Hi guys! The first part of Reality Reel is out now! Can’t believe I reached here. Thanks for all the support and love. But let’s not wait! Read below.
1. The Nightmare
I step out onto the stage of the mega round. No crowds yet, just the three judges, who are easily recognisable.
"Sankalp Chanana, is it?" the middle judge asks me.
"Yes, Ma'am," I reply.
"We look forward to seeing your performance," says the judge on her right. He smiles kindly at me.
The judge at the left of the table calls for music.
I start my routine, just like Papa and I had practiced. The right moves, at the right beat. I feel like my body was pulsing with the music, just like I always do, which is the specialty about my style. But after I finish, the judges don't feel that I’m eligible. Not like they did during the audition round.
My selection verdict is discussed at the table. A long, suspenseful verdict.
After reaching a decision, the middle judge turns to me and says, "I'm sorry, Sankalp, but we have to send you home for revision."
Mama and Papa get me, and we walk out. In my head, the word 'no' is ringing like a bell.
What did I do wrong?
This is the nightmare that wakes me up. And that's what jolts me up from bed, sweating and breathing hard, as if I am still there. But so does my watch, the alarm beeping madly on my bedside table.
"Sankalp! Time for practice!" Papa shouts from the other room. Mama's up too, for I can smell aloo parathas cooking on the tava. Sayra must be awake as well.
All right, then. Time to make things right.
2. Everything’s Different
After brushing my teeth, I enter the dining room, still yawning and rubbing my eyes sleepily.
“Good morning, Mama,” I say to her, as she makes some more paranthas in the kitchen.
Mama smiles back. “Good morning, beta.”
I take a seat at the dining table, where my little sister, Sayra, is sitting. She’s an adorable one-year-old now. She smiles at me too, her little mouth opening in laughter.
“Good morning, Sayra…” I say in my best baby voice, tilting my head left, then right. “What’s bhai going to do today?” She’s always called me bhai, ever since she learned how to speak. Mama and Papa like to say that was her first word ever, which means she loves me the most in the world. Mama and Papa were right about that, because I love her just as much. I consider her like a close friend to tell all my secrets.
Sayra tries to say the word ‘practice’, but it’s hard for her, so instead, she just says, “Daas!” which is her way of saying dance.
I rub her soft black hair and laugh with her. “That’s right! And he’s going to do well today!”
Mama sets some oats in front of me. “Here you go, as usual. Papa’s orders.”
I nod and start to eat, but then pause. “Wait, where is Papa?”
“Right here,” a voice says from the drawing room, and Papa’s head pokes out from the sliding door.
“Sunil, you’ll break your neck, come out!” Mama chides him.
He laughs, then does as she says and comes over to sit at the table. “Sorry to worry you, Neetu. But I had some important emails to finish after I called for Sankalp.” He sighs, tired, although it’s still morning. “I’m still not used to working from home.”
I spoon some more oats into my mouth. “At least it’s not as excruciating as it used to be in 2020, what with all the extra meetings and new lessons on figuring out Teams and Zoom and all that.” I groan dramatically. “Talk about torture.”
He nods grimly. “Right. But don’t forget, now we can handle it as well as anyone else. Talk about excellence.” He winked.
I giggle, and finish the rest of the oats. Then, I put my bowl in the sink and follow Papa out. However, not before he hands me a mask.
“Papa, no one’s going to be outside at this time,” I say, hoping he’ll let it slide this time. Nothing’s worse than nearly suffocating during intense morning warm-up.
Papa sets his jaw. “I’m not taking any chances. You very well know the pandemic’s not over yet, so we need to be safe. Loh.” He raises his eyebrows for emphasis. I sigh and put it on. I’ve gotten used to masks, but Papa’s making me wear them during practice more often. Maybe things are getting worse. And it’s only been a year.
We step out of the house, then Papa looks at me and nods. I nod back, and we set off jogging down the road to the end of the colony. After reaching the gate, we turn around and pick up speed gradually until, in this way, five laps are done. Some of the neighbours are outside, and they see us. A few wave, like my best friend Inderpal’s mother, Ashima Aunty. Papa and I wave back to her. But the others just stare and shake their heads.
“Ignore them,” Papa whispers. I nod in agreement, a little breathless to respond. He takes me to the park, and we walk over the next steps: twenty pushups, jumping jacks, skipping, and other cardio workout exercises, each. Then, Papa makes me run over the basic footwork for groove. And we are done.
