16. The Final Lineup
Once all the auditions end, the contestants chosen are called to the stage to introduce themselves to the audience as the new Super Dancers of this season. While I’m heading to the entrance, I steal a quick glance at the final list posted on a board:
Top 13 Contestants
- Aman Kumar
- Anil Tattikotta
- Anshita Rajput
- Arshika Sharma
- Eeshvi Mishra
- Florisha Gogoi
- Neera Tiwari
- Parita Tamang
- Prakhya Das
- Prithvi Kongari
- Sankalp Chanana
- Sobhit Barman
- Swati Rishi Kashyap
Seeing my name on the board, the newly familiar feeling of pride and being a contestant sinks in, and I smile big-time. And, yes, Aman made it too! The three of us—Aman, Prithvi and I—are now contestants and part of the top 13.
I soon reach the group of kids, only to hear a sort of attendance-call start.
“Aman Kumar?”
“Present!”
“Anil Tattikotta?”
“Present!”
“Anshita Rajput?”
“Present, Ma’am!”
Wow. Seems like show business is no different from school. This should be easy.
“Sankalp Chanana?” The crew lady has reached my name.
Brimming with confidence, I yell clearly, “Present!”
The group stares at me. I blush, embarrassed.
“It’s alright,” the girl next to me says. “Everyone’s pretty excited.”
“I suppose so.” I grin. “What’s your name?”
“Prakhya Das.” She sticks out her hand.
I shake it. “Sankalp Chanana.” I pause. “Whoops, already said that.”
Prakhya giggles, then turns back. “Seems pretty exciting, don’t you think? Getting into Super Dancer.” She gestures to the entrance.
My smile grows bigger and broader. “You have no idea.”
“And now, presenting, the Top 13!” The host calls out, and the stage doors open. We run out on stage, the audience cheering loudly and the theme song ringing in our ears. I wave to the choreographers, and Varangi Ma’am waves back. The whole set is in a frenzy, seeing the new lineup of Super Dancers for this season. It’s like the last day of school; you’re excited and ready to enjoy two entire months of holidays.
Only this time? I’m ready to take on the world.
17. You Are Not Alone
We arrive at the Taj hotel, now our current residence. After checking in and heading to our rooms, Papa and I give Mama a call.
The screen flickers, then stables to show a smiling Mama. I grin widely.
“We did it, Mama,” I say. “We have finally made it to Super Dancer.”
She nods, empathetic. “I know, beta. I’m very, very proud of you. The whole colony’s been celebrating, you know?”
“Wait, really?” I can’t believe it.
She nods. “You wanted this your entire life. They saw that. And now you have it.”
Showed them! I finally feel relieved, like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Now I have their entire support.
I hop up and down on the bed, giddy. “And guess what? Tomorrow I’m going to meet my new choreographer. I hope it’s Varangi Didi, Mama. That’d be so cool! And I will rock the stage and the screen. Papa says I’ve gone viral on social media already! Isn’t that amazing?”
She laughs. “Calm down, Sankalp. Yes, we all know, yeh baat—it’s a big thing for you.”
“Huge.” I can barely contain my happiness. “I’m on TV!”
“Ah, yes.” Papa nods behind me. “One minute he’s a contestant, the next he’ll be another Shah Rukh Khan!”
The three of us guffaw loudly.
“Mama,” I say, the laughter dying down. “Will you and Sayra be coming to Mumbai now?” Behind her, I hear the news playing on TV. Another reporter is talking too:
“The COVID-19 cases in India have increased drastically, many due to direct transmission of the virus. And the cases in Maharashtra have been growing worse day by day…”
Mama sighs. “Not anytime soon, Sankalp.”
I very well know why, but I still tremble furiously, a tear rolling down my cheek. It’s happening again, all these thoughts. About stupid COVID-19, stupid lockdowns, stupid everything. Can something, anything, be right for once? Why does something have to go wrong every time?
The anger must’ve been showing on my face, because Mama looks sad. “Oh, Sankalp…” she whispers. “I wish it were that easy.”
I’ve had enough. I thrust the phone towards Papa and leave the hotel room, slamming the door shut. Papa and Mama don’t even try to stop me.
I walk down the corridor, crying. I don’t even know where I’m going, but I have to be alone. To get away from all this.
Don’t get me wrong. I knew from a long time, since 2018, that life isn’t always fair. It’s always going to throw a curveball every chance it gets.
But why now? Why, when I finally achieved the goal I had been working towards for the past three years?
Suddenly, I bump into someone coming from their room. I look up, and my jaw again drops, but I’m not very surprised.
“Well, why didn’t I guess?” The person chuckles.
