Indian monsoons have a romance in them…a rhythm…. Every drop of rain brings something alive in this universe….. In our souls…..
It makes me want to dance….. Like a peacock…..
Made me want to bring out the rhythmic bells buried deep under layers of past…..
Made me want to bring that part of me back…. Made me long….. To don them again and sway… Whirl and twirl…… A flick of a wrist here….. A sharp turn of the head there….
The grey overcast skies were filled with music for me….. They made me miss my gurus….. Miss the art form which I never could invest much time in……
Took me back 25+ years into my childhood….
To a katha pan dibbi…. to the beats of the tabla and Dubki……
To my first ghungroos…..
To wide pajama clad feet and katha stained hands who showed us how to do the tatkaar and how Radha would walk and how Krishna would break her gagri…..
The fresh cool breeze of the rains took me down recent memory lanes….. To a place called Gurukul….(http://www.gurukuldubai.com) ….. To a mesmerizing lady called Pali Chandra who reminded me how it felt to don the ghungroos again….. How free one feels to lose oneself in the dance of Krishna ….. Who showed how there is a sharpness yet fluidity in each movement of Kathak…..who spoke of the importance of abhinaya through just her eyes…..
As I took the revered bells out again….. A tear tried to break free and trickle down….. Just to pay homage to my gurus….. Homage to the art form which has been forced to move back into the recesses of my life….. To pay homage to that part of me which longs to break free into a rhythm….
One day for sure I will get back to it…. I will dance….. One day……
Soul Boheme 