Char Mahine Ka Chamakdar

“My, what a way we’ve gone,” says Papa as he stares at the waiting room, decorated in blue and adorned with glitter, balloons, frilly paper, and a hundred other things. Looking at this room is like looking into a party hall, all set for someone’s birthday. There are seating areas, if seating areas look like round tables made of leather. 

Papa and I sit around for a while, but strangely, there is nothing to talk about. He’s asking if I remember all of my steps, and I say yes, I remember them all. After a brief silence, he suggests making friends. I nod, then take a look around. There are a few kids my age, and my eye catches a boy wearing a hat, and he’s practising foot movements. I go over to him.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hi,” he replies. “I’m Aman. What’s your name?” He wanted to break his tension too, I realise, and looks happy seeing someone around.
“Sankalp.” I gesture with my head to his legs. “Practising?”
“Just doing revision.” He tries a few more steps, then sighs contentedly, like he got them all right. “I do robotics. What’s your style?”
“More of hip-hop and popping,” I say.
“Cool.”
Another boy joins our conversation. He’s one of the kids I first spotted when I wanted to talk to someone, but instead I ended up joining Aman. 
“Hello. I would like to be friends with you. I’m Prithvi.” He holds out his hand, but thinks twice and puts it down. I bet he’s probably forgetting the COVID-19 protocols. Fortunately, there’s not much of a problem, as practically no one in the waiting room is wearing masks. However, Aman and I still take the hint and nod back.
“What’s your style, Prithvi?” He asks.
“Lyrical.” He grins, and his smile immediately takes out all my stress and worry. I like him immediately. “Who’s your favourite dancer?”
“Well, it’s Tiger Pop. And if we’re also talking choreographers, then it’s Varangi Jha too,” I say.
“Nice! Mine is Subramanoy Paul.” He flusters a little of his Hindi, but I can understand well enough. 
“You mean Shubroy Paul,” says Amit. “Mine is…well, it’s a little complicated. My favourite dancer is also my choreographer.”
“Who?” Prithvi and I prompt.
“Gaurav Sarwan Sir.” 
We’re blank. The Gaurav Sarwan? The Chapter 3 robotics finalist? No way.
“Yeah, I know, it sounds crazy.” Aman holds up his hands. “But, honestly, he’s been helping me out since lockdown. He teaches online.”
“Whoa, I didn’t know that.” My eyes widen.
But before the three of us can continue talking, a lady pokes in the room and clears her throat. She’s wearing a black mask, headset, and a crew T-shirt, so I guess she has news about the auditions.
“The first child to come up is Aman Kumar,” she said, gesturing to Aman. 
He swallows, gets up, and says goodbye. I give him a thumbs-up, and Prithvi wishes him luck. 
The next minute later, he’s on stage, as we see on TV. The judges ask his name, he gives it, and then he performs. Boy, those moves are reminiscent of Gaurav Sarwan. And he’s added some of his own, like a step where he does a twisty sidewalk to the core beat, and he’s modifying his hand movements as well. After he’s done, the judges give a standing ovation, and the man on the right, Anshuman Dada, gives him the lever, saying he’s done well.
The judge on the far left, Geetika Ma, asks him, “Aman, for how many years have you been learning?”
“Ma’am, it’s not years, it’s been four months,” Aman answers innocently. Prithvi and I look at each other, dumbstruck. All of those moves in…four months? Impossible.
Even Geetika Ma is having a hard time believing him. “Four months? Yeh sara four months mein?”
“Yes Ma’am.” He nods.
The middle judge, Shipra Ma’am, gives the lever too. Geetika Ma is surprised. 
“Kya, usne agar four months mein itna seekha, toh banta hai!” That is her verdict. 
“Aman,” says Ma, turning back to him, “Did you learn the routine in four months or the dance in four months?”
“This should confirm our suspicion,” I say to Prithvi. He nods back.
“Ma’am, I learnt the dance in four months. This routine was set in twelve days.” Aman clutches his mic tightly as he speaks.
“Before that, you had no interest in dance?” She is still sceptical.
“No, Ma’am, I just didn’t say I can dance. But until I started learning with Gaurav Sarwan Sir—“
“Hold on.” Anshuman Dada stops him immediately. “Gaurav is teaching you?”
“No wonder he reminded me of someone,” mused Shipra Ma’am.
Geetika Ma nods. “You are right, Shipra. I see Gaurav in him.”
Back in the waiting room, Prithvi and I grin. 
“Okay, but I still do not believe you.” She sounds firm when she says that.
Everyone holds their breath. Aman doesn’t look calm now. I can practically see a bead of sweat roll down his forehead. 
“Have you prepared anything else?” She asks.
He nods.
“Show us that, and then I’ll make my decision.”
There’s new music, and this time, Aman’s adding comedy in his routine. His expressions are wonderful, and I really like a step where he forms his hands in a heart, put it to his cheek, and mimics heartbeats by using his tongue inside. When he’s done, Ma grins and says that if he had learnt how to do things like this in just four months, then it is commendable. She gives her lever, and, yes, Aman is selected for the final auditions! He goes to the judges, and Anshuman Dada puts the medal around his head, and he and his father walk out. 
In the waiting room, Prithvi and I cheer and clap. But it makes me worry about my auditions. Will it go well? Will I also get a medal? I hope so.

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Signed,
Melody Vega