Page 165 of One Indian Girl
‘Now we have the mamis and buas on either side performing to London thumakda,’ Pankaj mama announced to thundering applause. He did a little jig on stage himself in anticipation.
Eight aunts took to the stage. The LED screen showed a London backdrop with the picture of Big Ben. Each aunt had enough gold on her to make the down payment for an apartment in London. The stage creaked as everyone took initial positions.
The song began. Richter-scale-nine-level pandemonium rocked the stage. The aunties matched the original steps for fifteen seconds. After that every Punjabi aunt’s head, limb and torso seemed to have a mind of its own. Two aunts banged into each other. Another one had her bangles tangled up in someone else’s hair. But they continued to dance. The crowd roared.
Tu ghanti Big Ben di
Pura London thumakda
If the British had seen this tribute to London, they would never have colonized us.
Choreographer Mickey’s mouth fell open. He covered his face with his hands, wondering if he had chosen the wrong profession. Never had his students massacred his lessons to this level.
Brijesh stood next to me. He looked at me and grinned. I hid a smile; after all, they were my aunts.
I checked my phone. It had two messages each from Neel and Debu. I didn’t open them. Instead, I placed my phone in Aditi didi’s handbag.
‘Your turn is coming soon,’ Aditi didi said.
‘Didi, I don’t feel like it,’ I said.
‘What? Your cousins are already backstage. They have waited for this moment since they came to Goa,’ she said.
‘All the best,’ Brijesh said as the time came for me to go backstage.
‘Can you get me a drink, Brijesh?’ I said.
‘Huh? Yeah, sure. What do you want?’
‘Anything.’
‘Whisky?’
‘Sure,’ I said.
He returned from the bar with a large peg of Black Label. I chugged it in one shot.
‘Take it easy. Don’t be tense. It’s just a dance,’ Brijesh said.
‘It’s not the dance. We have to talk,’ I said.
Pinky came and tugged at my lehenga. I had to go.
‘We’ll talk later,’ I said.
‘What? Sure. Hey, rock it!’ Brijesh said.
On my way backstage, my mother stopped me.
‘What were you doing?’ she said.
‘What?’ I said.
‘I saw you. You asked Brijesh for whisky and drank it like a cheap bar girl. In front of him?’
‘So?’ I said, confidence soaring after the whisky shot. ‘I wanted to loosen up before the dance.’
‘Do you have any brains? Your in-laws are watching you. What will they think? Their bahu drinks like a jungli bewdi.’
