So You Think You Can Dance

As a Bengali, dance and music run in my blood much in the same way that maach and mishti (fish and sweets) do. So, it's not a surprise when I tell you that I was in a dance class and performed in shows when I was just a child of three years. Back then, dancing was something I did to make my parents happy, a way to get to that promised mishti. I wasn't truly conscious of what people were saying about my dance, especially since I neither put too much effort nor did I much derive enjoyment out of it. Now, cut to almost 17 years later, when some part of me forced me to go to a dance class. Only now my body carried the (proverbial) scars of bullying, societal pressures, and media misrepresentation, in addition to the "shameful" weight I had gained.

I stopped dancing when I hit my pre-teens. I was gaining weight, and I had a bunch of people around me convincing me that dancing was the last thing my body was capable of doing. To say that I nothing short of hated my body is not an understatement. Most of my closest friends can attest to the fact that I would describe myself as ugly and not worthy of love. I hyper fixated on my weight. In fact, I remember a week during school, when they had planned a health check-up, except those cruel, cruel teachers never told us the actual day of the check. All week little Ashmita thought her dirty weighty secret would be revealed to the rest of the class. The relief I felt when I somehow missed the day of the check is still unmatched. I missed all sports days. I missed all annual dance functions. I missed everything that would thrust me in a position to be ridiculed, and I still somehow got ridiculed. A self-classified introvert, it took me a while to tease out the parts of my introverted personality that were a direct effect of actively hiding my body from the outside world.

I don't know what exactly triggered me to pursue dance again. Maybe it was because when I was growing out of my teenage years, the world was growing out of the perceived ideal of thin is equal to beautiful. Maybe it was because I had finally managed to surround myself with people who were truly body-positive. Or maybe it was because I was utterly exhausted of hating the very thing that constituted my person. Suddenly, I found myself in an environment where I was forced to embrace all the physical aspects of my body, like my flexibility and strength, in addition to my fat. Now bear in mind, I was neither a natural dancer, nor did I have the stamina of an athlete. But I somehow still enjoyed it. It was like slipping into a pair of cute but uncomfortable shoes that needed to be worn in. And after three-ish years of dancing, I can confidently report that the shoe fits.

Is it all happily ever after for me? Not really. I prefer not inviting friends or family to my performances. I prefer not to watch any videos of me dancing. I don't wear cute athletic wear that highlights my body in any way to class. Also I like standing at the back of the class, so as to not see myself on those huge mirrors (seriously, every dance studio has those). I still regularly deal with the perception of thin bodies are better dancers. But, if this is a journey, I am at a point where I can appreciate my body for its strength, for having the discipline to train regularly, and for never giving up on me; even when I did.