It’s May. As much as I have tried to find a traditional maypole dance class, it appears that Londoners just aren’t into that kind of pole dancing anymore. Instead I have reverted back to my “pin the tail on the donkey” method of dance-class selection. Fate deals me the blow of Bollywood Grooves.
My heart sinks. Other than having recently watched Slumdog Millionaire & being partial to a lamb pathia on a Saturday night, I will be blissfully unqualified for what lies ahead.
“I’m off for a Bollywood!” I shout as I leave the office. It’s a bit too much information for my work colleagues. On hindsight they think I have discovered a new style of bikini wax. I vow to never shout this out in public again.
The class is a mixed bunch of graceful Freida Pinto wannabes. (I wannabe out of here)
Our teacher begins with the bog-standard warm up routine: “Imagine there is a wire attached to the top of your head, stretching you towards the ceiling…”
I now know this routine like the back of my hand and the top of my head. From here we are lulled into some gentle yogic manoeuvres & with it a false sense of security of what is of course to follow. It’s been a long time since I’ve saluted the sun but the outcome is mildly warm and balmy & relaxing. And just when I am ready for a good pair of slouch socks and a more horizontal position, the music is pumped up and Bollywood Grooves begins.
We are taught a narrative dance routine in which the movements mirror the lyrics to the music track being looped in the background. The intention is to display a story of love & courtship as it musically unfolds. I clearly have an inability to remember a simple dance sequence, and my own routine doesn’t follow a strict linear narrative. In fact I dance in the style of James Joyce.
Our teacher smiles crazily, whilst wobbling her head from side to side like an eager nodding dog. She even smiles crazily at my stream of consciousness moves. (Who am I kidding it is probably a chuckle.)
I have never trusted folk who smile too much, especially those who manage to smile through pain. In fact this dance class is earning its own special ranking in my personal poll of pain, nestled somewhere between a Brazilian & a Hollywood wax. I’ll hybrid that as the “Bollywood” & smile my way through it.
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