Chasing a Dream - Part 1

"Plea, passe, kick, passe again, and then you put the foot down"

Our dance instructor, Shweta, yelled as she walked around the class, observing everyone like a hawk. I love our instructor, she had acquired the perfect balance in every aspect of teaching - strict yet understanding, funny yet serious, confident yet humble. She's also very inspiring. At the age of 23, she left her high flying job as the HR manager in an MNC to pursue dancing.

Yet, she scares me to death.

I checked my feet again to see if they're in parallel, if my legs were in a proper plea and if my passe looked messy as she came around behind me. I know we learn slowly, and perfection cannot be attained overnight, but the adamant part of my brain always orders me to be overly harsh on myself. Especially when my instructor is around. Especially because, she's the one whose going to promote me to the next level. 

We were doing a lyrical jazz routine this month. The pace was semi-quick and there were various extensions placed at different points of the song. Shweta told us that the extensions were the main part and everything else was mainly filler and was meant to prepare us for the extensions. After a few classes, I realized that I was pretty good at the filler part and sucked at the extensions. Each time I stretched my leg towards the ceiling, I looked like an imbalanced Kung Fu Panda.

I'm quite flexible but I struggle a lot when it comes to balancing oneself in a particular position. I always:

1) Fall down

2) Wobble like a jelly to find my center.

3) Shake my hands around me like I'm drowning. 

I'm struggling right now too. Shweta noticed me hopping around like a madman and walked towards me.

"You need to squeeze your thighs and hips together when you're in a passe position, it helps you to place your weight in your center", she said as she lifted up my arms and tried to straighten my back. I nodded stupidly and tried to follow her instructions. It worked for a second and then I was back to my wobbly self again.

We continued to practice the routine for the remaining part of the class. At the end of it, I was only 0.1% better. 

We gathered around Shweta outside the studio after the class had ended, for a 5 minute chat session. It was a ritual that we followed. After the class got over, everyone was supposed to pick their stuff up and talk to the instructor about that day's class. 

"So guys, do you like this month's routine?", she asked in a cheerful voice. She transforms herself into a completely different person outside the studio.

Everyone murmured a soft 'yes', as though it would camouflage their real sentiment towards the routine. Shweta looked at us and grinned, "I know it's a little tough but you'll get used to it. It's just been 3 classes so far. You need to realize how important extensions are in lyrical jazz"

Again, everyone nodded but hardly seemed convinced. Shweta shook her head lightly and moved on to another topic, "Anyway, so there's an important announcement. As you all know, the summer workshop is approaching and it will begin in two weeks. Registrations are open now and you can come to either me or the studio manager to register yourself"

As though someone had just turned on a yellow light bulb, everyone's faces switched from sulky, tired expressions to 'yay-fun-time!' expressions in a split second. A soft buzz grew within the group, which soon escalated to a loud chatter. Workshops are indeed, fun times. We're taught a choreography which we ultimately go and perform on stage. It's a huge event because all batches, levels and classes perform and there's always a large audience (mostly parents) who come to watch the show. 

I had so far been in one workshop and it had really helped me evolve, both as a dancer and a person. God only knows, my fear of the stage was almost palpable before I performed. Even on the day of the performance, I was shivering like an old typhoid patient who had just walked out of the ICU.

We asked a few more basic questions, and then slowly started dispersing. As I was walking towards the main gate, I thought of the wonderful two months that lay ahead. IF I took part in the workshop. And then I thought of my parents. My hopes plummeted. They were already quite pissed with me, due to my grand revelation. I don't think they'd allow me to participate again.

I had almost reached the main gate when someone called out my name, "Shruti!", I turned around to see a boy in my class, I forgot his name, striding towards me. I looked at him confusedly, 'Yeah?"

"Shruti, right?"

I rolled my eyes, "Yep"

He grinned, "You're going to be promoted soon"

Something in my stomach just did a somersault, "How do you know?"

"I just heard Shweta discussing a few names with our co-instructor. She said you, Neha, Rajat and Meera, might get promoted after the workshop"

Before I could help it, my face broke into a huge, toothy smile and I almost jumped, "Finally! About time. I've been in this batch for almost a year now"

I thanked him for giving me the information and with the smile still plastered on my face, walked out of the main gate. But, suddenly a thought struck me. If Shweta said I might get promoted after the workshop, that means I will have to participate in it in order to finalize the promotion. 

