11. Char Mahine Ka Chamakdar
And… we’re in Mumbai. The capital of Maharashtra, the centre of Bollywood. And the place where I’m going to get the redemption I deserve.
After we landed in the city yesterday, Papa and I checked into our hotel and then went to the briefing for the first episode. The crew told us that the second audition round may stretch for days, but out of the thousands of kids who were selected, only some will make the screen. At least, enough for four episodes. I hope I come on TV so that I can show the world that I haven’t given up.
Now, we’re in the waiting room, which is 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 leather tables we can sit on. Papa and I are on one of those tables.
“We’ve gone a long way, Sankalp,” Papa says, squeezing my shoulder. “It has all led to this moment.”
“A moment where I have to win.” I grit my teeth and clench my fists.
Papa nods. “Well, more like to show that we have come back.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “I still have to win.” But I say nothing more.
We sit for a while. Papa scrolls through things on his phone, and I stare into the screen, having nothing else to do. After a brief silence, he suggests making friends. I nod, then take a look around. There are a few kids my age, so there are choices. My eye catches a boy wearing a hat, practising foot movements. I go over to him.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hi,” he replies. “I’m Aman, from Delhi. What’s your name?” He wanted to break his tension too, I realise, and looks happy seeing someone around.
“Sankalp.” I look at his black dance sneakers. “Practising?”
“Just warming up for my routine.” He performs 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.”
A boy with dark rumpled hair and worn clothes joins our conversation.
“Hello. I’m Prithvi. I’m from Karnataka.” He holds out his hand, but thinks twice and puts it down. He probably forgot the COVID-19 protocols. No shaking hands and all that. Aman and I take the hint and nod back.
“What’s your style, Prithvi?” Aman asks.
“Lyrical.” He grins, and his smile instantly 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 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 Aman. “Mine is… well, it’s a little complicated. My favourite dancer is also my teacher.”
“Who?” Prithvi and I prompt.
“Gaurav Sarwan Sir.”
We blink. The Gaurav Sarwan? The Chapter 3 robotics finalist from Rajasthan? No way.
“Yeah, I know, it sounds crazy.” Aman holds up his hands in surrender. “But, really, Gaurav Sir’s been teaching me since lockdown began. He takes classes online.”
“Whoa, I didn’t know that.” My eyes widen.
But before the three of us can continue, a lady pokes her head in the room and clears her throat. She’s wearing a black mask, a headset, and a crew T-shirt, so I guess she has news about the auditions.
“The first child to come up to perform is Aman Kumar,” she said, gesturing to Aman.
He swallows hard, adjusts his hat, 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 a TV mounted in the room. He introduces himself to the judges, and then he performs. Boy, those moves arereminiscent 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 Basu, known as Dada, gives him the lever, saying he’s done well.
The judge on the far left, Geetika Kapoor, known as Ma, asks him, “Aman, for how many years have you been learning dance?”
“Ma’am, it’s not years, it’s been four months,” Aman answers innocently. Prithvi and I look at each other, dumbstruck. That kind of perfection in four months?Impossible.
Even Geetika Ma is having a hard time believing him. “Four months? All of this, yeh sara, char mahine mein?”
“Yes Ma’am.” He nods.
The middle judge, Shipra Shetty Kundra, gives the lever too. Geetika Ma is surprised.
“Kya, usne agar char mahine mein itna seekha, toh banta hai!” That is her verdict.
“Aman,” says Ma, turning back to him, “I’m confused. Did you learn the routine in four months or the style in four months?”
“This should confirm our suspicion,” I say to Prithvi. He nods back.
“Ma’am, I learnt the style in four months. This routine was set in twelve days.” Aman clutches his mic tightly.
“Before that, you had no interest in dance?” She is still sceptical.
“No, Ma’am, I liked dancing, 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?”
“I knew he reminded me of someone,” mused Shipra Ma’am.
Geetika Ma nods. “You’re right, Shipra. I see Gaurav in him.”
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 so calm now. A bead of sweat rolls 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 drapes the medal around his neck. Aman’s grinning as Dada does this, and then, he and his father walk out, triumphant.
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.
