Dancing Queen — Part 1
It was the first thought that came to her as she woke up. He was gone. And, soon, this bedroom, the house in whose eastern corner it sat, and the tiny garden outside with its gnarled old red hibiscus and the half-grown mango tree they had planted together, all those would be gone as well. It was the strangest feeling ever. She pulled her miserable self out of the bed, bundled her greasy, brown hair into a messy bun and looked around. Nothing had changed, except her heavy heart whose burden had got colossal this morning. The old blue lamp still sat on the left side of her bed, next to that old rusty photo frame. She picked up the photograph and a thin line of smile appeared at the corner of her dry lips. It was taken in the summer when she had turned six. It was the same summer when for the very first time she had performed on an actual stage. He had carried her in his arms and there she was flashing her wide smile with a missing tooth in front, proudly holding that gigantic trophy.
She remembered now, how nervous she was that day, dressed in that lacy, pink frock, practicing her moves and swinging from left to right, anxiously shifting her weight from one foot to another. Her blue eyes were waiting desperately for him until she saw the familiar brown shoes treading towards her from behind the curtains of backstage. How ecstatic she was when the brown shoes slowly unwrapped himself into his tall figure with that classic calm demeanor. She could still feel the tranquility that almost always flowed out of him, allowing people around to imbibe it like a slow drug. She remembered how his long, bony fingers touched her short hair, smiled at her agitated self, bent down and slowly whispered into her ears, “Are you scared Ria?”
With a clumsy, nervous smile she had nodded and muttered, “Yes, there are too many people out there, watching me”.
He smiled and said, “Yes, they will see you, some will clap for you others will judge you and few others might resent you. But, when you go on that stage you just look for me. No matter where you are, what you do, look for me deep in your heart, you will always find this old man watching her dancing queen!”
A sudden crackling at her window, brought her back to her stale, murky room. It was the unexpected November rains sputtering against the window pane. She dabbed her moist eyes, picked herself up and opened the window. Outside the sky had turned purple, suffocating with the huge, floating masses of dark clouds. The half-grown mango tree in the front tried to wrap itself with its wet, mushy leaves while its branches battled with the rustic wind.
Tiny droplets of rainwater settled at her dry cheek, and for a moment she wished she could camouflage into the misty clouds, drown in the hazy rain, or be swallowed in the dark shadow under the mango tree, like there could be a way to simply melt into this hot, salty stream of water that trickled down her cheeks again and again. With a strange bewilderment, she thrust the windows shut, almost waking the cuckoo bird in the attic. It was the voices. She could hear them echoing again in her head. The same voices that were tracing their way back from the past year. The hushed voices mingled with soft sobs of her mom that pierced her ears in the midst of thunder on another rainy day of November.
A year back in November.
It was 2:00 am in London and Ria was fast asleep. A message blinked on Ria’s phone, “Call ASAP. It’s urgent, -Mom”. A couple of minutes passed and another message blinked, “Call me please. It’s about papa.” A couple of minutes later the phone buzzed again. This time it was a call from mom.
Confused and still in sleep, Ria picked up her cell and said, “What is it Mom? Why are you calling at this time? By the way it is still midnight here.”
A tensed voice replied from the other end, “It’s about papa Ria. He is not well.”
Ria : “What do you mean he is not well. He might be sick, but he will take care of himself. He is a doctor Mom, he knows best what to do.”
The voice at the other end broke and in between the soft sobs, she said, “You do not understand Ria. He wants to see you. He doesn’t have much time. Please come back soon”. Outside the brazen wind blew with the savage rain and deafening thunder in London.
The trip from London to Delhi turned out to be the longest trip for Ria and the most difficult one as well. It took her 3 days to take off from work and arrange a flight back home. Secretly, she wished it would have taken longer, for her heart still required more convincing of what was happening. She still didn’t have the nerve to call him for she knew she was not ready to hear what he might tell her. She could simply imagine him telling her the harrowing truth in the most nonchalant way, probably smiling helplessly with his thin, dry lips. For she knew, her father was incapable of only one thing in the world which was lying to her. Shuddered by the thought of it, she wrapped herself with her blue shawl as she waited for the flight at Heathrow.
As she looked around the airport, the swarm of people around her reminded her of the first time she came to London. It was about 4 years ago. She was 19, when she got a call from The Royal Ballet School of London. The unexpected had happened. She still remembers the butterflies growling in her stomach when she first broke the news in front of her parents. Her mom panicked, while he just sat there, running his hand through his silver hair, rolling his twinkling eyes, eyeing her, “I told you!” She remembered how they had both hugged each other, no words were exchanged, for the warm sniffles and hot tears spoke beyond what words could suffice. The world had taken a swing for Ria, and she was enjoying the ride. For everybody knew, and often laughed, that since the day she first pulled herself on her tiny feet to stand upright, instead of taking a step forward, she took a spin. And so till date, all she wanted to do was spin and swirl and dance. Her rhythmic pursuit happened to be her first love.
She would dreamily picture herself on a gigantic stage, beneath the radiant, white spotlight, in a beautiful white shimmer dress and lacy shoes, shining like diamonds. In the midst of the glitter, there she would see herself taking those smooth, flawless allegro, gliding across the stage, diving in the bright, silver light showcasing the most gracious ballet performer the world had yet to discover. However, all of this seemed impossible just a few years back, especially after the spring when adolescence had just greeted Ria.
Sometimes, looking at the mirror, Ria still sees her 12 year old self in her reflection. She can still see the same shy, slim, awkward girl with disheveled hair, anxiously staring at her from beyond the thick pair of glasses, standing in front of the washbasin in her bathroom back home. Looking down the mirror, she could still see her khaki shorts, hanging down her lean figure with the abhorrent yet conspicuous gap under her left side, where her left leg should have been.
She could see the anger and resentment that 12 year old Ria felt, pouring uncontrollably through her eyes. She could see how the young girl in the mirror struggled to look at her reflection; how she felt her life was bent with an insurmountable burden. She couldn’t help but notice the constant pain that embodied in the young girl’s soul. Perhaps it was the stench of guilt that followed her everywhere that pained the most. Whenever Ria saw her young, miserable self, she was tempted to tell her that her life will not be as she was thinking right now, that it was time to let go, for the future Ria has seen how the world awaits her. She wanted to tell her what happened in that spring was nobody’s fault. It was an accident that was meant to occur. No one can be blamed for that. No one else but her could have saved her dear friend Molly that day. For young Ria was screaming at Molly, but the dandy, pink headphones had shut Molly out from the world. She couldn’t see the speeding truck on the road. The truck was closing in and there was no time to contemplate the consequences. For even if they were any, Ria had no choice. She had to run and so she did.
