cares,
When you feel like you're dead, but hope's always there,
When your eyes are burning with the sweet smell of spice
And when all you can rely on is the roll of the dice,
It feels like you've got cinnamon oil in your eyes.
Song I wrote. Anybody got a tune for it?
It's Mondays child, full of wonder
It's liquid gold, a shimmering hue
It's a story untold, beckoning to you.
It's a candy coated dream, sugary sweet,
It's the soft rubbing of palms against your feet,
It's a handful of pills to put you to sleep
It's not looking four ways before you take the leap.
And when you feel you're a fraud and nobody cares,
When you feel like you're dead, but hope's always there,
When your eyes are burning with the sweet smell of spice
And when all you can rely on is the roll of the dice,
It feels like you've got cinnamon oil in your eyes.
It's the flame inside you that flickers and dies,
It's the spark inside you that kindles and incites.
It's pain and its joy, ecstasy and sorrow,
It's yesterdays dreams that speak of tomorrow.
And when you feel you're a fraud and nobody cares,
When you feel like you're dead, but hope's always there,
When your eyes are burning with the sweet smell of spice
And when all you can rely on is the roll of the dice,
It feels like you've got cinnamon oil in your eyes.
Song I wrote. Anybody got a tune for it?
Monday, 25 June 2007
No one ever dances with a Phat Chick.
The world is a sucky place. A place where no woman has the right to have womanly curves, and where no man wants to dance with a FAT CHICK. You heard me: the title may say Phat. I mean "Fat".
Fat can be of many types; slightly overweight is the same as obese which is the same as curvacious, but its all the same in the end, innit?
I just dont understand it. Why would someone want to dance with a girl who has 2 left feet and is stick-thin, when he can dance with someone who manages to move subtly but sensuously, and has a bit of a belly?
I'm not talking about myself here, thought this post does stem from personal experiences. Since you've all guessed by now, I don't get asked to dance much. And thus I have time to stand in the corner and observe. Guys only dance with girls who are "pretty", thin, and who wear revealing (or whats currently "in") type clothes.
Say theres a grossly overweight girl, who is pretty even though she's fat (pretty fat-teehee) and she's wearing something that nicely covers up her bulges, makes her figure looks somewhat streamlined and is a good dancer. Like she manages to move well without doing too much or trying to do things she shouldn't be doing at her size even if she can manage them. She's danced before with these men, they've even seen and appreciated the way she moves.. yet she has to ask them for a dance. Ofcourse they wont say no. And they'll enjoy the freakin' dance. But a little part of her dies.
I know it seems sexist to assume that the guy should ask the girl, but then again it is not a girls place to refuse a guy a dance. Basic manners state that a if a guy asks you to dance, you cannot refuse him the first time. The second time you can plead hurting feet or tired-ness. But the first time, you HAVE to dance. No matter if he's butt-ugly, unattractive, cannot dance, steps on your feet, has bad breath, is shorter than you. No matter that your feet are killing you in those stilettos or that you're dying for a drink or you're short of breath or you are just plain turned off by the sight of him. You HAVE to follow through with the first dance. It takes a lot of guts for a guy to walk across the room and ask a girl to dance, especially if he doesn't know her. Be nice to him and dance with him. Its only 3 minutes of your entire life.
But the whole problem lies in him asking you. What if he doesn't? Then what do you do? And on a dance floor(as it happens in many other areas(not counting birth records) there are always more girls than guys. Which means that the most of the guys will be dancing on the floor, with a "hot" skinny chick, while the slightly differently shaped girls stand around at the sides hoping for a dance. Catching a guy standing at the side is difficult enough; asking him to dance just kills you. slowly, but surely.
Especially in India, where even in a place like Bombay, a girl going up and asking a guy to dance elicits stares, sniggers and weird looks. "oh my god, she is so desperate/outgoing(they say that like its a bad thing)/slutty" I mean come on!