12. Feels Like A New Step
Aman has to go back to the hotel where he’s staying, but he promises to watch our performances later. Papa and I congratulate him, and Prithvi smiles that easygoing smile of his, except it’s bigger and brighter. After Aman leaves, we watch the next set of contestants come. From a girl named Arshika Sharma whose dadi is her best friend to a boy named Sobhit Barman who does the craziest things on the dance floor (including pulling his pants down to expose, thankfully, a swimsuit and not his underwear), the dancers show their best, and most get their medals. Some don’t, and I feel bad for them.
Then, it’s my turn. I may be lying if I say I’m not quaking with nervousness.
Because I actually am.
I run onto the stage, doing a cool pose and everything, but that’s for the camera. When the spotlight dims, I find the judges easily. And I remember them well.
Shipra Ma’am squints her eyes and looks at me. “I have seen you before, but I do not know when and where.”
Anshuman Dada looks at her. “We have?” Even Geetika Ma is trying to remember.
I nod, raise my mic, and say, “Super Dancer Chapter 3.”
Their eyes widen with recognition, and they start talking about how different my style is and how I was sent home for revision.
“And you’ve come back after revision, I’m guessing?” Shipra Ma’am asks me.
I nod again.
They play a videotape on the big screens mounted on both sides of the stage. It’s one we had to shoot in Punjab, telling about me and what I do, and what makes me, well, me. There are shots of Papa talking, then our practice, and the whiteboard on which he had scribbled my new schedule. He finishes by saying, “Sankalp took the revision to heart and not the rejection.”
Then it’s my video. I’m saying things about how my last final auditions went and what I plan to do now in Chapter 4. I finally say, “Getting into Super Dancer Chapter 4 has become like a zidd for me. I don’t want to make any mistakes this time. And I want to be known not as Sankalp Chanana, but as Super Dancer Sankalp Chanana.”
When the tape’s done, Geetika Ma looks at me and says, “You sure seem much more confident than last time.”
“Let’s see your performance.” Anshuman Dada calls for music.
For my audition track, Papa used—you guessed it—‘Ramta Jogi’. I begged him to save it for the physical audition round, as it’s my most excellent one yet, and I wanted to rock the stage. As I pull off my best moves, I work on one of the toughest sections in the song, the knee work, where I tap my knees against the floor in time to the music. It took me a long time to get it right. I go slow, then when the collective beats hit, I go fast. I am getting there, and when the song ends, I drop onto my knees, and lie on my back.
What happens next is surprising. No sooner than I finish, three sounds of levers echo through the set. Three! And when I hear the theme song and see the lights turn gold, I jump to my feet and cheer. I join my hands, and silently thank God for all the help, all the practice, and I thank everyone else too, for not giving up on me. Heavily breathing, I look at Papa in the parents’ seat, who’s jumping and cheering like we won the World Cup.
Shipra Ma’am calls me to the judges’ table. I run to them, and Geetika Ma envelops me in a hug. Shipra Ma’am doesn’t hug me first, but instead, grabs my shoulders and places me in front of her judge mic.
“India!” She says, pointing to me. “Look at this child closely. He came in Super Dancer Chapter 3, was sent home for revision in the final auditions, and now he’s returned to Chapter 4…phatne ke liye.”
The set laughs.
“He’s burst like a bomb today, but he’s come back with this attention, this swag, and this new positive, can-do attitude. And for me, well, it is super se bahut, bahut, BAHUT upar, and it calls for the sidi!”
The huge stair ladder rolls out, and I climb with Shipra Ma’am, and we raise our hands in the bolt as a celebratory gesture. After I get down, I go to Dada, and feel everything I worked towards come true, as he hangs the medal over my neck, the word ‘selected’ glowing brightly on the digital screen.
It’s finally what I yearned for. The medal. The spot in Super Dancer.
When I run back to the stage, Geetika Ma starts speaking.
“Sankalp, what moves! They’re so clean, smooth, and my favourite one was the knee section, how you went from slow to fast.”
“Thank you, Ma,” I said.
“But the one thing I am proud of, is that you didn’t take the rejection, but the revision, seriously. And, well, bade kalakaaron se khade rehke bat karna chahiye,” she finishes, standing up and clapping for me for a while, but there’s more. “But, acche kalakaaron se yeh karna chahiye.”
