Like any other fine evening, Mumbai was at its peak hour of chaotic bustle; the only difference was that the weekend made the boulevard and street corners livelier than usual weekdays. The constant loud giggles and chitchats of the teenagers grouped at the food corner opposite my dance studio filtered in, disturbing the air of quiet concentration, which was previously only punctuated by the rhythmic jingling of ghungroos, traditional ankle bells worn by kathak dancers.
"Straighten your spine,"
I instructed Meera, one of the kids from the NGO with which my dance studio collaborates. I may not be as wealthy as my sister and able to provide huge funds to keep the NGO running, but I try to give all from the little I have, and that includes the only thing I possess: my love and passion for kathak. I hope these kids find the same solace in this beautiful dance form as I did one day. I hold these sessions for them, or any other kid from other NGOs, for free every Sunday. If they want to learn kathak, I am more than happy to help.
Meera nods, her small eyes wide with concentration, trying to internalize my every word.
This twelve-year-old looks at me as if I am her role model because she has that same look in her eyes which I once held when Nani first started teaching me. These small, beautiful, and bright eyes make me afraid because, unlike Nani, I am not someone who these beaming and delicate hearts should look up to; I am nowhere near a role model for such beautiful children.
I bring my fingers to her chin, lifting it slightly to instill a sense of confidence and grace.
"Always hold your head high."
She smiles at me and does as I say, and I pat her head gently.
"Feel the strength in your core and let your arms flow naturally from your shoulders,"
I instruct her one last time before heading to my next student.
Meera was eight when the NGO found her in one of the underground basements of the red-light area in the slums of Mumbai. The Meera who stands today, dancing passionately with the grace of someone who not just loves but is in love with the dance, is not how we found her, the memory of her first day burns my eyes but I compose myself with all these little ones around here.
After correcting Jahnavi and Ahana, I take some steps back with the intent to watch all my children. I wanted a dance studio somewhere quiet and peaceful, but it was nowhere near possible with my budget in this crowded metropolitan area. Though this one is growing on me, my ultimate goal is still to physically manifest the dance studio of my dreams.
The soft sunlight filters through the patterned glass on the narrow windows, casting a multicolored hue on the children as they practice in their pretty churidaars. The sound of bells adds to the ambiance.
I look at the old beams and wooden floors and take in the panorama one last time as I recall the small hall in the orphanage where we met Nani, the time when Kashvi held my hands and cared for me, the time when I was enough for her and she was proud of me. "Mera pyara bacha, I am so proud of you, Chhoti," she used to say, the aura of this place is so uncanny but still eerily similar to the hall in my childhood and the reason why I agreed to buying it despite being on a busy street, a complete contrast to my dream.
"Kids, this is the last toda for today. I am going to show you, and if you all learn and perform well after five practices, I am going to take you all for ice cream."
The kids' faces lit up with wide smiles, and I saw exchanges of gleeful looks among them as they bounced on their toes in anticipation and yelled, "YAYYY!" in chorus, the joyful sound echoing off the studio walls.
There was no way I was ever going to say no even if they messed up their practice.
I demonstrated the sequence, and my students mirrored me, improving their posture with each repeat.
The room filled with the rhythmic tapping of feet, small giggles, and whispered chatters as the little mouths talked in hushed voices, thinking I couldn't hear them, eagerly anticipating the cold treat awaiting them at the end of class.
A knock echoed softly against the closed glass door, and I saw Priscilla, my agent and best friend, walk in with a leather portfolio, her face a mixture of excitement and urgency.
I met Priscilla at the orphanage fifteen years ago. We fought over shaved ice the moment we met and have been inseparable ever since.
"Focus on maintaining your posture."
"Ji Didi," my students respond in unison as I turn my back to acknowledge my partner-in-everything. She looks at me as if she has either landed a gold mine, some hot gossip, or her arch-nemesis has had a bad day—only one of those brings the megawatt smile she's giving me.
"So, did Rishabh lose a deal, or did you land a gold mine?"
"Better."
She opens the portfolio and hands me the documents, the beaming smile never leaving her lips.
Now she's scaring the shit out of me with that face.
"You got a hire request from ARMATIS Industries."
"What!"
I yell because ARMATIS, a weapon company, needs me as much as lasagna needs 'g.'
She smirks and raises one eyebrow, urging me to read the papers in my hand.
I entered my room, my long brown hair falling in waves beyond my shoulders to the small of my back as I undid the braid which I usually do before I go to the studio. The door closes softly behind me, muffling the sounds from the kitchen where nani is listening to her favourite tunes while preparing for dinner.
