Do the bharatanatyam!

Did I tell you about the contemporary Indian dance class I took last week?

It was a free class given at the lululemon store on St-Denis (they just wheel the displays out of the way) and I loved it! Staircases were my enemies for four days afterwards, but as the basis of all moves is a half-squat, I cannot reproach my quads for kicking out on me, poor things.

The moves were based on a classical style known as bharatanatyam, but with a contemporary twist. What I loved about this style is the use of expressive hand gestures known as mudras. We use them in yoga too. And anyway, my tribe knows expressive hand gestures, so I was good at that. 

Splayed, curved, flat, rigid... my fingers naturally popped into whatever configuration the instructor Parul demonstrated. Throw my arms over my head and flip the hands to make them look like upside down spiders? Yes, right away! Hey, look at me now, I'm getting this riiiight!

And no, there was no "turn the doorknob" or "screw in the lightbulb", sorry.

The only thing more intriguing than watching the instructor's limbs undulate in a series of complex yet graceful moves, was observing the awkward middle-aged woman to my left.

You know the type. It's the person I fear becoming the most. The woman who is so neglected and so in need of attention that when she's offered the opportunity to mingle, she tries too hard, speaks too loud, offers too much in the hopes of sounding interesting and carefree and not desperate in the least.

From the moment she entered, she spoke loudly and clearly so that her voice carried right to the back of the room. She immediately began narrating the events of her evening - how she spent the afternoon downtown, what she bought at the Bay, what she had for dinner at Coco Rico, how she was looking forward to enjoying her night out, how she had no dancing experience, whether or not her pants were stretchy enough for the dancing...

Then, if during the class the instructor asked how everyone was doing, we were all treated to a loud proclamation of how hard this is to learn, how sweaty she's getting, how she shouldn't walked all the way from downtown, why she shouldn't have eaten so much. Dinner at Coco Rico, did she mention that? All the way from the Bay. Sweaty.

She didn't seem to be enjoying herself much. In fact, she only became more awkward and flustered as we pressed on.

As exhilarated as I felt by the physical exercise, all I really remember about that night is the spectre of this woman - and a fervent wish that no one ever has to feel that desperately lonely.