I relax a little. “Namaste, Varangi Didi.”
“Namaste.” Didi smiles. “What are you doing so late?”
I sigh, and slump against the wall. “I was just… frustrated. My mother and sister are still stuck in Jalandhar. They can’t come to watch me.” I slide down and sit on the floor. “And it’s unfair it has to happen to me.”
She plops down next to me. “Oh. So, you mean it should happen to someone else?”
I shake my head, horrified. “It’s not that! That’s—that’s not what I meant.”
She gives me a look. “Then what is it that you did mean?”
I bite my lip.
She pats my knee. “If you feel it’s happening just to you, think about the other contestants. What about Aman? Prithvi? Did you see their mothers? And some kids’ fathers weren’t around. Everyone wishes their families could be whole, too, now that they made it.”
Gut-wrenching guilt replaces the anger and self-pity I had been buried in seconds ago. How was I so selfish? I bet some kids don’t even have the facilities they need to get their parents here. At least there’s a possibility—a small, minute possibility—for Mama and Sayra to join us. More tears roll down my cheeks, for the rest of the other kids.
Didi puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. Just know that you are never alone, Sankalp. That’s all you need to do.” She smiles softly, then gets up and goes back to her room.
I’m still sitting in the corridor, but the words echo inside me.
You are never alone.
Slowly, I get up. Mama and Sayra aren’t here, but that’s okay. They’re only just a phone call away. And there’s more to the show than I know. There’s a new family, of other contestants, the choreographers, the other parents—even the judges.
And for the first time since coming to Mumbai, I finally feel light. With the fact that there’s a new day ahead, with all the right people behind me.
18. Sanvar: The New Jodi
Papa and I head down to the dining hall to eat a light breakfast. The food in a hotel is always great, but with Mama not around, it makes me miss her cooking even more. As we devour some freshly toasted bread and boiled eggs, Papa and I plan ahead.
“So, today is the guru orientation?” I ask between bites.
Papa wipes his mouth. “Yes, Sankalp. You will be meeting your new choreographer, then after a rehearsal of one hour, we regroup with the other contestants to try some sort of bonding activity.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Bonding?”
He sighs and smiles. “It must be something nice they’re up to.”
After we’re done eating, we hop in the van that takes us to the studio, with two other contestants and their parents. I’m sitting with Aman, and Anshita Rajput, a spunky eleven-year-old girl from Madhya Pradesh. She’s a hip-hop dancer, and has an immense reason for coming to the show.
“I’m here to fight for the rights of girls, to ask people to let them do what they wish to do. In my society, no one allows the girls to go farther than getting educated. I intend to change that,” she says to us.
“That’s a big goal.” I whistle.
She holds my gaze for a second. “What’s your reason, Sankalp?”
I pause. “It’s not as selfless as yours.”
She smiles softly. “Just because it’s for yourself doesn’t mean it’s not something worth working for. Come on, tell me.”
So, I narrate the story of Super Dancer 3 and my failed audition, and my whole preparation for coming here. Listening, she drums her fingers on her knee.
“I don’t think it’s very wrong. I’d do the same thing if I were you.” She cocks her head to one side. “So now you’re just trying to stay long enough to make a mark and earn your redemption?”
I nod. “Pretty much.”
Anshita turns to Aman. “And you?”
He shrugs. “I’m just here for the food.”
We stare at him in surprise.
Frightened, he throws his hands up and sputters, “Hey! Gaurav Sir knows the inside outs of the entire show. So, on his advice, I took a shot at it.”
“And you hit it! You cracked a sixer right off the court and got selected,” I cheer.
Anshita clucks her tongue. “Same old, same old.”
Aman raises an eyebrow.
“Well,” I cut in to ease the tension. “That was the same reason I had when I auditioned for season 3. It’s just about a test of talent.”
She nods. “True. But I was hoping for something unique.”
I laugh. “Who said being on TV isn’t unique enough, Anshita? You know what they say: go big or stay home!”
We soon arrive at the studio, where a crew member takes us to our separate dance rooms inside. Papa and I are led to Room 2, with three light-coloured pastel walls and a spotless blue floor. A big mirror makes up for the fourth and longest wall.
The crew member, whose tag IDs him as Anish, checks his watch. “Well, your guru should be arriving soon.”
“And he will be on time, right?” Papa prompts. He’s been doing this for a while, mentioning subtle words to find out more about the mystery choreographer.
“Uh, she, actually,” Anish corrects.
Papa and I look at each other. “She?”
Anish freezes. “Sorry, I’ve said too much.” And he quickly dashes out.
After a pause, Papa blinks. “Well, I did not see that coming.”