Despite all my ranting on this subject, the other day I went to a local salsa night and made sure that I sought out all the guys I like dancing with and asked them.
Out of the 12 guys I danced with that night, only 2 had asked me for a dance. The remaining, stood mildly in a corner while paid no heed to my crying ego, and gathered up the courage to go and ask them to dance. I had quite a blast that night. Danced with full abandon, enjoyed myself to bits; I'm sure the guys enjoyed themselves too (well, they didn't complain - :-|)
I got home later that night, opened the door to an over enthusiastic dog jumping on me, so glad to see me home and while sitting down on the bed and cuddling her, cried my heart out.
The facts still remain:
1. It still hurts, no matter what.
2. Society and other peoples stares will affect you
3. You will have a blast dancing and get bunions from the heels you're wearing.
and
4. A little part of you will die when you lie in your bed late at night, wishing that you were ugly, thin and wore designer clothes that make you look more unattractive than you already are.
Fat can be of many types; slightly overweight is the same as obese which is the same as curvacious, but its all the same in the end, innit?
I just dont understand it. Why would someone want to dance with a girl who has 2 left feet and is stick-thin, when he can dance with someone who manages to move subtly but sensuously, and has a bit of a belly?
I'm not talking about myself here, thought this post does stem from personal experiences. Since you've all guessed by now, I don't get asked to dance much. And thus I have time to stand in the corner and observe. Guys only dance with girls who are "pretty", thin, and who wear revealing (or whats currently "in") type clothes.
Say theres a grossly overweight girl, who is pretty even though she's fat (pretty fat-teehee) and she's wearing something that nicely covers up her bulges, makes her figure looks somewhat streamlined and is a good dancer. Like she manages to move well without doing too much or trying to do things she shouldn't be doing at her size even if she can manage them. She's danced before with these men, they've even seen and appreciated the way she moves.. yet she has to ask them for a dance. Ofcourse they wont say no. And they'll enjoy the freakin' dance. But a little part of her dies.
I know it seems sexist to assume that the guy should ask the girl, but then again it is not a girls place to refuse a guy a dance. Basic manners state that a if a guy asks you to dance, you cannot refuse him the first time. The second time you can plead hurting feet or tired-ness. But the first time, you HAVE to dance. No matter if he's butt-ugly, unattractive, cannot dance, steps on your feet, has bad breath, is shorter than you. No matter that your feet are killing you in those stilettos or that you're dying for a drink or you're short of breath or you are just plain turned off by the sight of him. You HAVE to follow through with the first dance. It takes a lot of guts for a guy to walk across the room and ask a girl to dance, especially if he doesn't know her. Be nice to him and dance with him. Its only 3 minutes of your entire life.
But the whole problem lies in him asking you. What if he doesn't? Then what do you do? And on a dance floor(as it happens in many other areas(not counting birth records) there are always more girls than guys. Which means that the most of the guys will be dancing on the floor, with a "hot" skinny chick, while the slightly differently shaped girls stand around at the sides hoping for a dance. Catching a guy standing at the side is difficult enough; asking him to dance just kills you. slowly, but surely.
Especially in India, where even in a place like Bombay, a girl going up and asking a guy to dance elicits stares, sniggers and weird looks. "oh my god, she is so desperate/outgoing(they say that like its a bad thing)/slutty" I mean come on!
Despite all my ranting on this subject, the other day I went to a local salsa night and made sure that I sought out all the guys I like dancing with and asked them.
Out of the 12 guys I danced with that night, only 2 had asked me for a dance. The remaining, stood mildly in a corner while paid no heed to my crying ego, and gathered up the courage to go and ask them to dance. I had quite a blast that night. Danced with full abandon, enjoyed myself to bits; I'm sure the guys enjoyed themselves too (well, they didn't complain - :-|)
I got home later that night, opened the door to an over enthusiastic dog jumping on me, so glad to see me home and while sitting down on the bed and cuddling her, cried my heart out.