I will have to convince my parents now. At any cost. 

Deceptive dreams

Everywhere she looked, she saw destruction. It was an ugly sight; but something else bothered her even more – how exactly had she come here?

The last thing that she remembered was falling asleep in class, she felt like she was falling into a dark, black well, and she kept falling until she hit the bottom. Then she woke up to find herself surrounded with mass destruction. Dead bodies lay unceremoniously like ragged dolls. Massive holes in the building seemed like deadpan eyes boring into hers. The ceiling looked like it would fall down any second.

She looked down at herself. Her salwaar was torn in many places, and so was her kurta. Her lower lip bled and her abdomen felt like it had just been hit by a truck. What happened, she wondered once again, trying to collect her scattered thoughts. She took a step ahead, and excruciating pain pulsed through her leg. She pulled her lips in tightly to stop the scream that was threatening to burst out from her mouth.

Trying her best to think logically and rationally, she decided to fix her leg before taking another step. She slowly pulled her bloody, torn salwaar up. There was a deep, long cut along her lower leg. It was bleeding profusely and it wouldn’t be long before she bled to death if it were to be left unattended. Shit, she quickly tore a part of her kurta and tried to tie it around her leg. The bleeding didn’t stop.

She realized she was standing amongst at least 30 dead, fully clothed corpses, which included her class teacher. Tears stung her eyes at the thought of what she was going to do, but her survival instincts had kicked in and she knew she’d have to do whatever it took to get out of here. She slowly walked towards where her teacher lay, careful not to step on anyone. Upon reaching her teacher’s corpse, she breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her partly torn duppatta still draped across her chest.

She pulled it up and tied it tightly around her leg to maintain the pressure on the wound. After taking one last glance at her class, or the class that was, she turned around and walked out of the class.

But the sight that greeted her outside was a 5 times magnification of what she had witnessed inside. It looked like a heinous genocide. Bodies were everywhere. Not just murdered, but brutally murdered. Some had been impaled multiple times, some had their heads chopped off and some had been castrated. She instantly put a hand on her mouth in an attempt to stop herself from throwing up right there. Trying to avoid the ghastly sight before her, she quickly made her way towards the closest exit, this time not caring about stepping on the bodies.

As she made her way towards the exit gate, she felt a presence behind her. She stopped and turned around, ‘Whose there?’ After lingering on for a while, she thought she must have imagined it. Just as she turned back around, she was welcomed by a familiar face situated inches away from her.

‘Jeez’, she spat out and staggered. It was her best friend and class mate. And she was grinning.

‘Why are you grinning?’, she asked.

‘We need to get out of here’, the friend replied, calmly as though they were standing on a beach.

‘But-’

Before she could complete her sentence, the friend took hold of her hand and started pulling her through all the destruction, but not towards the exit gate, but somewhere else.

‘Where are you-’

Her question was left suspended in the air as the friend cut her off, ‘Sshh. Be quiet. Just come’

Even though she was her best friend, her gut told her that something wasn’t right. That she must break free and run away right now. But then the friend turned around and smiled at her, and said, ‘Trust me’. She decided to give her friend benefit of doubt.

They finally came to a stop infront of a large gate. The friend slowly pushed it and it swung outwards. She took a step ahead to look what lay inside.

The sight made her stagger and gasp in horror. The gate was an opening to a massive, deep well. Hundreds of sharp, extremely long nails were embedded in it’s surface. She looked at her friend, and saw that she had an evil smirk on her face and her eyes twinkled with sadistic satisfaction.

She shook her head and tears brimmed in her eyes once again. But before she could act on her impulses, her friend pushed her into the well. A loud scream of terror was stifled in her throat.


‘No!’, she snapped her eyes open and jerked her body up. She was breathing heavily, and her face was smeared with tears and sweat. Looking around, she realized she was sitting in her class and everything else was normal, except that people were staring at her because of her loud scream. She looked down at herself, and saw that she wasn’t hurt anywhere. Had it all been a dream?


Her best friend sat right next to her, but was one of the few who wasn’t staring at her. The friend seemed engrossed in her homework. She continued to stare at her best friend for a while. The friend sensed someone looking at her. Looking up, she smiled.

She saw the same sparkle and sensed the same dark vibe. But it had all been a dream, or had it?