We waited for all eight of us to assemble for practice. The youngest two of the dancers called in sick. The rest of us looked at each other in dismay as the program was just a week away, and we had learnt this item just two days back. But, well, we assured ourselves, there was at least a week. So we had hope.
As we finished the rehearsal for the day and chatted up, the topic of the girls being unwell came up. We wondered if they would get better by the program date, and someone suddenly said, “Oh come! You have done it. I am sure they can too!”
Yes, I had done the amazing thing, and now – in retrospect – I wonder how!
August 2007. My dance class conducted its 25th anniversary program. I had begged off as coordinating group practice was becoming a nightmare because of my children – I wouldn’t be able to rope my mother in to care for them at the specified time. But, as fate would have it, two of the dancers who were part of the show developed trouble with their knees and had to beg off. Finally, one of the ladies coordinating the show requested me to step in as, for one specific item, they needed a senior dancer and they had exhausted all options.
I agreed, thinking it was but one item. Little did I know what I was letting myself in for. It was extremely complicated and needed group learning so that we could all put our learnings together to make sense of this piece on Shiva. We started practice, and as the timings were erratic, I finally surrendered my children and me to my mother. I had also joined driving classes and would rush off in the mornings for that. It just made better sense to stay with them.
Two weeks before the program, end of July, I developed fever and shivering. I rarely fall sick, fever – once in a blue moon! I tried to will it away, took a Crocin to keep me going. But, to my utter horror, I realised that I was taking a tablet every once in three hours! And everytime, the fever returned touching 104. Shivering accompanied it. I had to give in and find a doctor. I went to a highly recommended GP nearby. She wrote all tests, and even got malarial test done in her own clinic. All negative. Oh, the usual viral – both of us smiled at each other.
Virals last for three days, right? I could wait it out. Meanwhile, I continued practice, taking Crocin.
Ten days later, the fever showed no signs of abating. I couldn’t back out of the program because, one, of course, I expected to recover. But even when it continued, I couldn’t because no one else could have fitted into the group at this stage.
Depression is not a word that I associate myself with. But that is how I felt those. All tests came negative. Antibiotics were ineffective, and the second GP I went to in fact fretted that I had suffered for so long and was still talking of performing in two days. Every three hours, I continued to shiver and get fever. I was ineffective at home, leaving the caring of my children to my mother. I couldn’t attend rehearsals, except for going for the ones with the orchestra.
On the program day, I had to trust Dolo 65 to see me through. I took one before sitting down for make up. I wore the costume and started my warming up exercises – something I am sometimes not diligent about, but that day, it was critical that I be in form. The program started – mine would come later. I watched everybody go on stage and perform with aplomb, their practice showing in the flow of movements. I stood still, wondering if I was going to stand out like sore thumb. I started feeling nervous though others around me tried to smile in encouragement. The organisers thought I was a filler at best that day. Even I was not so worried about the fever per se as whether my posture would be right and if I would be able to hold the mudras correctly. In Bharatnatyam, half-sitting is very important, and even on a good day, it can defeat dancers. Today, I was sure I would be unable to maintain it and will probably stand through the item as others executed the arai-mandi perfectly.
I went on stage as we took positions in the dark. The raga was played and the lights came on slowly. I flowed with the music. As my guru said the jathi, the legs moved in rhythm with the rest. Suddenly, I was expressing my surrender to Lord Shiva, and indeed, I felt totally one with Him, seeking His guidance to carry me through this. I was one with the music, one with the other dancers, and as a team, we delivered. Where was the pain, the fear, the insecurity? I had forgotten it all as I let the music wash over me and my body respond.
The pain came later, but so did appreciation for not letting a physical limitation take over my dance. Those who didn’t know I had danced under these circumstances were surprised and said that they wouldn’t have guessed it if I hadn’t mentioned.
My son fell sick as I recovered. He had typhoid. Just as he recovered three weeks later, I had a relapse. This time, typhoid and malaria came positive.
Maybe it was God’s way of saying I must do the show. If it had come positive the first time, I would have backed out of the show.
I wouldn’t have known the power of music and dance on the human body.
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