The facts still remain:
1. It still hurts, no matter what.
2. Society and other peoples stares will affect you
3. You will have a blast dancing and get bunions from the heels you're wearing.
and
4. A little part of you will die when you lie in your bed late at night, wishing that you were ugly, thin and wore designer clothes that make you look more unattractive than you already are.
Tuesday, 15 May 2007
The Bhangra-Tango Chronicles – II
Yes this is the second installment. This deals with trying to teach tango to a couple, both actors, (and friends of my parents) heretofore referred to as Xchacha and Ymasi.
This particular couple had an anniversary coming up sometime ago, a 25th anniversary… Special no? So they booked a fancy-shmancy hotel in Goa and all the friends and family were supposed to fly down for the partay. I wasn’t planning to attend (personal reasons, I have a thing about going to Goa, a kind of deal I’ve made with myself and which probably only my mom knows about.)
The Parents, however, are enthu-cutlets as we all know, and they start getting ready for the trip by going on diets and working twice as hard to finish off obligations before they have to leave. So about 2 weeks before the main event, The Mother comes up with a brilliant plan.
We’re sitting around the dining table during dinner and Ymasi calls me to ask about something when she asks whether I’m coming to Goa or not. So I give her the excuse that I had worked out and she’s like, “ Awww we’ll miss you then, too bad you have the Salsa festival at the same time”
Me: “Yeaa, I knowww, you guys have a blast, though.”
As I put the phone down, The Mother gushes forth her brilliant plan.
“Baby, why don’t you teach Xchacha and Ymasi the tango to perform on their anniversary party?
My first thought is the Tango?! Who is she kidding? First she thought she and The Father could learn it, you know, because they’re my parents, common genes and all. (Actually they aint so bad, they keep forgetting the steps and have to be reminded, is all) “Umm, I dunno, aah, errr, hmmm, uhhuhh, they might not, you know, be keen or like this idea, you know. “ I say, blabbering incoherently, trying to make it clear that I don’t think this is a good idea, at the same time making it clear that it is ‘wow whatte plan, ma, how do you come up with this kinda brilliant stuff?’
I’m trying very hard not to grimace yet convey my disapproval of this idea when she bursts forth with: “It can be your present to them. And anyway you’re not coming, na, so they’ll fee like a part of you is there.”
Shite! Now what do I do? So I think about it, for a whole 2 minutes and then decide, its not such a bad idea after all, its beginning to sound nice, infact its quite a brilliant plan, ma.. (Yea, I finally admit it, mother!!) So, I SMS Ymasi immediately. I get an enthu reply – ‘sounds lovely, will ask X and let you know’
(Which basically means I will tell X that you better do this cause I so so so so want to and will tell you when we can start)
A couple of days later, I get an SMS saying – ‘Yes lets do it. X has agreed.’ So I try to fix up a day/time to go for the first class. But they’re very very busy finishing off work and organizing the parties so they don’t meet me till about 10 days before the actual event. (Ofcourse, they’re leaving 2 days before that, so that means I have about 8 days totally to plan/work out a routine choose a song and teach them the basics of tango which took me 2 months to learn. I say no problem, we can do this, we’ll manage something, hopefully the people watching will be a little blindsided by the fact that it’s their anniversary. I’m hoping that this, coupled with their fondness for Xchacha and Ymasi , will rose-tint their eyes enough to not know if they mess up (or atleast not care if they do). Plus I don’t think anyone over there will know what proper authentic Argentine Tango is, so its good na?
I’m pretty enthu about this idea myself by now, so I manage to choose a short (2 mins 15 seconds) song, which they’ve heard before (from the movie “Scent Of A Woman”) and work out a basic idea of the steps I have to teach them. So I land up at their house the next day, after long SMS convos with Ymasi about not being able to make it at 7:00 p.m. so can she come at 7:30 p.m.? <“Suuuure, its your funeral…I mean anniversary.”>
Xchacha is watching TV when I get there and we start off the first class with a slightly embarrassing and uncomfortable conversation about tango, the trip and cricket. He’s embarrassed because he thinks he cant dance (which is true to a certain extent, he has a delightfully caveman-like gait to his steps, but the rhythm is in place), I’m embarrassed because after all, he is a famous actor, and even though he’s known me since birth, I haven’t really interacted with him individually. Much.