We head inside home, where Mama is feeding Sayra and has the news on the TV. A reporter is talking about the high of cases in India again, especially due to that nasty new variant.
“COVID-19.” Mama clucks her tongue and sighs. “Is it going to get over anytime soon?”
Papa shook his head and pointed to the screen. “I’m afraid not, Neetu.”
We stare at a picture of the Delta variant next to the reporter. I grit my teeth in exasperation. This stupid disease is what’s locking us up at home. Honestly, COVID, please go a little easy on us!
Mama blinks, then claps her hands. “Sankalp, don’t you have school? Jaldi, you have one hour!”
I nod and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and take a bath; then comb my hair and come back to the dining room for some yummy aloo paranthas, which are polished off in less than fifteen minutes. Then, I go inside my room and switch on the computer. I log onto Teams and join the first class: English.
I hear a buzz from one of the applications, and I open it. Great, Inderpal is texting me. Not that I mind. He’s really one of the few people I can still call a friend. Plus, he’s a really fast typer.
Bro tu kaisa hai?
I grin and type: Good :)
He texts back: My mom saw you outside warming up with uncle. I sure hope THAT’S going okay
I shrug: Ya its fine. Did u join english? Both of us also go to the same school, Valley Modern.
Another reply: Yes dude! But he’s typing more. I wait for him to finish. He’s typed something longer than usual, so I take my time to read it.
I heard something about the Super Dancer auditions in the school group on Thursday. Thought those kids were bluffing, but yesterday evening I was watching some Indian Idol reruns, and you won’t BELIEVE—
“Good morning, class!” Shanti Ma’am booms from the screen. I quickly close WhatsApp and switch my camera on.
“Good morning, Ma’am!” My classmates and I say in unison. Even Inderpal’s camera is on, his pagdi clearly visible. But his eyes are wide with a signal, like he’s saying, Have you read the message?
I subtly shake my head as a secret answer. His message will have to wait. I sigh and lean back in my chair, already waiting for online school to get over.
3. Past and Present
When school gets over at 1 pm today, I finish my homework while Papa takes office calls and Mama looks after Sayra. I’m done pretty quick, so I take care of Sayra while Mama cleans the kitchen.
I hand Sayra her usual toys: rattles, a soft ball, some stuffed animals, her shapes game. I lie on my belly next to her, as she sits and plays. Usually, I’d play along with her to keep her company, but this time, I can’t stop thinking about what Inderpal said about the Super Dancer news. For a long time, any new gossip about the show keeps the colony talking because I bet they want to spite me. Well, it seems like the perfect way to rile me up, nonetheless.
I failed in Super Dancer Chapter 3, in the mega round. And when we came back, we were treated with scowls, jeers, and people saying, “Leh! You couldn’t even make it past the mega round. There’s no hope for you after this.” Then, Papa decided to change my entire training schedule. It took us both a week to set it up. He did lots of research and asked Mama and me about anything that can come up when he’s supposed to be training. I didn’t have any extra classes or take tuition (I still don’t), so Papa utilised my empty hours to extend practice from 1 hour to 3. Plus an additional hour to watch new dance styles and adapt them in my training. And in the morning, I’d have fitness training to build my stamina. There was no leftover time for me to play with my friends. Now, Papa allows me sometimes, but I don’t go. Instead, I perfect my moves, polishing and polishing them until they shine for my approval for a needed second chance.
And I'm not concerned about the sacrifices I make. If there is an audition soon, I have to be ready and do my best, whatever it takes.
At 3 on the dot, Papa is done with his office work and takes me out again. I grab my iPad and a mask and go outside with him.
For regular rehearsal, we head up to the terrace, and Papa and I sit down on the floor and open my iPad.
“Okay, Sankalp, we are going to add Bollywood into our steps,” Papa says. He and I watch a few tutorials and videos on YouTube, absorbing every bit of information to learn. Then, he shows me a few moves with a fusion of Bollywood, and I copy him. We practice to ‘Whistle Baja’ until 4, then he has me take a break. I sip some water as he thinks about what to do next.
“Now, we have the ‘Ramta Jogi’ solo to practice, right?” Papa asks me.
I nod. “My future audition.”
He looks at me and smiles sympathetically. “You keep calling each song a future audition. You’re planning far too ahead.”
