Here’s what my two-year stint in Delhi taught me about Bollywood Punjabi music: There’s really nothing better to dance to. My carefully cultivated persona of an indie music enthusiast who turns her nose up at dhinchak music would crumble at the first dhol beat. It was keeping this in mind that I decided to attend a Bollywood dance workshop at the Taj Coromandel for World Dance Day.
At the ballroom of the hotel I felt as though I had waltzed onto the sets of Joe Wright’s Pride and Prejudice . Soft carpets, chandeliers and me in my kurta-jhola-patrakar get-up; I couldn’t have been more out of place. Our trainer, Miral Durlabhji of the Shiamak Davar dance troupe, however, made us feel welcome with his easy smile and light jokes.
We began with a session where we were taught different positions: second ballet, jazz hands, et al. Easy enough, right? Wrong. Turns out the first session was just the precursor to an intense 15-minute cardio that followed, composed of non-stop jiggles, hip swivels, thumkas , bhangra , squats and pelvic thrusts to unrelenting music.
Durlabhji had transformed into a drill master, marching up and down the rows to scream into our ears, “Show some energy, guys!” My entire college life could have been condensed into those 15 minutes: from wanting to impress the sensei to just hoping he wouldn’t look so I could cheat my way through.
“This is 20% of what we do in dance classes. It flexes and tones every muscle. But you’re having so much fun dancing, that you don’t even realise time flying by!” he says. (No Miral, my cheese-loving bottom was painfully aware of every minute.)
After the workout, we started learning the moves to ‘Mundiya’, a fast-paced bhangra song from Baaghi 2 . “Bollywood is all about the expressions and attitude,” instructs Durlabhji . The swag of the song should reflect in your posture and on your face — being awkward or shy is not an option. Another tip I found to be quite handy is to ignore the blatantly sexist lyrics, common to most good dance songs, and let the rhythm wash over you instead. So there I was, channelling my inner nautanki , and dancing like no one’s watching...No one other than the hundreds watching us fumble live on Facebook.
Durlabhji patiently taught us the hand movements and the footwork while reminding us to keep smiling. I was quite tempted to take a page out of Phoebe Buffay’s book and groove to my own tune. But I’m glad I stuck it out because the experience of putting up a well-executed performance was cathartic.
Durlabhji says it best: “Dance is how you speak to the world.” I agree. For most of my life, dance has been a way to vent; the only way to show people that I’m not as serious as I look. To put it simply, it's a way to say, “I can have fun too.” To Durlabhji ’s credit, he turned a ragtag group of newbies into people who could dance without losing a beat. I walked away from that class with aching calves, a content smile, a smidgen more respect for Tiger Shroff and a mental note to join a gym.
