My head spins. The garba dancers, orchestra artistes and the sweet sellers whirl around me as I struggle to look graceful in the flowing ghagra choli, a tricky dress that can very well be the undoing of you. Step on it and there goes your dignity and grace for a toss. I almost caused an accident as I giddily crashed into an elderly gentleman. His look said: “Its okay, beta. You are new to this. But, try not to hurt yourself and others.”
Navratri celebration are in full swing at the Gujarati Samaj. Pretty girls and dashing boys are dancing and I struggle to keep up with the mind-boggling footwork and graceful sways of my fellow dancers.
“It’s all about the rhythm. Pay attention to the music,” whispers Divya, an extremely patient and sweet garba teacher. An epitome of poise, she is a striking contrast to me. She has been dancing for two hours now in her heavy lehenga. Sweat trickles down her face and neck, but that does not take away her charming smile! It’s not good for my ego to dance next to her!
Maybe, I should stick to the kids’s section. But, these fledglings, wrapped in garments twice as heavy as them, are as good.
And, to think I assumed I could learn the steps overnight. I thought my training in Bharatanatyam would help me sizzle like Aishwarya Rai in ‘Dhol Baje’! Forget her, sprightly sixty-year-old nanis are far graceful than I ever will be. I should have paid more attention to my Gujarati friend’s warning when she said, “It is going to be super-exhausting. Brace yourself.”
Just as I am about to give up, Pallavi Kotecha, a trained garba dancer and choreographer, comes to my rescue. “Don’t worry. It is all a matter of footwork. First get your steps right and then focus on the rhythm,” she tells me as I give her an “ëasy-for-you-to-say” look. Pallavi reassures me that it is natural to find it difficult to learn garba over night and that girls like Divya trained in garba even before they could talk in full sentences. “Garba is so seeped into our culture and day- to-day life. Everyone, from children to elders and grandparents dance during this time of the year. And, we stick to the traditional dance, and not the adulterated one you see in movies.”
Pallavi specialises in choreographing wedding dances, but during the four months leading up to Navratri, she focuses just on her garba classes. Pallavi and Divya give me a crash course in spinning, clapping and staying on my feet before we head to the dining hall for reviving plates of idlis, sambar and chutney. Pallavi warns me not to stuff myself. “Beats will get faster as the night advances.” So I resist the kulfi and instead indulge in just a soft dabeli, as I watch Pallavi ticking off a girl for not wearing a ghaghra.
Ghaghra is compulsory. That’s an unwritten rule. There are boutiques selling the Gujarati garments and jewellery in the city. “You must come here on the final day (October 11). It becomes so crowded that one has to jostle for space. This is a great break from routine, work and stress. We look forward to this so much,” says Pallavi.
It is almost midnight by the time we get back to the garba circle. But, no one is in a mood to stop. The kids sit in the middle of the circle and play catch-and- catch with rubber balls, while their parents dance away, move around with video cameras and pray to the gods. As the night progresses, the garba circle gets bigger, and the music louder.
By, now the beats are familiar, the faces friendlier. I am a little more graceful than I was at the start of the evening. My photographer friends are socialising with five-year-olds, who demand a peek into their DSLRs. A college kid asks me to stand next to him for a picture. “I have always wanted to pose with a journalist,” he smiles.
I look at my watch. It’s way past my bedtime. But, I think I will garba for a few more hours. As they say, the night is still young.
