Like any North Indian family, mine has believed in big celebrations filled with music and dance. The reader might consider that to be an expensive way of living. I would like to clarify this thought of the reader by specifying that our celebrations were often in ordinary households with hand done decorations, and our musical performers were none other than the youngest generation of the gathering. Older members with musical talents, like my mother and aunt for example, also often volunteered to perform, but for my generation participation was not a choice, nor was it contingent on one’s skill. It was simply a (in many cases forced) way of life. Additionally, while many older members of the family would simply sing, the young ones were always recommended to do the far more embarrassing act (in the case that you were untalented) of dancing.
And untalented I was. I was reasonably good at singing (albeit, nothing compared to my current humble self) and could hold my own in a group medley or individual song. However, while that made my parents incredibly proud, it was not enough for my extended family. You see, some of my cousins could not sing, but were incredibly fond of dancing. Even those who did not take a specific interest in dance still boasted a reasonable degree of athleticism, far more than my bookworm self could showcase, at any rate. And thus, it was the most obvious conclusion of the grandmothers and aunts of the family that the children must dance, for anything else would simply not showcase their skills enough, and would leave the audience finding the evening of celebrations rather un-celebratory.
Now, I had nothing against asking the children who wanted to dance, to dance. But why ask me, when I clearly had a better talent at singing, and would merely look like an embarrassed round gloop of fat, desperately trying to match the movements of others? If I didn’t know better, it would seem like an almost sadistic request of my elders, simply made to show certain children of the family in better light. I remember my mother recently telling me that any form of art in its purest form is meant to ‘express’, not ‘impress’. I wish my extended family realized that too.
Regardless, these are all thoughts I have developed in my recent years of adulthood, by when our family culture of singing and dancing had surprisingly dwindled. Of course, it had to dwindle, when I finally reached the stratified level of singing well enough to perform in front of crowds to thundering applause, and had finally begun to acquire some semblance in the art of dance. Fate, I tell you.
Anyway, I digress. What I meant to say (since I am writing, is ‘say’ the right word to use?) is that during my childhood, I never realized that I was being put into an unfair position, with my worth being determined by my skill in something I wasn’t even interested in. I simply believed myself to be inferior to my extroverted cousins, and would end every family gathering with a feeling of reticence and low self-esteem. Not only would my lack of motivation to dance be called into question, but also my preference for reading over dressing up, and my preference for playing video games over going out for parties. In hindsight, I am baffled by the fact that I even took such absurd critique seriously! But such is the shortcoming of most Indian families; comparisons of every shape and form are required to rear their ugly heads at every given moment. I am fortunate I only needed to deal with them during our extended family gatherings, and never in my daily life. (I love you, my dear parents!)
I digressed, once again! My main point is that I was often shy and underconfident about dancing in front of my family back then. I remember one particular gathering, where the dancing was taken to the next level. In lieu of an uncle’s seventieth birthday, we were to have a larger and grander celebration than usual, with family members from further reaches of the family tree being called in. This resulted in me being asked to do a group dance with three of my cousins, two of whom were trained in dance, and the third of whom did gymnastics. Of course.
I remember being incredibly self-conscious while learning the dance with them, and struggling to keep up. I wasn’t able to learn the steps as quickly, and even when I did, I found them looking shabby. To top it all off, I was so lost in my lack of confidence that I was the only one who didn’t contribute to the choreography. However, when the time for the performance came, I tried giving it my best, despite everything.
I always recalled this moment, and every other moment I had been asked to dance in a family setting, as an embarrassment and a personal shortcoming. I found myself recalling this incident once again today. However, a certain puzzle block deep inside my heart seemed to have fallen into place, because I found myself looking back on the incident with a completely different perspective this time: I was proud. I was proud of myself for not shying away from performing, despite how uncomfortable it made me. I was proud of the fact that I still tried my best, knowing that my best was not enough. I was proud of the fact that I sporadically and secretly practiced dancing for years, because being inadequate in something did not make me give up; it encouraged me to work harder.
Perhaps I do have something to thank my extended family for after all!