So, we start off and we’re just doing the basic steps facing each other so he gets an idea of the dance. (This is where I notice the caveman quality and grin silently to myself.) Soon we’re done with all the learning we can do in solo mode (i.e. individually, without holding your partner) and we need to try out the steps together. He’s a little uncomfortable at first; the tango is after all a very sensual dance and needs to have some kind of relationship between the dancers to happen. But I’m like a surrogate daughter to him so its kinda weird. Not a problem, we somehow manage to clumsily go over the steps.
After another excruciatingly long half hour of this, we stop –
1. Because he’s tired and there’s only so much one can digest at a time.
2. Because the cricket match is about to begin.
Oh but before we stop, Z (the son, who is my chaddi buddy) and a friend of his (A), turn up, waiting for the match to begin and insist that we try dancing in front of them. (argh, public humiliation) So we half-heartedly do the steps. Ofcourse they clap and say polite things.
Then the match starts and the three men are glued to the TV. I’m just about to lose my mind from boredom and Ymasi turns up. Now there’s no space to dance, since the living room is occupied by three currently dimwitted, hulking, overgrown schoolboys watching a number of men in white uniforms with long sleeves and full pants running around with a block of wood and a tiny little ball on a huge, “grass (i.e. dirt filled; did I mention the white uniforms?)” field.
So we shift to Z’s bedroom, which has enough free space as there is in my bathroom. Now when I’m alone in the bathroom showering, it doesn’t seem so small, so I can try out my steps, but add one more person and there is not much you can do by way of dancing; other stuff – hell yea [:-P], dancing – hell no.
So we try to dance and do the basic steps and somehow manage. Ofcourse Ymasi picks up faster, being that she’s a woman and that she is quite a graceful dancer. And ofcourse, the Bollywood-cum-Classical Indian dance ka jhatka is quite visible (and expected). (I’m feeling a little better now that I see her dance, thinking ‘this might just work out somewhat the way I want it to’)
Soon Xchacha comes in to ask her something and she, all excited, pulls him into the room to practice, which they manage to do quite well. At the end of the day, I hand over the cd with the song chosen and get them to practice to it. As I leave, I make sure they’ve gotten the steps and extract the promise to practice faithfully till the next class, which is the next day.
When we meet again the next day, they’ve somewhat forgotten the basics, but we get back on track pretty fast. This time we shift to Z’s bedroom almost immediately, since the connection to the ipod is there. Practice goes surprisingly well. Them being actors, they know how to bluff their way through an uncomfortable situation. So, when they mess up, they strike a flamboyant pose together and laugh. And it actually looks nice, even though it’s not a part of traditional Argentine tango.
So we’re more or less going along with the song now but the timing is still a little off. The thing is, in that any other dance, there are even spaced beats and a certain count, which you can follow, so you can pick up at the beginning of the bar at any time during the music. Tango, on the other hand, has music that flows and runs and dips and dances all over the place so it’s kinda difficult to follow. Plus the beat, i.e. the tempo keeps changing. The song I’ve chosen, even though it has a chorus type part, which is at one speed and the stanzas at another, making it pretty simple (comparatively) to follow. But without a proper understanding of music and musicality, you can’t really do much. All I can to is tell them to listen to the cd a couple more times and maybe the music will get into them. * Sigh *
At the end of this class, I walk out feeling a little confident that they will manage to fool the others and do a basic type performance with enough style that covers up their mistakes.
The next day, when I call to fix up the class, they aren’t able to make it. The day after that, I fall sick. The day after that, they’re not at home. The day after that, I get a call saying Xchacha is veryvery sick and therefore they will not be able to do the tango at all but they will definitely learn more when they come back from the trip.