“Neither did I.” I sigh, then sit down and lean against the wall. “When will she arrive, really?”
He looks at the clock above us. “Let’s wait some more.”
I twiddle my thumbs and pout. I stand up and walk around the room twice. I borrow Papa’s phone and play fifteen minutes’ worth of video games, before releasing another sigh. I finally start jogging in place, breathing in and out in short, rapid bursts.
Papa raises an eyebrow. “Sankalp, what are you doing?”
I stretch. “Getting ready.”
“Perhaps your new Super Guru will have an exercise regimen in mind. Let’s be respectful and wait for her to arrive.”
I grunt while doing jumping jacks. “I’m not waiting. I want to start now!”
He shakes his head, but says nothing more. When I’m done, he gives me his phone.
“Play the first song showing up on screen. Don’t scroll.” He emphasises.
I nod, then start the recent 90s Bollywood song that appeared the minute I open the music app. I listen to it once, then replay it and immediately take the creative bubble, putting it to good use. Gliding across the floor, my feet move in time to crescendo violins and speeding strings. Now this was the way to wait. As I settle into an ending stance, I hear clapping from behind me.
Varangi Didi walks in, loudly applauding. “Thank goodness I was given the right child!”
I gasp, then run to give her a hug. “You’re my new choreographer!”
She squeezes back. “That’s right!”
I release, then realise my slip-up. “Oh, I’m sorry, Didi, I forgot.” I bend down and touch her feet, to mark my respect and acknowledgment of my new teacher. But she quickly pulls me back up.
“Arey, nahin!” She protests, laughing nervously. “Please, Sankalp!”
“Varangi Ma’am,” Papa says, folding his hands politely. “You are one of the best dancers we’ve ever known. Aadar dena banta hai.”
She blushes and bows. “Please, sir. Hame yeh dekhke khushi ho rah hai that we have been paired right, Sankalp and I. That is the biggest thing someone has done for me. For us.” She looks at me fondly. “I have gained a student, a little brother, and a friend, all in one.”
I grin. What fate had determined in store, it has given that. Now Varangi Didi and I are the guru-shishya team for a blissful six months, for sure.
“There’s more.” Didi beams and turns to me. “We have been given team names for each jodi. You know what ours is?”
I shake my head.
Didi’s smile grows bigger and brighter. “Sankalp and Varangi. Sanvar.”
Varangi Didi and I quickly gel during orientation. We talk about our lives, homes, families, and our dancing experiences. Papa and Didi also have a small adult conference about the teaching and routine, and Didi promised to keep a strict routine just like he used to.
The next day, Didi and I finish warming up and go on to discuss the most important part: the Grand Premiere.
“I have a vague idea of the Premiere setup already,” she says. “But I was hoping you and I can work on it together.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Together?”
She nods. “Tiger Pop and I used to decide on final sets and choreography together. I don’t want you to feel left out and unimportant, like most kids. This isn’t just a teacher-student thing, it’s a partnership. I trust you, you trust me. Moreover, I have never encountered a style as unique as yours. I will need help incorporating it into the choreography. Your father will also give us pointers.”
Wow. Okay. This is actually happening.
“Sure, Didi. What will our performance be like?” I ask eagerly. Visualising a solid scene always helps me focus better.
“I was thinking something like a club-style dance floor, and there could be a gigantic kind of pyramid staircase… and our initials are on the staircase… V and S on either sides.”
I doubt that was very vague. “Will we be walking down the staircases? If so, we’ll need a platform.”
She snaps her fingers. “Perfect! On the top. We can use an elevator as our rig. Some sort of mechanical effect is compulsory for the Premiere.”
“Well, the set is down.” I run a hand through my hair. “Song?”
“I’ve already picked it: ‘Nadiyon Paar.’ Luckily, I’ve got someone to remix it. You’ll be meeting him soon.” She grins.
I turn my head towards the door, which opens with a bang. A man about Varangi Didi’s age, with bushy black hair and a big smile showing all his teeth, strides inside the room.
“So this is the great Sankalp Chanana,” he says to Didi. “Lucky girl, aren’t you, sis?”
I jerk my head towards Didi. “Sis? He’s your brother?”
“Cousin,” she corrects. “Sankalp, meet Sandeep Dhar, one of my few relatives working in the dance industry. He’s a reputed remixer, singer, and all-time fun travel partner. He accompanies me on every trip I have.”
I look at Sandeep Sir. “Really?”
“Believe it.” He winks. “You can call me Sunny Bhaiya. Everyone does.”
“I like you already!” I exclaim.