She goes to the side of the table, and I know what she’s going to do. A thousand crackers burst inside my mind as Geetika Ma takes a bow in front of me.
“It’s the season’s first, beta!” Anshuman Dada cheers.
“Thank you, Ma’am! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I fall to my knees.
Anshuman Dada starts speaking. “Unique, yet perfect. It is outstanding!”
Shipra Ma is speechless. When she finds her voice, it is dripping with admiration. “Wow. I was right. This kid has burst like a bomb.”
We all laugh.
“But, Sankalp, you have a guaranteed position. I can see you—and I want to see you in the top 5.”
I can’t stop saying thank you. It is practically oozing from my mouth. And how can I?
Because this? It feels like taking the first step. The step to a second opportunity I’ve wanted my whole life.
13. An Incredible Encounter
When we’re back at the hotel, Papa immediately calls Mama and Sayra and tells them the good news. We have a virtual celebration by ordering pizza and ice-cream on both sides, and Mama’s grinning very brightly.
When I get the time to talk, I tell Mama everything, from meeting Aman and Prithvi to my routine and the sidi, Geetika Ma’s bow, and the medal. I even show it to her. Suddenly, as I’m speaking, I hear a strange sound, like the squawk of a bird.
I look at Mama, and I realise… she’s crying.
I have never seen my mother cry, not like this.
“Mama, aap theek ho?” I ask, worried.
She sniffles. “Yes, beta. I just… I’m so happy, and so, so, proud of you. But I also wish I was there to see it.”
Tears start to my eyes too. I wipe them away. “Me too, Mama. But wait until you see me on TV. I’ll be there.”
She presses her lips together, but forces a smile. “Okay, beta.”
“Say good night to Sayra for me.” Sayra fell asleep during the call.
“I will. Good night, Sankalp. Sleep well.”
When the call ends, I look at Papa. He stares at the screen of the cell phone absently.
“They’ll come to see me live one day, right?” I cover his hand with mine.
He nods firmly. “Yes. Don’t give up hope.”
I stare at the medal. “It’s hard to. But if I just got my second chance, maybe I have a shot. Now it all depends on whether I pass the final auditions.”
We go to the set two days later for the final audition round, and I rush to find Aman and Prithvi. I don’t know the results of Prithvi’s audition, but I hope he’s there. My heart leaps when I see both of them waving at me from a corner near some tunnel.
I break into a run and hug Prithvi. “I can’t believe you got in! I’m sorry I didn’t see your audition tape. Did it come on TV?”
Prithvi squeezes back. “Just yesterday. It’s very likely you missed it.”
I nod. “Been prepping for the final audition. Papa and I have been practising since after I got selected. It’s a routine I know by heart, but we decided to add improvements.”
“What’s the song?” Aman asks.
“‘Ang Laga De’.”
“Oh, that’s really good, no doubt you’ll do well.” He grins. “I saw your audition! It came on TV. And, bhai, you killed it.”
“Thanks.” I smile back.
“That’s not all.” Prithvi bounces on his feet, restless. “Aman found a secret entrance to the stage. Do you know the choreographers, who are also going to be our super gurus soon, are there for our final audition? And with that entrance, we can take a peek!”
The word choreographers is enough to set me off. I jump around excitedly, asking, “When? Can? We? See? Them?”
Aman checks his watch, then cocks his head. “Right about now.”
Turns out, the secret entrance isn’t exactly secret. It’s just that it’s that tunnel Aman and Prithvi were standing next to. The only reason Aman called it secret was that no crew member was guarding it.
Now, we’re inside it, sticking to the walls, moving stealthily down the path to the stage. We stop when we see the bright lights peek out from the edge.
“Who wants to go check?” I whisper.
Prithvi raises his hand, then silently moves and sticks his head to watch. Aman and I wait as he cranes his neck around.
“Mhm… yes, the choreographers are there. And better yet.” He turns to us and grins. “Our favourites are around too.”
My jaw drops. Varangi Jha is here?
Aman and I don’t wait a second. We rush to take a look. And when we turn our heads at the right angle… yes! Right on the left, in the gurus’ seats, are Varangi Jha, Shubroy Paul and Amarthevan Singh Natt, who taught Aman’s guru Gaurav.