* SIIIIGGGGHHH * Just when I thought it was going so well…
It was easier teaching these two, as compared to the other family/friend class I had. It might have something to do with teaching them as a couple. Its always easier when you have to teach a lady to respond to only her partners leads rather than get her used to dancing with a variety of people; it develops a kind of comfort level between the couple. The same is true vice versa. Also, when you have been ‘dancing’ together for 25 years (in a manner of speaking) then the other kind of dancing comes naturally.[]
However, I think it was easier, mainly because I’m not as close and as friendly with them as I am with the other biddies. Also they’re a little more professional, being actors. I hope we do continue the classes; it would be nice to see them dance together. It always gives me a little frisson of delight when I see students of mine dancing nicely. It must be the same feeling as watching your child learn to walk, eh? And when it’s someone you’re close to, (or you become friends with) the delight is even more.
I’ll keep y’all posted, there is another “Biddy” class that happened that I must chronicle. I will, very soon, I promise.
(Puts on fake, deep, TV announcers voice) “I hope you enjoyed this segment of our show, see you next time, same place, same webpage. Till then, it’s your favourite blogger, Natasha, and she’s bidding you a verrrry good night”
* Walks away, grinning widely and waving and nodding to the audience *
This particular couple had an anniversary coming up sometime ago, a 25th anniversary… Special no? So they booked a fancy-shmancy hotel in Goa and all the friends and family were supposed to fly down for the partay. I wasn’t planning to attend (personal reasons, I have a thing about going to Goa, a kind of deal I’ve made with myself and which probably only my mom knows about.)
The Parents, however, are enthu-cutlets as we all know, and they start getting ready for the trip by going on diets and working twice as hard to finish off obligations before they have to leave. So about 2 weeks before the main event, The Mother comes up with a brilliant plan.
We’re sitting around the dining table during dinner and Ymasi calls me to ask about something when she asks whether I’m coming to Goa or not. So I give her the excuse that I had worked out and she’s like, “ Awww we’ll miss you then, too bad you have the Salsa festival at the same time”
Me: “Yeaa, I knowww, you guys have a blast, though.”
As I put the phone down, The Mother gushes forth her brilliant plan.
“Baby, why don’t you teach Xchacha and Ymasi the tango to perform on their anniversary party?
My first thought is the Tango?! Who is she kidding? First she thought she and The Father could learn it, you know, because they’re my parents, common genes and all. (Actually they aint so bad, they keep forgetting the steps and have to be reminded, is all) “Umm, I dunno, aah, errr, hmmm, uhhuhh, they might not, you know, be keen or like this idea, you know. “ I say, blabbering incoherently, trying to make it clear that I don’t think this is a good idea, at the same time making it clear that it is ‘wow whatte plan, ma, how do you come up with this kinda brilliant stuff?’
I’m trying very hard not to grimace yet convey my disapproval of this idea when she bursts forth with: “It can be your present to them. And anyway you’re not coming, na, so they’ll fee like a part of you is there.”
Shite! Now what do I do? So I think about it, for a whole 2 minutes and then decide, its not such a bad idea after all, its beginning to sound nice, infact its quite a brilliant plan, ma.. (Yea, I finally admit it, mother!!) So, I SMS Ymasi immediately. I get an enthu reply – ‘sounds lovely, will ask X and let you know’
(Which basically means I will tell X that you better do this cause I so so so so want to and will tell you when we can start)
A couple of days later, I get an SMS saying – ‘Yes lets do it. X has agreed.’ So I try to fix up a day/time to go for the first class. But they’re very very busy finishing off work and organizing the parties so they don’t meet me till about 10 days before the actual event. (Ofcourse, they’re leaving 2 days before that, so that means I have about 8 days totally to plan/work out a routine choose a song and teach them the basics of tango which took me 2 months to learn. I say no problem, we can do this, we’ll manage something, hopefully the people watching will be a little blindsided by the fact that it’s their anniversary. I’m hoping that this, coupled with their fondness for Xchacha and Ymasi , will rose-tint their eyes enough to not know if they mess up (or atleast not care if they do). Plus I don’t think anyone over there will know what proper authentic Argentine Tango is, so its good na?