I open my laptop and settle at my desk, determined to do a thorough background check on my surprise employer, the biggest weapon manufacturing family in the entire continent.
This proposal had been gnawing at my thoughts all day, casting a shadow over my time with the kids. Even when I took them for the promised ice cream treat, their laughter and joy couldn't lift the weight of my worries.
Though Priscilla finds this as no less than a gold mine, I can't help but acknowledge this gnawing feeling at the pit of my stomach, the strange and paranoid thought that this is not just a proposal but a step into something bigger continuously tugging at me. I tried to join in the fun, but my mind kept drifting back to the documents I had yet to fully read.
After my treat with the kids, I had sat beside nani, a bowl of ice cream melting slowly between us. I had bought her favourite kesar pista to enjoy together, though I despise that flavour but I know my old woman loves it, hoping to share a moment of peace. But every time nani looked at me, I feared my face would betray the anxiety churning inside. Not wanting to worry her, I excused myself, claiming I needed to prepare for tomorrow's class with an important client.
I sighed deeply and focused on the screen, reading through the proposal. It seemed that Mrs. Shivangi Chauhan, the former chairman and mother of ARMATIS's current chairman, was getting remarried.
The Chauhan family had long been a fixture in the tabloids, and everyone with internet access seemed to know about the romantic sightings of her and Sergey Ivanov, a prominent Russian businessman. They had been dating for years, but their marriage still came as a surprise, likely unknown to many since it hadn't flooded the tabloids yet.
They were planning a private wedding in Uttarakhand and were seeking a choreographer for their events. Priscilla had informed me that Mrs. Shivangi was a Kathak dancer herself and had seen me perform in national competitions, as well as the contemporary pieces I put together for other shows or just for my uTube channel. She said she was a fan.
Yeah, the queen of the entire continent, my fan. Puff! I'd die happy if she even knew that some Adhira lived in Mumbai.
I concentrated on the papers, the requirements they had, the salary, the travel expenses and stay-in as well as the NDA and the limit of people who can know of it were all mentioned in the file, a gentle knock interrupted my concentration and I saw Nani enter the room with my favourite cherry vanilla coke in her hand as she stood next to my desk, keeping the can of happiness near my laptop.
"Adhira, beta, I could sense your mind was elsewhere during the little while we sat eating together,"
nani said softly, concern etched in her gentle voice.I looked up, surprised but grateful for her understanding.
"I'm sorry, nani. This proposal has been weighing on my mind."
She sat down beside me, patting my hand gently.
"Tell me about it, beta."
I explained the details of the proposal, describing Mrs. Shivangi Chauhan's upcoming wedding and the request for a choreographer.
"It's a big opportunity, nani. Mrs. Shivangi herself is a fan of my work."
Nani listened attentively, nodding thoughtfully as I told how we would have to go to Uttarakhand for a month if I accepted this offer along with other things that were mentioned.
"It sounds like a wonderful opportunity, beta. And this would also get me out of this dull, concrete city for a while. And meeting a handsome young man from Russia, that could be exciting."
, I looked at her in shock. I knew my nani was quite ahead of her time with all the stories she had told her of the days when 'she brought stallions to their limits', her words not mine, but I didn't know that my old lady was no less active and devious even now.
I chuckled at her antics and she reprimanded me that she would have been doing a better job at being satiated with something else rather than icecream and staying in a room with an old grandma if she were my age.
I forget how to speak sometimes when Nani really starts speaking.
"Yes, but it's not just that. I feel honored that someone like Mrs. Shivangi appreciates what I do."
Her expression softened.
"Of course, dear. But remember, it's also important for you to take a break and not bury yourself in work. You know, every August..."
I finished her sentence, knowing exactly what she meant,
"I won't shut myself away this year, nani. I promise."
She gave me a reassuring smile, the one where she tries to comfort me but her worries still spill through her face.
"Good. Remember, life is about seizing opportunities and making memories. You deserve happiness, Adhira."
I hugged her gratefully, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders.
"Thank you, nani. Your support means everything to me."
She patted my back affectionately as I kept my head on her droopy soft shoulders, taking in her motherly scent.
"Now, go and make the most of this opportunity. I am not gonna feed you if you ruin my opportunity to meet a handsome Russian brood, so you better sign the deal and make the bag along with my chance to bask in muscles and have a Russian eye candy to please these old eyes!"
"Nani!!"
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