“I might.” I shrug. “But really, Papa, I feel that this time, ‘Ramta Jogi’ will help me nail it.”
He seems to mull it over. “Well, you’re doing great so far. But let’s try something new. Tell you what?” He kneels in front of me. “Let’s practice ‘Ramta Jogi’. But after that, in the last fifteen minutes or so, we’ll rehearse the creative bubble.”
Papa devised some techniques for my dancing. Not only physical ones, but some important emotional, mental, psychological ones. All of these are called bubbles. However, he usually doesn’t tell me which bubble I have to use. He makes me assess the situation to figure it out myself. But now, I’m sure which bubble I need to take.
I get into my starting position, then Papa starts the music. I then put to use the confidence bubble: imagine myself inside a giant bubble, where all I can see is nothing but music notes flowing into me, and my feet on the ground. Everything else is black. The scene looks like a single spotlight shining on me. No one else is watching. It’s only me and the music.
I then move my body in time to the music; my arms twitching, my legs smoothly gliding across the floor, my feet twisting and turning around. Sometimes I go hard, sometimes I go soft. For me, the bubble is something like a safe space: no one’s around, and you don’t have to worry about getting your moves wrong.
When the song is done, Papa comes over and high-fives me. “Excellent, Sankalp. You used the confidence bubble, right?”
I nod, but this time I’m slightly less breathless than usual. All that stamina training is coming in handy.
“Okay, let’s get back to it,” Papa says, but suddenly, I hear someone calling my name from below. I rush over to the railing to look.
“Oi, Sankalp!” It’s one of my other friends, Harman. His glasses are perched on the tip of his nose, and he’s swinging his bat around. “Are you coming?”
“No! I have to rehearse,” I yell.
Harman grumbles and strikes his bat against the road. “Suna? He’s too high and mighty to even come and play some good ol’ cricket.”
“Yeah, just like usual,” some other boys say. My cheeks burn with shame and anger.
“Bhai, tu chup reh,” a voice scolds them. It’s Inderpal to the rescue! He bounces a ball in his hands.
“Sankalp, it’s okay! Keep practising,” he says. I smile and wave.
“And also…” Inderpal looks around as the boys leave for the park. “You got my message?”
“Yeah, but I couldn’t read it completely! I was busy with homework and babysitting and stuff,” I say, hoping to not sound like a total dunce.
He rubs his chin, and tosses the ball high in the air. Catching it, he says, “Isn’t it Indian Idol night today?”
I gasp, then nod. “Yeah!”
“Well, while you’re watching, keep an eye on the ads, too. You’ll know what I’m talking about.”
“Uh, okay!” I agree. “Bye, Inder!”
When I come back, Papa is again looking at me, the same way he did when I mentioned the future audition. I sigh.
“I’m not going. I need to get ‘Ramta Jogi’ right. And I have to work on improv.” It’s strange to most people that I’d miss cricket for dance, but I got used to the regular no’s from Papa when I was younger. Now, he tells me to go, and I refuse. Funny how things change, right?
When it’s nearing 7 pm, Papa and I end the ‘Ramta Jogi’ practice and get to improv. This is where Papa plays some random song and has me dance, even if I haven’t learned the moves. He says it’s important I have a creative mind and know how to form new steps on my own.
Papa plays an English song on my iPad. Wow. Usually, it’s a Hindi or Punjabi selection. I glance quizzically at him.
“I hear this is what kids these days are listening to,” he says, confused. He raises his eyebrows at me, a sign to start.
I breathe out and close my eyes, the imaginary bubble forming around me. I open them again, and find myself in a world of white! White at my feet, around my body, everywhere. And I know I have to invent some steps. I feel the music flow in my veins, and I get to pulsing and vibrating with the beat. My legs move around the canvas, and colour spreads in different directions from one slide. I wave my arms in an ocean like pattern, and more shades and hues flow out. I am painting an imaginary picture with dance. That is what the creative bubble is about. To be free and make a world of my own.
When the song ends, I collapse on the floor, now completely exhausted. Papa kneels in front of me.
“Let’s go back inside, beta. Mama’s waiting,” he says. I nod and he pulls me to my feet. We go back down the steps and inside the house.
As I move inside, I’m thinking one thing: I might nail this. I don’t know what I’m supposed to nail, but I know whatever it is, I’ll be good at it.