He ruffles my hair affectionately. “I like you already, too! It’s like you’re my brother from another mother.” But then he goes and bops me one in the stomach. “But watch out, I am a little sharaarti too.”
I groan. “Ouch.”
It’s Varangi Didi’s turn to hit Sunny Bhaiya. “He has practice, badmash insaan. You’ll break his ribs before his first official performance. And don’t mess around. You still have to help with remixing.”
Bhaiya grins. “Chill, Didi. I already have it ready. Here.” He pulls out a pen drive and hands it to her. “Or shall I connect it to the laptop?”
She nods. “Go ahead.”
In a flash, Sandeep Bhaiya sets up an impromptu music centre on a corner table, complete with a pair of speakers, his laptop, and DJ turntables. It’s obvious he’s done this many times before.
“I’ll bring in everything else later,” he jokes. “This’ll be our permanent dance-slash-remixing room for now.”
He plays a version of ‘Nadiyon Paar’, and we listen closely. The first part has some cool electronic effects added, followed by the starting beats, then snippets from the male chorus are mixed in. Successive beats follow up, and a bang! I hear the e-sounds with the first few lines:
“Ooh, aah (aah, aah)
Ooh, aah (aah, aah)
Dance still be right…”
And the song starts, but the whole thing has an urban, e-remix to it. But then it speeds up, and changes tempo, and suddenly slows. The voices are distorted, punctuated by synth sounds. Again the song speeds up gradually, and it returns to its original tempo, e-remix still persistent. The song ends with an electrical crackle, and fades to silent.
Didi whistles. “I take it that it took you a day to make?”
He gives us a goofy grin. “Nah. Only five minutes.”
“I guess you have plenty of appointments,” I wisecrack.
He chuckles. “Most of them from Didi’s friends only.”
Didi applauds loudly nonetheless. “Good work, Sunny! This is perfect. I already have an idea how to make it work. We just need to rope in Sankalp’s father.”
She turns to me and grabs my hands. “Sankalp, you will have the greatest grand premiere performance in the history of Super Dancer. I have no doubt!”
19. A Serious Bonding Game
Papa, Varangi Didi, and I work day and night on the choreography for the grand premiere performance. Mostly, I act as a dummy to try out the movements, while Didi and Papa toss ideas back and forth. After a few days, we have a set routine ready. Didi then takes me for the costume trials at the hotel.
“It’s basically an orange, sequinned pants and shirt. It is probably close to skin colour, but it won’t look too odd,” she tells me as we head to the side lobby, where the trials are being held.
While Didi books our slot, I steal the opportunity to catch up with Aman and Prithvi. They have been working hard at their performances too. Prithvi’s doing a sweet, soft dance involving a moon pulley and a kite, while Aman’s going for a robotic bird-like set-up.
“We’re doing something on a literal dance floor, with flashing lights and colours and everything! Didi’s cousin Sandeep ’Sunny’ Bhaiya has helped us a lot with the track,” I tell them.
“Must be very fun, then.” Aman gulps some water down, all tired and sweaty. “Amarthevan Sir tells me that Varangi Ma’am has always had a youthful vision when it came to performances.”
“Even Shubroy Sir said the same thing,” Prithvi adds.
I grin. “Guess I’ve been paired with a very modern guru.”
“Okay, everyone, come over here!” A man calls out. “That’s right, I’m talking to you, bachchas. Come on, don’t be shy!”
Prithvi, Aman and I look at each other. “Bonding activity,” we say in unison.
We gather in a circle around the man, whom I recognise as Rishabh, one of the crew members, but he insists on everyone calling him Frostee Bhaiya. We never got the connection why, but I think it has something to do with getting ridiculously ‘cool’ nicknames in the heart of TV-making. Sunny Bhaiya is definitely an example.
“Today is bonding activity number do.” He holds up two fingers.
For a second, I feel like groaning. The bonding activities are meant to help, but last time’s dumbsharaats game didn’t go so well, especially when Sobhit tried to pull down his pants for clueing Captain Underpants. I hope this isn’t a disaster either.
Frostee Bhaiya holds up a football. “See the white hexagons? I have written your names on each of them. So, I’m going to toss the ball, and someone catches it. Okay? Next, whoever has the ball, they must ask a question to the person whose name landed under their right thumb. After the question’s answered, you throw the ball to that person. Got it?”
We nod uncertainly. To make us comfortable with the game, Bhaiya makes us play a practice round. He tosses the football to Anil Tattikotta first. His thumb lands on Sobhit’s name.
“Uh… okay. Sobhit… who are your favourite sports stars?” He asks, triumphant.
