Bharatnatyam v. Karate
Third-grade Taarika is on a relentless mission to get into the boys-only karate class
When I was in the third grade, my school had a "recreational activity" period incorporated into our timetable. Once a week, we would all have a 40-minute class in Bharatnatyam or Karate.
I was 8 years old and at the peak of my Dragon Ball Z phase. My mother had signed me up for an after-school karate class in our neighbourhood, and I was an extremely enthusiastic student of the martial arts.
Needless to say, when I heard that the school would offer a karate class, I was pumped. Well, that was, until I was told that the classes were gendered - Karate for the boys and Bharatnatyam for the girls.
I was distraught.
My teacher was not convinced.
(Even after an enthusiastic demonstration of my front kick left punch block)
Bharatnatyam was for girls, and karate was for boys.
Relentless in my mission to get into the boys-only karate class, I caught hold of my mother. Surely, she would be able to convince my teacher that a classical dance class was the last place I should be.
So my mother came to school to make my case. And was met with the same argument- Bharatnatyam was for girls and karate for boys. Rules are rules.
I couldn't believe it! Weren't adults supposed to listen to other adults?! I was appalled. Infuriated. Frustrated. And worst of all, powerless.
The following Wednesday, I dragged my feet down the stairs and into the Dance Room. Dance Teacher was an enormous woman, pale skinned with red painted lips and black hair, shiny and plaited down her back. Seated cross-legged on an impossibly tiny wooden plank, she cast a formidable shadow over the room. Behind her stood a diminutive figure, the Assistant Teacher, grey-haired and sari-clad, somehow appearing even tinier in contrast.
Before we learn how to dance, Teacher tells us we must learn how to stand. And this is where my troubles began. The basic posture for Bharatnatyam, the Aaramandi, requires a straight back, legs bent, and knees and toes facing outwards.
Try as I might, I couldn't seem to contort my body into these seemingly simple positions. When I bent my legs, my neck jutted forward. The moment I managed to get my heels together, I would lose my balance, tumbling face forward and knocking over the other girls. Dance Teacher clapped her knees and barked instructions while Assistant Teacher tried to twist my limbs into the correct posture.
Over the next few weeks, we tried everything. I was repositioned to stand near the wall so I could grasp it for support. While the other students progressed, adding arm movements and foot stomps to their routines, I continued to practice standing with my heels together and knees apart. I watched the other girls moving like delicate butterflies while I stomped around like a clumsy drunk cow. It seemed impossible to me that I could ever be like them.
At one point Dance Teacher got off her wooden plank, jumping to her feet surprisingly quickly, determined to teach me how to stand once and for all. Her soft, meaty fingers pulled my shoulders back while Assistant Teacher crouched on the floor, trying to twist my heels together. My body refuses to conform, and eventually, they give up.
Dance Teacher is mystified. How is it possible that a young girl could possess so little grace and rhythm?
I don't want any grace, I tell her. In fact, I don't even want to be here!
She raises her perfectly arched eyebrow, gazing at me perplexed, like I am some sort of mystery to her. I, however, am on my last nerve. It's bad enough I have to come here every week, traipsing past the boys as they high-kicked and left-punched to their hearts' content. Now I'm being blamed for not being able to do something I wasn't even interested in?
Adults were the worst.
Over time, I managed to wear Dance Teacher down. Every week, I sat in the corner of the room reading a book, and every week, she pretended not to see me. After seemingly forever, summer was finally around the corner. I sighed in relief; the nightmare that was mandatory Bharatnatyam class had finally ended.
In Fourth Grade, our teacher tells us ALL students had a mandatory Sports period instead. She hands out tiny slips of paper printed with a list of sports to choose from. There's all the usual suspects - Basketball, Volleyball, Athletics, Table Tennis. As I scan the list, I pause. Next to Football, it reads in brackets (Boys Only.)
I guess we'll just have to see about that.