Dance therapy

The MSS women and girls are happy to see me, as usual. They are not afraid of me any more and greet me with their sweet smiles and waves. “Namaste!”

I am afraid; I am petrified. Teaching scares me: I hate presenting in front of groups of people, I never feel my knowledge about the subject is adequate, and I am afraid that my bad teaching will turn the girls off the subject forever. Despite this, I am here because this is what I can offer, because Vijay wants me to teach, because the girls like to dance, and because I know it’s important to face my fears.

My plan was to teach the participants how to move to the beat as I noticed during the last class that some of the women and girls were too preoccupied with copying me and thus tended to fall behind the beat. I wanted to help them to establish a relationship with the music, and had armed myself with a couple of exercises that I thought would realise this. Vijay, the sewing teacher Shama, and Madhu-ji were in the classroom watching, helping and interpreting.

My attempts to communicate what exactly a beat is fail. I don’t even remember who taught me how to move to the beat, and I am at a loss to teach the women and girls how to do so. I try to get them to clap to the beat of a song, to varying degrees of success. Some of them are on time—this is easy to them. Others are following my hands instead; they are always a beat late.

Then I get them to stand up and move different body parts to a beat—shoulders, arms, feet. They take to it almost immediately; this seems more like dancing to them. Dancing to music is familiar to them; breaking down the dance into something abstract that I can’t even define properly for them is not. Perhaps sensing a beat is innate and to an extent unteachable. In that case, why do some of them still not seem to move with it?

I recall the times when I am behind the beat when I dance, and I suspect the issue is not that the girls cannot sense the beat; it’s their inhibition that keeps from being fully immersed in the music and in their movement. If I can’t teach the girls to dance to a beat, I need to show them that they can dance to a beat. I need to create an environment where the girls feel comfortable to try and fail and try again.

The most successful activity I had so far involved turning on music and getting the girls to dance however they wanted. So I build on that. I keep the music on and tell the girls to pair up and dance with their partners. They dutifully do so and most have fun mimicking each other. The lesson continues with variations on this game: dance with another partner, let the women dance first, mimic someone else, try to travel when you dance (they automatically form a circle). Some variations are more successful than others and although it’s important to teach them new things, I also recognise the importance of giving them something familiar and comfortable to coax the more reserved ones out of their shell.

The most precious moments are those that involve girls or women who were previously hesitant about dancing. While most of the girls are dancing, I seek out those who are hiding. One woman who I noticed tends to hunch is standing in a corner. She seems to shrink into her scarf and the folds of her stiff skirt. I make my way towards her and take both of her hands; her arms are limp but I keep my hands in hers and we sway from side to side. She is out of time but I don’t care; it’s more important for her to enjoy herself first, and soon I see the inklings of a smile. When I finally leave her to interact with other girls, I see her dancing with her friends happily.

Each girl or woman reveals something about herself to me when she dances. Santos dances with abandonment and a wicked sense of humour. Chandrakanta dances with confidence—sometimes too much confidence—because she knows she’s good and better than the rest. Pushpar dances creatively to catch my attention and to seek my approval. I want to see how the rest of the girls’ personalities express themselves as I dance more with them. Although I will probably teach the girls a real dance, I also want to keep building on this improvisational structure as I feel it encourages creativity and confidence, two forms of empowerment.

After class, Pushpar tells me she will not be returning; school begins tomorrow and she thinks it’s more important to study. I tell her she’s right, and she should focus on her studies. “I will remember you,” she replies, and I am surprised that someone so imperfect like myself can still do some good for someone else. Despite what I tell myself many times, strength, intelligence and power are not always necessary for success.