Sobhit grins, and rattles off the entire Indian cricket team quicker than a bullet train. We laugh and beg him to stop before he runs out of breath (and names).
Anil throws the ball, and Sobhit’s question goes to Eeshvi Mishra.
“Ultimate Bollywood star?”
“Oh, no one tops Shah Rukh Khan.” She laughs.
The ball is passed, and questions fire to many people in all directions, and the game is really in motion. Some kids get up and go for costume trials, including me. By the time I come back, Aman is asking a question to Anshita.
“What is so wonderful about this show?”
“The talent,” she says with a smile.
But when Anshita grabs the ball, her eyes go misty.
“What do you miss the most about home?” Her voice is soft and laced with grief.
Everyone grows quiet. The adults suck in a breath. Anshita throws the ball to me.
“My sister,” I whisper back, and throw the ball to Prithvi. He looks down at it, as if he’s seeing it for the first time.
“My mother,” he says.
The ball is passed around, but everyone goes on, answering Anshita’s question.
“My father.”
“My cousins and siblings.”
“My house.”
“My school.”
“My friends.”
“The smell of the sea.”
“My mom’s gajar ka halwa.”
“Feeling so free.”
“The world before COVID.”
The ball is in my hands again. I stare at the white hexagons, our names scribbled in various colours on them.
Prakhya looks at me expectantly. “It’s your turn, Sankalp.”
I wordlessly put the ball in the middle of our circle.
“You need to give it to one of us, Sankalp.” Arshika Sharma’s voice grates hard. She doesn’t like it when we don’t play by the rules.
I shrug. “Anyone can take it.” My gaze drifts toward the adults. “It’s not like this is a serious game anyway.”
Frostee Bhaiya clears his throat uncomfortably. “Kids, we’ll continue something new tomorrow. Now, the costume fitting’s about to start.”
As we leave, I catch a glimpse of my friends’ parents asking what the game was all about. They don’t seem so happy. But even they know they can’t hide it from us. No matter what happens, those rose-tinted glasses are always pulled away.
And through our own eyes, we always see the real world, in all its miserable glory.
20. The Grand Premiere, Pt. 1
This is it! The day I have been waiting for my entire life. It excites me so much I jump out of bed the minute dawn cracks. Well, not really. It’s the minute Papa’s phone alarm cracks an annoying ring. Papa, on the other hand, is sound asleep, next to me. He doesn’t even bother to press snooze.
“Wake up, Papa!” I shake him softly, then harder. “It’s the big day!”
He grumbles, then gets up and rubs his eyes. “So early, beta?”
I jump up and down on the bed. “Yes! The shooting starts at nine.”
He blearily looks at the clock above. “Ah, haan.” He gets out of bed and stretches. “Lots to do.”
I grin. Papa’s early morning antics are already making me feel giddy. I quickly head to the bathroom and get ready. I emerge outside wearing my dance clothes, then attach my knee and elbow pads. I bound out of the room and run smack into Aman, who is only two doors down the hall from us.
“Itni jaldi?” He laughs. “I’m pretty sure this is typical Sankalp.”
I spin around in my brand-new dancing shoes. “Any doubt?”
“Mast jute, bhai. You ready for the performance? We have group warmup in a while, and then we’re driving to the studio. Oh, and also we have to get our testing done afterwards.”
I groan. “Please tell me it’s not—“
“It is. RT-PCR for COVID-19.” He sighs. “So irritating.”
I sigh too. “Can’t do anything about that, can we?”
Papa appears in the doorway. “Oh, hello, Aman. You’re ready?”
“Ji, Uncle. My father and I were just about to leave for breakfast.”
Papa hurriedly puts on his shoes. “In that case, we shall join you.”
We go down the stairs and grab Prithvi from the nearby room. The five of us then enter the dining hall. As we pick our food from the long buffet line, Varangi Didi bounds over with her plate.
“Hi, boys! Big day today, yeah?” She fills some cornflakes in a bowl, then adds milk.
“Yes, Didi. Oh, wait, I need to go and find Subramanoy Sir. Would you happen to know where he is?” Prithvi asks.
She points at a distant table. “Over there.”
Aman jams his hat lower on his head and squints. “Well, even Amar Sir is there too! I better catch up.” He waves to us. “See you at the prem!”
Didi and I walk over to a table and sit down. I start eating hurriedly, but Didi hasn’t moved a muscle.
I look up. “What’s wrong, Didi?”
She sighs. “Sankalp, I’ve been meaning to ask you a question. An extremely important question. Normally, I’d ask until after a Grand Premiere, but I suppose it’s time we waive tradition in your case.”
My ears perk up. “You mean… this happens in Super Dancer every season?”