4. It’s A Small World
When we get inside, Mama looks happy while setting dinner, glad to see me after four hours outside. But she frowns when she sees my tired face.
“Poor you,” she says as she goes to hug me close. “What did Papa make you do today? And I don’t think he let you go play with Inderpal and your friends.” She glares at Papa over the top of my head.
I pull back from her. “I practiced too much. And Papa didn’t stop me from going, I refused to play.” I turn on the TV, where the Kapil Sharma Show reruns are on. I look around. “Where’s Sayra?”
Mama gestured in the direction of my room. “She’s sleeping. And you better take a nap too, beta. I’ll call you when Indian Idol starts.”
I go inside my room and see Sayra peacefully sleeping on my bed. I lie down next to her, then replay the day in my head.
I thought about the mean statements Harman and the other boys gave me. “He’s too high and mighty to even come and play some good ol’ cricket.”
Too high and mighty? Nonsense. I would’ve played cricket, if I wanted to. Why were they giving me grief if I made my own choice? I didn’t make anyone else’s decision. It was only mine. All I want is to get better at dance.
I know Papa and Mama think I’m too much of a perfectionist about my passion to even relax and do something else. But what’s worse, Mama thinks it’s Papa’s fault. She feels I’m stressed because of the long practice hours. I can hear them talk about the same thing in the dining hall. Mama’s saying I’m so tired I can barely walk. Papa’s saying I’m just fine, and I’m used to it.
I turn to face Sayra and sigh. I don’t even understand why grown-ups think that they have to blame a child’s decision on someone else, especially another adult. We’re capable enough of admitting it’s our will. Believe me, I’ve told Mama and Papa many times that I never want to go play with my friends anymore. So what if Inderpal’s my only friend? One friend is okay. I can have more, but if I don’t want to, it’s fine. I think it is, anyway. But I’ve seen people who have no friends, and they still get by. My one-and-only best friend is supporting me, and that’s all I need.
Here’s the thing: my world is small. The only people in it are Mama, Papa, Sayra and Inder. And I have dance and school and the bubbles to keep me company too. If anything, my world can’t grow bigger than that. I can make it worthwhile. I will make it worthwhile.
And with that thought, I fall asleep, the mental debate coming to a stop.
5. The One Thing That Changed Everything (Again)
I’m woken up by Mama after a long time. She tells me to take a bath and join the rest of the family for dinner. She checks my school diary to see if I finished my homework, while I groggily rub my eyes. Once everything seems set, she leaves, and I get up. Sayra must’ve been up earlier than me because the bed is empty. I take a shower and change into my night-suit, then go to the dining room.
“And now, presenting, Pawandeep Rajan!” The host announces.
We all turn to see Pawandeep get up from his seat and head to the stage.
“He should win,” Mama says, holding the plate of rotis for each of us to take.
I grab a roti. “Well, I’m placing my bets on Shanmukha Priya. She is definitely going to take the trophy home.”
Mama playfully scoffs. “Nonsense.”
“It’s true!”
Sayra chirps in agreement. I grin and raise an eyebrow. “See, even Sayra likes Shanmukha too!”
Mama rolls her eyes in exasperation. “Well, I don’t like it much when you two team up on me.”
“But they might be right, Neetu.” Papa takes a spoon of daal. “That girl is very much unique.”
Within the first two performances, we polish off our food and the plates are in the dishwasher. Papa has an important call to take, while Mama goes inside my room to change Sayra’s diaper.
The ads are on. I sit on the sofa and watch them glumly. The same ones come on so often, I even know the dialogues from start to finish. It’s a total bore. But Inderpal told me to keep an eye on them, so I wonder what’s going to be new this time.
I sigh and almost mute them when I see a new and interesting ad. There are a bunch of people dancing, mostly kids, and it all looks like Bollywood stuff. Perhaps some chocolate is being promoted, or a new e-learning website.
I am dead wrong.
At the end of the ad, a logo pops up. The logo I thought I’d never see again. A voice says something about auditions. And the voice is right. The words ‘audition now’ appear at the bottom of the logo.
The ad changes, but I’m still sitting there, shocked, clutching the remote so tightly it might break. I never thought they were going to start up again. With COVID and everything, it seemed rather impossible. But if the channel made Indian Idol work, then…
I don’t wait any longer. I shout for my parents.
“Mama! Papa! Super Dancer is back!”
(Next part: out 11th June)
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