Dancing Alone

After five years of learning classical Bharatanatyam, I decided to choreograph a bhajan for the first time. It was a challenging process- each line of the song required hours of thought to feel its essence, to create matching steps. After a month of daily effort, I completed the choreography, but I wasn’t sure how it had turned out.  

My younger sisters liked it, but I doubted their judgment. What did they know about dance? When a dancer friend visited, I hesitantly showed her my work. To my surprise, she loved it so much that she wanted to learn the same choreography from me to perform it on the stage. Her enthusiasm filled me with both confidence and jealousy. If she performed it, everyone would praise her, but no one would know I created it. 

This sparked a strong desire in me to perform on stage and showcase my talent. Every day, I visited a nearby temple with a large auditorium frequently used for festivals. I approached the organizer and asked for just a two-minute opportunity. But he made an excuse. I thought I had been volunteering in this temple, working in the kitchen, distributing books, attending lectures, and helping at festivals. How can they be so inconsiderate?

After months of trying, I decided to let it go. Then, one day, a foreign dancer friend visited me. When I shared my struggle, she suggested, “Introduce me to the temple president. I will convince him, and we can perform together.” I agreed and said, “I have been approaching them for many months, and it is difficult to convince them. She said, “Let me just talk to them once.” I took her to the temple president and left for temple kitchen work. 

To my surprise, within half an hour, she returned with good news: we had secured a two-minute slot at the end of next month’s cultural program. 

Thrilled, we practiced seriously every day. We chose the best jewelry and designed beautiful costumes.  Finally, the big day arrived. We reached the temple five hours before the program. The green room was occupied by children performing earlier, and their organiser was a temple lady, a non-professional one. She denied us access. My friend told me to follow her. She led me deep into the temple, into a dark room. It seemed like a new auditorium was under construction. Using her phone’s flashlight, we changed into our costumes and applied makeup without a mirror. 

The program began, and one dull performance followed another. The auditorium was packed, and there was no place to stand. It seemed like no one had ever seen a good performance. I was getting anxious and excited. It was getting late, and the boring program did not seem to end any sooner. By 10 pm, when our names were announced, people began leaving. There was a free dinner Prasad after the program, and people were hungry. Almost everyone left except four people: my aunt, one boy, the temple president, and one lady who organized the children’s program. She was curious to see how we performed. 

I was disheartened, but my friend’s determination lifted my spirits. “Let’s dance,” she said, and I followed her lead.

I poured my heart into the performance, and I enjoyed every minute. I could see and feel nothing but the dance and me. As we finished, I felt an overwhelming sense of joy and fulfillment. And went to have dinner at the temple. The temple president approached us and said, “It was a beautiful performance by both of you, a pleasure for the eyes. Sadly, people left. ”

Yes, it feels good — a hall full of an audience and appreciation.
But at that moment, a question came to my mind:
God can change everything in the blink of an eye.
Then why does God make us struggle so much for what we desire?

Perhaps in moments of doubt and struggle, we truly discover ourselves.

After that night, the temple lady who watched me dance gave me many opportunities to dance and choreograph with temple children. Eventually, I danced solo on many occasions.