She taps her plate. “Consider this a Varangi tradition. Ask any of my reality TV students, and they will tell you that they did answer it.”
“Okay… so what’s the question?” I prompt.
Didi sets her silverware down and looks me in the eye. The full gaze of concentration she’s giving me unnerves me. I squeeze my fists tightly.
“What is, and has been, the most important thing to you, from the start of the auditions, to right now?” She asks.
I stay silent. My head swirls with fragments of words and half-blurred images. At last, I reach a conclusion.
“Dance,” I say, with finality. “It’s everything to do with dance.”
Didi nods slowly, and opens her cell phone. Her fingers fly across the screen as she types.
“Good. I have recorded your answer.” She smiles mysteriously. “Now, we can get back to eating.”
Uneasy, I pick my spoon and continue. Showbiz is a funny business indeed. There are questions unseen. And the answers to those are strange. But this is the life I’m living now, so might as well get used to it. It’s okay, as long as it doesn’t turn me dotty. Otherwise, something’s really terribly off, indeed.
In the car, sandwiched between Aman and Prithvi, my feet are shaking so hard they rattle the floor.
Aman looks at me, alarmed. “Chill! It’s just a car ride.”
“To the Super Dancer 4 set. Yeah, sure, let’s be chill.” Prithvi grins.
“Ha ha, very funny.” I roll my eyes. “I’m just excited.”
Prithvi tugs at my bag. “Aw, man, I should’ve brought something.”
I secretly smile. “Don’t worry.” I open my bag and show them the treats I smuggled from the breakfast line. “This’ll keep us full for all the three hours.”
Aman cocks his head. “But Gaurav Sir told me that they will serve refreshments every thirty minutes.”
I grumble. “So much for stealing and evading.”
“They don’t serve chocolate-chip muffins, though!” Prithvi claps me on the back.
We reach the studio, and Aman, Prithvi and I get out. At the door, a crew member, Krithika, hands us our costumes and tells us to go change in the bathrooms near the set. Bounding down the hallway, we bump into Swethri Didi, Prakhya’s choreographer. She’s wearing her costume, a parrot green Bharatnatyam getup.
“Well, kids! Got your things?” She asks.
We nod. She points to the men’s room a few doors down. “Go in there and change. All the washrooms are clean, don’t worry, but by doing this, you can save time and then go to makeup.” And she dashes out of sight, rushing.
We shrug, then go inside, change, and come out. I hook my pads underneath my costume. Then, the three of us set out to find the makeup room.
We hunt down the whole floor, then head up to the second, when we stumble upon a room next to the set: Makeup – Super Dancer 4. There are already some people inside, and we settle into some comfortable salon chairs.
“Now what?” Aman asks.
I look in the mirror and run my fingers through my hair. “Guess we wait.”
One of the chairs turns, and a smiling Florisha faces us, her hair done in two elaborately intertwined braids.
“The makeup artists have gone for a break.” She eyes the top of our heads. “Though it looks like you don’t have to do anything, for a change.”
We laugh. All the boy contestants are well-known for their messy hair in the hotel. We are no exceptions.
A young woman, whose tag IDs her as Maansi, comes in and smiles. “Well, thank goodness I came in here early! My friends are arriving in a few minutes, but in the meanwhile…” She turns to me and smiles. “I’ll start with you.”
And so, as she combs my hair and puts creams on my face, Maansi Didi asks me questions about myself, and my journey on Super Dancer so far. Like everyone else, she knows I’m a revision contestant, but she looks at me in awe as she says so.
“It takes a lot of guts to pick yourself up and start over again. With a rejection like that, I don’t think I could’ve gotten myself to try once more. You really have an unshakeable resolve.”
I shrug as she dusts her hands and reaches for some hair gel. “I don’t know, Didi. That doesn’t sound like me. The judges said it clearly: sent home for revision. Not sent home to never come back again. So, I mean, there was a second chance.”
She finishes rubbing the gel and goes over my hair once more with a fine comb. “It still is very mature of you, Sankalp. You’ve got good observation and a logical sense of mind, to put dance first and focus on it immensely.”
I nod, but somehow I feel uneasy about this conclusion. Sure, I concentrated on dance 100%. But if it’s a good thing, then why do I sense that it’s not so good suddenly? And why do I feel the need to turn back time and go about things differently? Should I have gone to play with my friends more? Should I have had fun? Is that the reason the colony didn’t speak to us at all? Because I was too hooked on my next audition and getting it right?
I don’t know the answers to these questions. I may never. But one thing is sure: I don’t want to go back again.
