Life At 50… One Twirl At A Time.

Rinku Ghosh writes: Growing up, I had always loved dancing. As I did painting, writing, and drama. And if you have spent your wonderful years in Kolkata, you would know that Bengali parents pursue their holistic education ideals with missionary zeal.

Written by Rinku Ghosh |

December 5, 2021 4:20:33 am

Kathak maestro Shobhana Narayan’s studio, a handful of students between 50 and 60 is reclaiming their lost passion.

The ball of the foot hurts a little, feels burnt actually. But there’s a blood rush in that toe-tapping, sole-thumping, and heel-thudding, a sense of achievement in a beginner’s Kathak class. My fellow students, all between six and pre-teens, are all raring to claim everything the world has to offer. Best foot forward. But I am 51, battered by circumstance, too beaten to claim something new. Yet, here

I am, standing tall in my awkwardness. Unmindful of fears, expectations, judgments, age-appropriateness, and all kinds of gaze.

Enough septuagenarian dancers have made headlines. But they began earlier. At Kathak maestro Shobhana Narayan’s studio, a handful of students between 50 and 60 are reclaiming their lost passion. I am a fresher. And while Narayan herself has been a guru for whom her sadhana never ends, for me dance is about self-indulgence. And a bit of self-evolution.

Growing up, I had always loved dancing. As I did painting, writing and drama. And if you have spent your wonder years in Kolkata, you would know that Bengali parents pursue their holistic education ideals with a missionary zeal. Good, because I got exposed to art and culture early on. Bad, because dancing got left behind for sound career choices. After all, journalism had a greater potential to change the world.

Those days, our choices were idealistic than being either oriented or driven. And adulting during the post-liberalization years meant that the world had opened up and had to be gulped down ravenously. Then there was the sun-kissed warmth of family life. Suffice to say,

I gave up on dance. Mid-life and mid-career, when life still seems to be a work in progress, having ducked a curveball or two, I’ve realized that mine needed to be leavened by a dollop of passion. Many suggested story-telling, painting, pottery, all supposedly in the realm of suitability. What if dance happens to be my newfound moment of self-expression? Fulfillment?

You would think such existential questions should ideally be asked at a restless 25 than at a sedate 50. But then I got my answers from two people I had met early on in my career. Narayan was the subject of an interview and choreographer Bhavini Mishra an intern in my team. Narayan made it easier for me to understand Kathak beyond its raw physical energy and feel its sensuality, subtlety and nuances.

The dance form also helps you feel the navarasas, enacting emotions through facial expressions and hand gestures, feeling something that

you’ve not dared to in a long, long time.

When I met Bhavini, she was finishing her mass communication course and getting her rhythms right, be it for Chhau, jazz, contemporary… Sharp and focused, she would have made it as a journalist but chose dance. And just when she was making her mark, a fall on stage meant that could never perform again. But she proved doctors wrong, soaring with abandon as she conceived her most difficult acts since. She believes that each one of us can create our own dance forms and get our bodies to speak our minds.

Why is it that I believe them now and didn’t go with my impulses before? Because I’ve been trapped by biases of my own making. I am professedly liberal but not liberated enough. People look at you one time, then the moment passes on. And we let that one moment ruin our free spirit. We’ve got to tell ourselves, we’ll still be okay. But happier.