“I feel like going there and meeting them right now!” Prithvi is shaking with excitement.
“We can’t risk it,” I caution. “The judges are also there. It’s a wonder they haven’t seen us until now.”
Aman snorts. “They’re probably taking Instagram shots on their phones, that’s why we’re practically invisible to them. Have to give it to their electronics for our successful spying.”
We giggle, then decide to leave. The shoot starts in fifteen minutes, and we would rather not be caught up in the middle of it all. After one last look, we run back to the waiting room.
Suddenly, on the way, Prithvi stumbles, and I hear a shout and a thud. He has slipped and fallen down. Aman and I grab him and pull him to his feet, but the problem? His commotion was too loud. At least, loud enough for everyone to hear us.
My ears pick up the choreographers’ voices. They’re far, but audible, and suspicious. Rubber soles squeak across the stage floor.
A man asks, “Is there someone in the tunnel? No one is supposed to be there.”
A murmur of apprehension comes from the other adults. At last, a woman finally decides to check.
“Run!” I shout to Prithvi and Aman. No point in not admitting they heard us. We dash for the exit like our lives depend on it. Sprinting through the tunnel, we try to escape the lady coming after us.
“Stop! I don't intend to hurt you,” a voice says.
We slide to a stop, then turn our heads to look.
No. Way.
Varangi Jha is standing in front of us, wearing a yellow crop top, shiny black bell bottom pants, and silver hoop earrings. Her hair hangs in a loose ponytail. And her eyes are firm, but at the same time, kind. Like she knows it was just a dare, a fun thing to do while waiting for our turn to perform.
“Ah, the golden boys Geetika Ma loves so much.” Her mouth twitches into a smile. “Aman, Prithvi, Sankalp.”
“S-s-s-sorry, Ma’am,” Prithvi stutters.
“We just wanted to see who the super gurus would be.” Aman anxiously frowns.
Varangi Ma’am levels her eyes on each of us. When she looks at me, I nearly stop breathing. Hr eyes are telling one thing: I know who you are and what has happened in Super Dancer Season 3 too.
She kneels on the floor. “Tell you what? Let’s keep this a secret between the three of us. You go back to your parents, and I’ll say that there was no one, just a crew member who was lost.”
We nod. Anything to get out of the mess we’re in.
She chuckles. “You know, I’d daresay I’d do the same thing in your shoes. After all, it’s not everyday you see your favourite dancers.” She gets up. “Aman, off you go. Prithvi, you stay here, you’re on first, according to the judges. And Sankalp…” She looks at me again, staring hard. “You also go with Aman. I’ll talk to you afteryou’re done.”
Heart hammering, Aman and I wish Prithvi luck as we head back inside the waiting room. I know I have a lot of explanation to give Papa as to why we were gone so long, but that can wait. I was so stunned from the whole meeting with Varangi Ma’am. And it proves one more thing.
I’m not going to just dance for getting into Super Dancer. I am going to do it to impress Varangi Jha as well.
14. It’s Done
Prithvi’s final audition goes very smoothly. I learn a few things about him that I really didn’t know before, and let’s just say, I’m pretty surprised.
Here’s the thing: his family’s really poor.
Yes, you read right. His father makes low wages every month as a sari weaver, and Prithvi knows it all too well. And he loves his family beyond measure. So, to support his mother, father and younger brother better, and to make life easier, he’s come onto the show to win and bring back the prize money home.
I’ve seen this kind of thing before, but to actually know a person who has this vision and goal… it’s stunning. Hearing Prithvi’s take on his opportunity, I feel I’m pretty selfish for the reason I’m on the show. I mean, what’s more important? Family or redemption? It’s the big question, and even though I know the answer, I just want to wait until the end to actually see if it’s true.
However, there’s another surprise, and a good one. Prithvi performed so well that rather than making him wait for a final decision, the judges, unanimously, pushed all three levers, gave him the medal and admitted him into the top 12. Can you believe it? Prithvi has become an actual contestant! I feel so happy for him, but I’m now really anxious too.
The final audition two years ago in Super Dancer-3 changed my whole life. It’s prepared me for this moment.