The theme music bursts in my ears, loud and clear. All us kid contestants cheer and clap loudly. We’re definitely here to raise the roof because, dude, it’s the Grand Premiere! This is the beginning of a long journey with the new Top 13.
The hosts, Rithvik Dhanjani and Mamaji, who’s really Paritosh Tripathi, walk out on stage, wildly applauding.
“Namaskar, devi aur sajno, and welcome to—“ Rithvik Bhaiya grins, his smile overpowering everything else around. “The Grand Premiere of Super Dancer Chapter…”
“Char!” Mamaji finishes, and we cheer and clap even louder.
“And now, Mame!” Rithvik Bhaiya turns to him. “Let’s introduce our very own Top 13!”
More cheering and clapping. I raise my hands in the air and wave.
“And now, for our very own judges, we have one who looks like she is still in her teens…” Mamaji starts, but Bhaiya shoots him a withering look. He stutters.
“Er, I mean still fifteen, please welcome, Shipra Shetty Kundra!”
Shipra Ma’am bows at her seat, but not before she narrows her eyes at Mamaji. Boy, he’s in trouble.
“And for our all round expert in food and sweets, award-winning director, Anshuman Basu!” Bhaiya joins his hands and bows to Anshuman Dada, who bows right back.
“And finally the grace of the stage, my behen, Ms. Geetika Kapoor!” And the person in question gets up and bows too. Mamaji is grinning, proud.
“All right, so here’s how it goes,” Bhaiya continues. “The Top 13 contestants have each been given a Super Guru, who will teach them and perform with them every week. And our judges will guide and mentor our students after every performance.”
“And we will be joined by fabulous and famous guests every weekend, so stay tuned!” Mamaji adds.
We applaud. Varangi Didi leans over and whispers, “Now they’ll start calling us for performing.”
I nod, a bowling ball lodged in my throat. Who’s first? And who’s last? Am I in-between? And more importantly—wherever I am, will I perform impressively? Will I make it through the grand premiere? Or will it be a repeat offender all over again?
Turns out, Sobhit and his guru, Vaishnav Sir, are the first ones on stage. They perform a huge and religiously steeped dance towards Lord Ganesha, and they have some really cool moves played out. There’s even paint used as ‘analog effects’, according to Shubroy Sir. Varangi Didi tells me it’s Vaishnav Sir’s tradition to start off every show with a performance to God, as if to bring ‘auspicious and good vibes’ to the stage. Her words, not mine. But Sobhit’s performance is most memorable for me because of what happened after. And that’s the time I found out how far people are willing to go to get a few smiles.
After a slew of comments like ‘Amazing!’ and ‘Awesome!’ and ‘Vaishnav, you have outdone yourself’, plus three levers and the sidi, Anshuman Dada has a trick up his sleeve.
“You know, if Sobhit could make magic on the stage, then there is something about that child,” he says to the rest of us. “So, I have a plan in mind. Kattapa!”
I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right: Bahubali doesn’t hide in the set. So who is the legendary royal warrior? We get our answer soon enough.
One of the crew members, a man with a grey beard but no hair at all, a mask covering his nose and mouth, wearing a knight’s uniform, steps out with an empty glass tumbler on a tray. ‘Kaun Hai Voh’ starts playing out the speakers.
“Oh,” I say. “I get the Kattapa reference.”
Varangi Didi shoots me a look. “Sure is quite the unsettling reference, don’t you think?”
I eye the tumbler. “What’s with that?”
Kattapa goes on stage and places the tumbler on a pedestal I didn’t even notice was there.
“It wasn’t there before,” Shubroy Sir says on my other side, reading my thoughts.
The tumbler is then covered with a glass box.
“Well, that’s ironic,” Prithvi says with a grin.
“All right, Sobhit, I want you to concentrate on the tumbler carefully and repeat this: ram, bhram, jha. Got it?” Anshuman Dada’s saying.
Sobhit nods uncertainly. He holds up the mic to his face, and stares at it. “Ram, bhram, jha. Ram, bhram, jha.”
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, flopping back in my seat.
Anshuman Dada is shaking his head. “No, no… Rithvik, hold his mic. Let him have his hands free.”
Rithvik Bhaiya grabs the mic. Sobhit’s still chanting.
“Ram, bhram, jha. Ram, bhram, jha.”
“Get angry!” Mamaji suggests.
Sobhit’s face darkens, his fists clench. He’s truly furious. Apparently, whatever should happen isn’t happening, and that makes him madder than a lion. His chanting becomes more forceful, like he’s ordering the tumbler to—to do what?
We get our answer soon enough.
Pop! Crack! Clink! Clink! Clink!