I’m pretty enthu about this idea myself by now, so I manage to choose a short (2 mins 15 seconds) song, which they’ve heard before (from the movie “Scent Of A Woman”) and work out a basic idea of the steps I have to teach them. So I land up at their house the next day, after long SMS convos with Ymasi about not being able to make it at 7:00 p.m. so can she come at 7:30 p.m.? <“Suuuure, its your funeral…I mean anniversary.”>
Xchacha is watching TV when I get there and we start off the first class with a slightly embarrassing and uncomfortable conversation about tango, the trip and cricket. He’s embarrassed because he thinks he cant dance (which is true to a certain extent, he has a delightfully caveman-like gait to his steps, but the rhythm is in place), I’m embarrassed because after all, he is a famous actor, and even though he’s known me since birth, I haven’t really interacted with him individually. Much.
So, we start off and we’re just doing the basic steps facing each other so he gets an idea of the dance. (This is where I notice the caveman quality and grin silently to myself.) Soon we’re done with all the learning we can do in solo mode (i.e. individually, without holding your partner) and we need to try out the steps together. He’s a little uncomfortable at first; the tango is after all a very sensual dance and needs to have some kind of relationship between the dancers to happen. But I’m like a surrogate daughter to him so its kinda weird. Not a problem, we somehow manage to clumsily go over the steps.
After another excruciatingly long half hour of this, we stop –
1. Because he’s tired and there’s only so much one can digest at a time.
2. Because the cricket match is about to begin.
Oh but before we stop, Z (the son, who is my chaddi buddy) and a friend of his (A), turn up, waiting for the match to begin and insist that we try dancing in front of them. (argh, public humiliation) So we half-heartedly do the steps. Ofcourse they clap and say polite things.
Then the match starts and the three men are glued to the TV. I’m just about to lose my mind from boredom and Ymasi turns up. Now there’s no space to dance, since the living room is occupied by three currently dimwitted, hulking, overgrown schoolboys watching a number of men in white uniforms with long sleeves and full pants running around with a block of wood and a tiny little ball on a huge, “grass (i.e. dirt filled; did I mention the white uniforms?)” field.
So we shift to Z’s bedroom, which has enough free space as there is in my bathroom. Now when I’m alone in the bathroom showering, it doesn’t seem so small, so I can try out my steps, but add one more person and there is not much you can do by way of dancing; other stuff – hell yea [:-P], dancing – hell no.
So we try to dance and do the basic steps and somehow manage. Ofcourse Ymasi picks up faster, being that she’s a woman and that she is quite a graceful dancer. And ofcourse, the Bollywood-cum-Classical Indian dance ka jhatka is quite visible (and expected). (I’m feeling a little better now that I see her dance, thinking ‘this might just work out somewhat the way I want it to’)
Soon Xchacha comes in to ask her something and she, all excited, pulls him into the room to practice, which they manage to do quite well. At the end of the day, I hand over the cd with the song chosen and get them to practice to it. As I leave, I make sure they’ve gotten the steps and extract the promise to practice faithfully till the next class, which is the next day.
When we meet again the next day, they’ve somewhat forgotten the basics, but we get back on track pretty fast. This time we shift to Z’s bedroom almost immediately, since the connection to the ipod is there. Practice goes surprisingly well. Them being actors, they know how to bluff their way through an uncomfortable situation. So, when they mess up, they strike a flamboyant pose together and laugh. And it actually looks nice, even though it’s not a part of traditional Argentine tango.