I have to become a contestant. If I don’t, I’ll be honest—I don’t know what I’ll do.
I really don’t.
“Next child, please!” Shipra Ma’am calls.
I head onstage, and Papa takes a seat in the parents’ area. I muster a smile to build up courage. I feel Varangi Ma’am’s eyes on me. When I look at her, she smiles back. Again, her eyes say everything: You’re gonna do great, kid. I guess that’s why I like Varangi Ma’am; her eyes say everything.
I focus my attention on the judges.
Anshuman Dada beams back as well. “Hello, Sankalp.”
Geetika Ma nods in understanding. “I know you’re anxious, beta.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I say.
Shipra Ma’am leans forward. “You will do well, I can tell.” She winks.
My smile grows a little more. The nervous feeling subsides a little. I get into position.
Geetika Ma calls for music.
As ‘Ang Laga De’ starts, I slide into the moves I rehearsed for hours on end. The confidence bubble encloses itself around me, and all I see is darkness and a single spotlight highlighting my feet on the ground. I twist, pop, glide, letting the song take root in my body, as I become the music, pulsing and emulating the beat. For my whole routine, I let myself be lost in the dance, to let it embrace me, and I embrace it right back.
The music ends, and I shake into a standing pose, like the movement of a rocking chair.
Geetika Ma, Shipra Ma’am and Anshuman Dada immediately get up and clap. Shipra Ma’am has even given her lever! She’s at the other judges like: kya hamein iss bacche ko kuch kehna bhi hai? He's done too well. Geetika Ma is saying ‘my god’ over and over again, and Anshuman Dada is shaking his head in an I told you sogesture.
I grin bigger now. The choreographers are going wild in their seats. Some are holding their head in amazement, and the others are jumping up and down. Turning to look at Papa, I see that even he is clapping loudly and cheering. This means I’ve done well. No, even better than well.
I’ve done a spectacularly excellent dance performance, one that can never be topped in a million years. But will it be enough?
I get my answer soon enough.
All three levers are pushed.
The lights turn gold.
The word SELECTED glows on the screen behind me.
And it’s all a blur. Going to Anshuman Dada to get the medal, climbing on the sidi with Shipra Ma’am again, Geetika Ma giving me a hug and saying congratulations over and over again—I don’t remember any of it.
After receiving the medal, I run and hug Papa very tightly. I’m crying, he’s crying, and I bet Mama and Sayra will cry when they see this.
It’s done.
It’s finally done.
I’m a contestant—an actual contestant—in Super Dancer.
When I go back to the stage, Geetika Ma says I’ve done well. I barely remember the other remarks because I’m shaking in my shoes with the daunting and amazing fact that I’ve been selected.
It feels so good, to only make the first step and still feel like you won it all.
It’s feels so, so good.
“Alright, the important question,” Geetika Ma says, the corners of her lips turning up. She turns to the choreographers. “Who all want Sankalp?”
Okay, here’s the big deal: every choreographer raises their hand in the air! Wow, what a turnout. But the biggest part is when Varangi Ma’am stands up, her hand raised, and she’s holding her handkerchief in the air as well!
Oh. My. God.
“Seems like Varangi would like to teach him!” Shipra Ma’am laughs.
Varangi Ma’am smiles back. “Ma’am, I’d like to dance with him, once, if that’s okay.”
Geetika Ma gestures towards the stage. “Go ahead, Varangi. Your presence graces the floor.”
Varangi Ma’am gets up and goes to me, and we get into position. And here’s the thing: I’ve never really been in a duet before. Like, never ever. How is this supposed to work? Well, I think Varangi Ma’am shows me how.
The music starts, and she looks to me. I slip ’n slide and move my legs around, like a starter step. Something to ease into the beat. Now, it’s Varangi Ma’am’s turn. She performs some stunning steps right in the beginning, and her hips are in tune with the beat. Papa says she’s very famous for a feminine style of popping that’s quite like her own, and here I am, seeing it in person.
At the middle of the song, it’s time to do this together. Varangi Ma’am stands behind me, and then—boom! I do a front slide step that’s my signature move, and Varangi Ma’am bends and moves her hips in time to my legs. I don’t know how it looks, but from the way the judges, choreographers, and Papa are staring spellbound, it seems to be the greatest thing to witness on earth.
