How I learned to bust some Bollywood moves
It’s the lead-up to my cousin Safaa’s wedding — a big South Asian wedding with a lot of events, food and colourful clothing. Since this is the first family wedding (in Canada) since my own, 14 years ago, expectations are running high.
One of the most anticipated events in a South Asian wedding is the Mehndi. Traditionally, this prewedding event sees women gather to sing folk songs and apply henna paste to hands and feet in decorative patterns. In our family, the Mehndi is a women-only dance party. Choreographed dances to Bollywood songs are expected from close friends and family.
Which means I have to dance. In public.
The last time I tried to bust a move, my husband laughed at me for 15 minutes straight. Which is fine. Because I am good at lots of other things. Is what I tell myself.
When he hears about the Mehndi, my husband starts laughing again. “What’s so funny?” I ask.
“I’m picturing you and your cousins,” he says, wiping his eyes. “Boodhis dancing.” Boodhi (pronounced BOOD-eez — the first syllable rhymes with “hood”) is Urdu for “old woman.” Yeah. He went there. It is so on. “We have to rock this,” I tell my cousin Sameena (who, for the record, is younger than I am. And I am not old!) “I need to throw this in his face! . . . And also, of course, make the bride happy.”
The only other problem is I’m not very Bollywood. I listen to CBC radio and sometimes Top 40 stations. So, Sameena picks out the music and translates the Hindi/ Marathi/Urdu words. We settle on a five-song mash-up and include One Direction’s “What Makes You Beautiful” for fun.
The third problem is still the first problem: I can’t dance. So, where can a wannabe learn how to fake it? Duh. YouTube. People post everything on YouTube, from shaky dance recordings to polished, professional performances. I check out a few music videos and start to feel better about our chances. Bollywood moves aren’t so hard. It’s mostly hopping up and down on one foot, shoulder shimmies, jazz hands and twirling. I can twirl. I got this.
Our dance troupe consists of the older set (me and Sameena) as well as my younger cousins Nuha and Zainab, my 8-year-old son, Ibrahim, and Sameena’s daughters, Alisha and Sarah. We meet every weekend for a month, spending hours perfecting a five-minute routine. As head choreographer, I teach everyone the moves I spliced from a dozen YouTube videos.
“I think you should do a solo performance,” Sameena says at the end of our first, exhausting practice. “We’ll stand on the sidelines and clap.”
“Nice try,” I tell her. “We’re in this together.” It’s good to know I’m not the only one with performance anxiety.
On the day of the Mehndi, everything is running late. Which is perfectly normal for South Asian events. Dinner gets pushed to 9 p.m., dance party to follow dessert. I only pick at my food — the butterflies in my stomach are making it hard for me to eat. Also, we’re first.
I introduce myself to the crowd of women, the bride’s friends and family. “Be merciful,” I say. “We tried really hard.”
The first strains of Navraj Mahi float through the speaker, and we take our position. The audience starts to clap to the beat. I see my mother and mother-in-law sitting on the sidelines, beaming at me. We start to shimmy, and the crowd roars.
I only forget a few of the moves, but the audience doesn’t care. They holler and yell as we move through song two (Dholna), performed by Zainab and Alisha. One Direction’s “What Makes You Beautiful” brings the house down, especially when Ibrahim struts on to the stage wearing a straw boater. We transition into London Tumakda (hopping, twirling) and end with Chittiyan Kalaiyaan (more twirling, less hopping). The applause at the end is loud and sustained, buoying us up, making all of our effort, time and tired feet worth it.
Hah! Boodhis dancing indeed! Uzma Jalaluddin is a high school teacher in the York Region. She writes about parenting and other life adventures. Reach her at ujalaluddin@outlook.com.