Dancing blues

Act 1 Scene 1 – time 6:00 PM –At Home – quality time with my 3 year old daughter Nia.
We are watching TV (what else?!) and Nia catches a scene from a recent movie - Jodhaa Akbar - Hrithik Roshan wearing some kind of a crown. Nia’s immediate response “Look Mamma – he is wearing a crown like God. Is Hrithik God?” Fearing the wrath of the 1001 idols of Gods that adorn our house, I shush her. “No sweetheart, he is only playing the role of a king and so he has the crown” But Nia in her heart is convinced – “I think he IS God mamma!” and with great reverence, stands in front of the TV set, hands folded (can't really blame the child can I!!) My typical response where I feel foxed – “go ask your paati (grandmother) about Gods" who coincidentally is in the middle of her evening prayers!

Act 1: Scene 2- Tine 7:30 PM – At a fitness Centre - My first Bolloywood dance class
BIG mistake. To begin with – I am the only 30+ overweight person there. And Bollywood dancing seems to be the code word for “ridiculously fast-paced aerobics” which I wanted to avoid in the first place and hence this class. I feel like Gwyneth Paltrow out of Shallow Hal (except that is is NOT a fatsuit that I am wearing!).Turn in whatever direction, there is a monstrous mirror throwing this depressing scene back at you! Certainly not a good place to be in after my latest resolution to feel good about myself and my body. God! I had no idea Bollywood dancing is such a killer. Anyway, after 32 dislocations and complete exhaustion, I practically roll out of the class, promising myself that I shall try it out for another month before calling it quits! Beginnings of masochism?

Act 1 Scene 3 – Time 10:00 PM – Back at home - getting Nia to bed.
We have this little pillow talk every night – my baby and I - kinda talking about how the day was. As Nia drifts off to sleep, I can hear here little murmur, “Mamma, Hrithik Roshan is not God” I think about Hirthik making his moves on the dance floor and then I think about my own experience of Bollywood dancing. And as I pat my little darling to sleep, I murmur back, “He probably is love, he probably is!”