The music ends, and Varangi Ma’am gives me a hug. Releasing, she whispers in my ear, “I’ll see you again in five minutes.”
I nod, unsure but still smiling big time. After a round of applause, Papa and I exit the stage, and I clutch my medal tightly and breathe in the feeling of acceptance.
This is it.
15. Cross Your Fingers
I’m sitting in the waiting room. Aman has gone for his audition, and Prithvi’s talking to his father. There’s another selected contestant apart from the both of us, Florisha Gogoi. A girl of six from Assam, she’s got some ridiculously awesome hip-hop moves on stage. Not to mention her cuteness and high-pitched voice, that awfully reminds me of Sayra.
I’m not doing anything much. From time to time, I pull out my selection medal from inside my shirt and stare at it, running my finger over the bright green SELECTED glowing on the analog screen. I still can’t believe I made it. It seems so… surreal. Unreal. Magical.
Suddenly, I hear a psst! from behind me. I ignore it. Probably static from the show. The door behind me is a backstage quick entrance to the stage.
Another sharp psst!, and this time the same person taps me on the shoulder. I’m completely spooked, and whirl around to face them.
Sliver hoop earrings cock to the side. “Does my future student have to ignore me all the time?”
I sigh, and grin. “Sorry, Varangi Ma’am. I didn’t know you’d use… a secret way to talk.”
She chuckles. The stage glows behind her. “Come on. It’s halftime, and no one’s paying attention.”
I get down and follow her to a relatively dark section of the entrance. It’s only lit by dim sidelights, so I watch my step, hoping not to trip on wires and other things.
Varangi Ma’am stops and bends down to face me. “So, how are you doing?”
I shrug. “Okay, I guess. But I still can’t believe I’m a contestant.”
She kneels. “That’s the feeling for everyone. I remember when I got selected for Dance Deewane in 2018. And look where I’m now. A choreographer, beginning to teach little kids to be the best dancers they can be.”
“That’s awesome.” I widen my eyes. “Are we going to be a pair?”
She chews her lip. “I hope so. I mean, Geetika Ma will listen to anything I say.”
I laugh.
“Now, I have a big request to ask you. And you have to say yes, kuch bhi ho.” Varangi Ma’am’s eyes grow serious, and she furrows her eyebrows.
I gulp.
Her brown eyes twinkled. “Call me Didi, okay?”
I blink. I think this is serious. “Ma’am, aap mere bade, mere guru ho.”
She nods. “I know, kid. But I’ll be honest—whenever someone calls me Ma’am, it’s like I've instantly become an old schoolteacher who’ll rap your knuckles every chance I get. I keep a straight face on for show business, but inside, I’m like, main tumhari principal hun nahin, I’m Varangi!”
I have to admit, Varangi Ma’am is quite the comedian. I guffaw loudly.
“Okay Ma’am!” I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I’ll call you Varangi Didi.”
“Everywhere.” She crooks her pinkie finger. “On set, in the hotel, and even if we run into each other on the street. Promise?”
I nod, and sensing this is the pinkie swear moment, I hook my finger around hers. “Promise.”
She smiles. “Good.” Ruffling my hair, she gets up. “I’ll see you when you’re called back for the final lineup.”
I stare as she leaves. When she nears the edge, I call out, “Wait!”
She turns around.
“G-Geetika Ma will listen to you, right?” I ask shakily. “For us to be paired?”
She tilts her head to one side. “If she doesn’t, I’ll find a way.” She shakes her head. “You’re something great, kid. As a dancer, but as a little boy, too. The kind a teacher like me wants to care for forever.” Her eyes shine with pride. “I know I’ll need you.” She waves. “See you later, Sankalp Chanana.”
And she’s gone.
I barely realise I just had a conversation with my favourite dancer in the whole world, and she just asked me to call her Didi.
For good measure and to fulfil my promise, I try it.
Varangi Didi. Varangi Didi.
It… fits. Varangi Didi seems like an actual Didi, an older sister now.
I’m still standing in the entrance. And now I’m grinning, too.
“See you later, Varangi Didi.”
(Next part: out 18th September)
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