The Awkward Chronicles: The story of the un-Indian Indian. Chapter 2
Chapter 2: Dance and Indian Parties

Ask your token Indian friend- every Indian girl has done some form of Indian dance/music/cultural activity at some point in her life.  For many people, it was their parents forcing them to do it in order to 'know their roots'. 

But for me, it was about a motorcycle. 

Ok ok ok so it wasn't EXACTLY a motorcycle.   It was a more like...a scooter.  Which is definitely not as cool as a motorcycle (especially for narrative purposes), but to a sheltered 7 year old Indian kid from southern California with a paranoid mother, any form of transportation that didn't require the use of seatbelts and a rooftop was pretty much the coolest thing ever.  It was my second trip to India (but the first one I could remember) and all I wanted to do was ride in the newly discovered awesomeness which was the scooter. 

Now the thing is that in order to ride a scooter, you actually had to GO somewhere.  Although I couldn't understand why people just didn't ride around all day on their scooters (because if I had access to gods gift to mankind that's definitely what I would have done), I decided not to question social norms and just go with it.  So where did I end up going?  I ended up going to my cousin's daily Indian dance class. 

Now I know what you're thinking- who wouldn't fall in love with the Indian beats right? You've probably heard the killer bhangra beats, or awesome Bollywood songs right?  Yeah, I'm a total fan.  But here's the thing, the dance class my cousin went to was more...classical.  If it had an American equivalent it would probably be...ballet.  (Yeah try grinding to that next time you're at the club).  Needless to say, to a 7 year old, it wasn't the most fascinating thing in the world.  Does that mean I stopped going? Oh hell no- I already expressed my undying love for the scooter remember? So I persisted- every day enduring the gruelling hour and a half of foot falling asleep while Indian dance watching, in order to exprience the 15 minutes of bliss on the way home.

Then, the last week I was India, my cousin had a dance recital.  By this time everyone thougt I was in love with dance and assumed that I would want front row seats (although I really didn't want to go because..well... we were WALKING there..pshhh...WHY would I want to go??)  But since the adults were big, and they controlled when I would get to eat my food and any subsequent scooter rides, I quietly acquiesced.  And well, lets just say I was in for a total shock.  I saw the costumes, and the live musicians, and the whole shin dig together (not just bits and pieces of it during practice) and...yeah...NOW I was in love.  It was at 57th sight! 

That's when I started pestering my mom to sign me up for Indian dance class.  See, I think my parents are really fucking smart people.  Because they made me wait for it- they had me begging, and crying, and pestering for a whole YEAR before they actually signed me up.  So right from the get go, I was like..this had better be the fucking coolest thing on the planet because I used up my hard earned crying/pestering points for this one- (it was between dance and Girl Scouts, and damn those cookies were fucking delicious)  But luckily for me, it was.  Dance class was the shit.  Probably because I was also good at it- other parents forced their kids to practice every week.  THey'd come in every week with stories of how many hours their parents would make them practice.  I'd usually have to lie and make something up- because the truth was my parents could care less, and I just practiced in my head, in the car, on the way to practice. 

And that's how my love affair with dance started.  Now Fast forward to college.  College was a whole new dance world.  Especially for Indian dance. 

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Chapter 2: Indian Dance and Indian Parties