The glass rips apart in two halves, with splinters and shards flying out in all directions, in the middle of Sobhit’s twentieth ram, bhram, jha. Thanks to the glass box, everyone is protected from the pieces. Sobhit looks shocked, not believing what happened. Nobody does.
“How did it break?” Everyone murmurs.
Anshuman smiles and points to Sobhit. “He’s special!”
“I bet they just heated a Borosil glass tumbler,” Didi whispers. “This place is like a magic show with all sorts of hidden mechanisms.”
“But why would they do it for such a small, unnecessary trick?” I ask.
She shrugs. “It’s reality TV. Anything anyone on the show wants, they’ll do it.”
“That’s kind of…” I pause. “Strange. Wouldn’t that cost money?”
She shrugs. “A little here and there? They certainly don’t care.”
I shake my head. “Wow.”
21. The Grand Premiere, Pt. 2
After three hours, we’re sent home for a lunch break. They have recorded the entire first episode, and not once did my turn come up during the whole shoot. Didi says I’ll get my chance in the next episode then, as the Grand Premiere will be four episodes long. She’s not wrong about that because the next day, I’m the second contestant in line.
“Presenting, nachpan ka comeback avatar, from Jalandhar, Punjab, Sankalp Chanana!” Rithvik Bhaiya says. Everyone claps, and Sanatam Sir, Swati Kashyap’s guru, pats me on the back. Didi and I stand up.
“Along with his super guru, Varangi…” Mamaji pauses, and Rithvik Bhaiya yells, “Jha!”
He points towards the below exit. Mamaji sulks and goes, but then Rithvik Bhaiya points to the right. “Udhar ja!”
After managing a few chuckles, Didi and I get on stage, and I hear a faraway sound of ‘cut!’, followed by, “Alright, Varangi, bring in the props.” This is the common routine. What you see on your screen will be a fade to black, then fade back to the stage, where the lights are set and everything. But it’s really twenty long minutes cut from the final recording. The contestants seated spend those twenty minutes grabbing a snack or goofing off. Didi and I warm up and get our set ready. It’s assembled, but the wiring takes time to set up. Not to mention I need to go behind and stand on the little elevator they built.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay, Sankalp?” Didi asks me as I take my position.
“I’ll be fine. But this is the first time I’m using such a huge prop.” I look up around us.
She pats my shoulder. “Well, they’ll tell you when they’ll start moving up. Don’t worry. All the best.”
The lights dim, and final tech checks are being done. And then, I hear the music…
Blue lights flash sharply, and I know the V and S on the set is glowing brightly. Didi’s solo is going on now. I feel the elevator about to rise. I glance at the crew person behind me, and he nods. The elevator goes up and up, and I take a deep breath.
Okay, Sankalp. Let’s do this.
And I emerge out the top, ready to take on this show.
The whole performance—all three minutes of it—is a blur. I can’t remember my starting move. I can’t remember my ending one. All I know, I killed it, from the judges’ reaction. They are holding their mouths in their hands and shaking their heads and pulling their hair. They do not believe that this boy was rejected on Super Dancer Chapter 3 a few years ago. This isn’t the same boy. I’m not the same boy.
And I’m not. I can say this with fierce certainty. I wasn’t the same boy who no one could understand. Nobody can still understand, but this time, I’ve shown I’m here to stay.
“Sankalp, wow,” Geetika Ma says, once the tumult dies down. “I have never seen such an outstanding performance. You were on fire!”
More resounding applause. “Thank you, Ma’am,” I say.
“But the best thing about this premiere performance was that I finally got to see Varangi dance alongside you, and you two are the perfect pair.” She waves her hand for emphasis. “There is no doubt.”
Didi and I bump fists. Of course we are!
Anshuman Sir is next. “Sankalp, you were mind-blowing, no doubt. But I have to say, I need to give Varangi the credit. Varangi, you let Sankalp play around—and not just that, you matched up to him, which I have to say, is absolutely jaw-dropping.”
I clap excitedly for Didi. It feels so nice to hear the praise for her.
“Like Geetika said, you two are the perfect pair. There is no one else better than you both.” He beams. “An A+ performance for me!”
After the cheers and whistling, Shipra Ma’am goes on the sidi without speaking. The music blares in our ears as she points at me and says, “You made history, both of you!”
The compliment is terrific, but what makes me more happy is when Didi picks me up and gives me a big hug. She kisses my cheek and only lets go to say, “For a grand premiere performance, this wasn’t so bad.”
I snort. “Says who, Didi? We killed it! We did it and set ourselves on the path to stardom.”
She laughs. “Of course, Sankalp. We did.”
(Next post: out 2nd October- tentative date)
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