So we’re more or less going along with the song now but the timing is still a little off. The thing is, in that any other dance, there are even spaced beats and a certain count, which you can follow, so you can pick up at the beginning of the bar at any time during the music. Tango, on the other hand, has music that flows and runs and dips and dances all over the place so it’s kinda difficult to follow. Plus the beat, i.e. the tempo keeps changing. The song I’ve chosen, even though it has a chorus type part, which is at one speed and the stanzas at another, making it pretty simple (comparatively) to follow. But without a proper understanding of music and musicality, you can’t really do much. All I can to is tell them to listen to the cd a couple more times and maybe the music will get into them. * Sigh *
At the end of this class, I walk out feeling a little confident that they will manage to fool the others and do a basic type performance with enough style that covers up their mistakes.
The next day, when I call to fix up the class, they aren’t able to make it. The day after that, I fall sick. The day after that, they’re not at home. The day after that, I get a call saying Xchacha is veryvery sick and therefore they will not be able to do the tango at all but they will definitely learn more when they come back from the trip.
* SIIIIGGGGHHH * Just when I thought it was going so well…
It was easier teaching these two, as compared to the other family/friend class I had. It might have something to do with teaching them as a couple. Its always easier when you have to teach a lady to respond to only her partners leads rather than get her used to dancing with a variety of people; it develops a kind of comfort level between the couple. The same is true vice versa. Also, when you have been ‘dancing’ together for 25 years (in a manner of speaking) then the other kind of dancing comes naturally.[]
However, I think it was easier, mainly because I’m not as close and as friendly with them as I am with the other biddies. Also they’re a little more professional, being actors. I hope we do continue the classes; it would be nice to see them dance together. It always gives me a little frisson of delight when I see students of mine dancing nicely. It must be the same feeling as watching your child learn to walk, eh? And when it’s someone you’re close to, (or you become friends with) the delight is even more.
I’ll keep y’all posted, there is another “Biddy” class that happened that I must chronicle. I will, very soon, I promise.
(Puts on fake, deep, TV announcers voice) “I hope you enjoyed this segment of our show, see you next time, same place, same webpage. Till then, it’s your favourite blogger, Natasha, and she’s bidding you a verrrry good night”
* Walks away, grinning widely and waving and nodding to the audience *
Saturday, 21 April 2007
The Ranting Room
In my dream house, I have a soundproof room which has one padded wall which I can bang my head against when I'm angry.
It also has a lot of old furniture, made out of different kinds of woods, (some that break easily and others that dont) that I can throw around and stamp on.
It has a soft comfy bed, lots of fatty things to eat, a HUMONGOUS box of tissues, and tons of squashy pillows that I lay against and cry my heart out.
It has sheaves of paper and pen that I can scribble on and a big waste paper basket to throw my work in after I'm done ranting.
It has a huge fireplace in the middle so I can burn things to my hearts content and let out the pyromaniac in me to roast..err...i mean roost.
It has a bevy of excercise machines so that by working out I can let out my anger/frustration AND become thin and sexy.
It DEFINITELY has a computer with a fast internet speed and tons of space to store music, so that I can play it at full blast while ranting on my blog or to my friends.
Some days are beautiful. But there come some days in a persons life when they want a room like this one to let out their anger and disappointment at life.
It also has a lot of old furniture, made out of different kinds of woods, (some that break easily and others that dont) that I can throw around and stamp on.
It has a soft comfy bed, lots of fatty things to eat, a HUMONGOUS box of tissues, and tons of squashy pillows that I lay against and cry my heart out.
It has sheaves of paper and pen that I can scribble on and a big waste paper basket to throw my work in after I'm done ranting.
It has a huge fireplace in the middle so I can burn things to my hearts content and let out the pyromaniac in me to roast..err...i mean roost.
It has a bevy of excercise machines so that by working out I can let out my anger/frustration AND become thin and sexy.
It DEFINITELY has a computer with a fast internet speed and tons of space to store music, so that I can play it at full blast while ranting on my blog or to my friends.
Some days are beautiful. But there come some days in a persons life when they want a room like this one to let out their anger and disappointment at life.
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