ii.
She would never admit it even on a good day but she is envious of Kriya Ghai.
When she had first realised it, she had been so shocked she'd stumbled on her feet and had to sit down on the pavement for a minute. She had been walking home from uni, sometime during her first week in New York.
--
As a middle child and one of four sisters, envy wasn't an unfamiliar feeling for her. She had grown up wishing she had a better voice like Neeti di, a better sense of dressing like Mukti or perhaps just the ability to make friends instantly like Kriti. But she had been born with the will of a lion and the flight of a bird instead and she wouldn't change that for anything.
They tell her that when she was very young, she had injured herself and experts (doctors, medics, miracle workers, god men) had told her she would never walk proper again. And so, of course as these things go, she had learnt to dance instead. But she doesn't remember her first step, her first leap, her first jump, her first pirouette - after the accident. She doesn't remember any of it even though she should. It is her life after all.
When they recount the story - at family gatherings, in interviews, on live television - she listens on and tries to picture herself as the girl they are talking about. She can't. But then she reasons, she's probably locked it all away in her subconscious somewhere. Along with other things.
She had taken psychology 101 as an elective in first year college. When she was still unsure about what exactly she wanted to do, who she wanted to be. When there were so many things to learn and so little time. When she felt like she was soo many people all at once, all trapped inside and she needed to find a way, some way, any way to untangle the wool of her being. She thought psychology would help and so she had stayed up night after night pouring over the books. She had not only aced her exams but also learnt a few tricks along the way. She'd also befriended the people inside her, and they never bothered her again. She's never mentioned that to anyone of course - she learnt that in psychology too.
--
However, when she wakes up from her nightmare in the middle of the night, nothing she's learnt comes to her rescue. It's always the same dream. She's laying on her bed in blue sheets (her favourite colour), trapped in a blanket, alone in the dark. She wants to move, run, walk but she can't. Her feet won't listen to her mind and she's stuck. She's younger in her dreams, still has curly hair and baby fat. When she wakes up in a pool of sweat, she does the only thing she remembers in her haze. She dances. No matter where she is, what time it is, or how tired she feels - she always gets up and does a warm-up routine. She knows people around her think she's a little bit off. She doesn't correct them. Because she figures they're probably right. Not that it matters.
She hates blue now and the dark; but no one exactly knows why. They all assume it's some childhood trauma, a childish fear that was never soothed away and taken care of and she lets them. When her family and friends tease her about her obsession with carbs, tell her she's stick thin and would break into two one day - she laughs along but makes sure to recount the calories on her plate. Her hair too has started to feel burnt from straightening it so often. She doesn't care. She never wants to be the girl in her dreams again.
That girl in her dream had wanted to be an IAS officer. Which is why she isn't one. What she is, is an accidental dancer. Initially, she used to dance to keep the darkness from taking a hold of her. She doesn't exactly remember when it became the only thing that keeps her breathing. Somedays, when she is stretching alone in a studio, she looks at her reflection and thinks she sees that girl trapped behind her eyes. The girl in her dreams that she owes it all to. She hates those moments.
--
She had started dancing as an escape, as salvation; she remembers that part clearly. Remembers going to dance classes even as her body begged her to rest after a long day at school. Remembers practising in front of her mirror. But what she can't recall is when it became the reason she got up every morning. The reason she finished her lunch and completed her homework on time. The reason she stopped obsessing over makeup, boys, pimples.
She doesn't remember when dance became her very existence. But she remembers when it defined it.
--
There is a thin line between knowing something and realising it.
When DID happens to her (she always thinks of it as an event out of her control, something that she believes was meant to be), she's blinded-sided for days. Suddenly it seems like while the entire world is busy watching her every move, and under their patronizing gaze, she's finally found what she's been looking for all along. On the outside, there is wild frenzy - rehearsals, mics, cameras, interviews, press and photo-shoots - happening overnight. But on the inside, she's calm and busy untangling herself as she continues to come to terms with the simplest truth of her life. The answer to her biggest question. It isn't until she gets selected that it finally sinks in - she's a dancer, that's what she was born to be.
A foreign yet comforting tranquility settles into her bones and she struggles to keep the blinding bliss she feels from bursting through.
When the public eye turns to her, she sits composed and poised through it all, completely unruffled - happy, ecstatic, in control. She's short, polite and guarded, genuinely confused by their curiosity. She's sure they'll term her as Ice Princess and finds herself not caring. But something has changed. She can feel it in the air around her. It crackles with energy. Rather than considering her cold and distant, the media loves her. Laps up her diplomatic answers even as they watch enthralled by the sheer unbound joy she exudes when she's caught off guard. When the mask slips. They strive to make her laugh. To catch another glimpse, a small flash, through the cracks of her smile.
From then on, she learns to use her expressions as tactfully as her words and wields her smiles into weapons.
--
She didn't even realise when it becomes a part of her, comes to her as second nature, just like everything else had. Not until he came along, stripped away all of her layers (her carefully built defenses, he'd called it; she'd laughed) and made her forget all the lessons she had so carefully learnt over the years.
Something Kriya Ghai had never needed to do.
Shakti Mohan envies her (she reminds her of that little girl in her dreams), her recklessness, innocence and passion. Something she didn't even realised she'd been hiding until he came along.
--
a/n: I hope you enjoyed this. It's crazy long I know. Once I started writing, somehow my version of Shakti Mohan came out to be far more complex and complicated than I had originally anticipated. Do let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!
Edited by Couch_Potato - 11 years ago
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
293