Dance Like a Man

I have been keeping quite for sometime now as I do not want to judge anyone or anything prematurely. But I have finally given up. After visiting quite a few discos and lounges I have come to the conclusion that the Urban Indian Man actually does not know how to dance. Visit any discotheque in the country and I guarantee you that you will see similar steps being reproduced everywhere. In fact, I think if I spare some time, I can also categorize the steps. It’s not that the Urban Indian Woman is any better. However, she has one saving grace - The Delhite. As much as I dislike the National Capital Region as a place to live, I have to give it to the Delhi Women.

When I was in this village in Rajasthan, they used to come in like these angels from outer world, making our heartthrobs and village belles look like simpletons. I think after sometime, the women in my village gave up trying to rein in their meandering men with the Delhi women around. Bespectacled studious men could be found acting like zombies, Newsletter editors would bend rules of the competition to accommodate the LSR team and Presidents would take the job of a fresher in showing people to their rooms.

Around the Oasis when these nomads from Delhi pitched their tent, the villagers would eagerly lap up the knowledge and secrets of the dance moves and in the next community singing session called Music Nights, you would see those steps being repeated by the villagers. But let’s get back to our urban Indian disco.

So while the Delhi woman adds the class, South Indian film stars (barring Prabhudeva) adds the mass. So whenever the DJ gets bored of seeing everyone dancing in a similar fashion, you can often see him changing into a ‘mass Tam’ song or that sole Aaika Dajeeba from Maharashtra. A sudden change happens in the crowd. If these are crowds who have had initiation to the great histrionics of Telugu superstars, you will see amazing steps suddenly come alive on the dance floor, the Delhi women throw a sign of disgust and move back to their margaritas to reenergize. Mithunda and Govinda were dealt a raw deal I feel at times. If only they were born in these times, it might well have been their moves that would be scorching the dance floors.

In the last decade, another phenomenon has come up. While Punjab showed us the way toward prosperity through Green Revolution, they are also responsible for the complete breakdown of the Urban Indian Man’s understanding of dance. EVERY SONG CAN’T BE DANCED AS A BHANGRA. Someone should go and tell it to the poor little rich kids. Also Bhangra I feel is a beautiful art form and should not be danced to the tunes of Shakira. But then who cares for what I feel.

The saving grace all over India as I have said are the women from Delhi. Even at the cost of alienating friends I have to accept that they are the trendsetters at most discos across the country.

Anyway, I have never been fond of discos. I have finally zeroed in on what I like. Call me prudish but I feel that it’s a dance if only if you ask someone to dance and lead her to the floor. And since I can not do that to the tunes of “Come on Baby light my fire” I’d rather sit back on the sofa and dream of waltzing in the French Riviera. If you have seen the Tango in “Scent of a Woman” you’ll know what I mean.

So, discos are out for me. It shall only be lounges with 70s rock, Jazz and country (if any at all) - Me, my kind of music and my Peach Iced tea. And if I can’t find them, I shall stay away to keep my sanity.