Put on Red Dancing shoes...

Dancing- next to singing, dancing was the other activity I dreaded (heart and soul).. for the life of me blood on the dance floor always seemed like someone who succumbed to the humiliation of having actually performed a jig in front of all those watchers... Which brings me to the classic hierarchy of the Disco Groups..
People in Discoes can ideally be classified into three different groups - the Suave (the graceful, slithe bunch who look like they own the floor), the Sad (people who think they can dance but cannot see that other people are ogling at how odd they look shuffling about..) and finally the Sober (people who'll be silent bystanders till they consume too much alcohol and then- all hell breaks loose on the dance floor.. while the sad evoke pity- the sober are true-blooded entertainers.. in the blink of an eye and a flash of the strobe light they'll be on top of a table dancing with what more than one author would call "gay abandon".. without them the dance floor would be the sole haunting grounds for the suave.. the sad get inspired by these revellers and put on their best act... the swagger and potency displayed by the Sad in vain attempts to impress the ladies is worth its weight in gold purely for the guffaws and roll-on-the-floor laughter it produces..
For most part of my life I deemed myself a Sad.. My rare visits to dance floors have nearly never seen me rise from the seated position (with the last sip remaining in the glass- a valid excuse to evade the possibility of actually having to shake a leg), no matter how strong the beat or how great the music... my friends have tried in vain to make me swing but just the sight of my suave companions executing a one-two with casual ease used to send my pulse racing and palms sweating (indications of failure even before the disappointing attempts).. No amount of tutoring or pep talks from my engineering gang ever had an impact on this assessment save to reiterate it when they showed me some steps.. No! it was enevr gona work.. I was, am and will always be one of those shy and incredibly self-conscious people who groove in the sanctity of their rooms, locked away form the privy eyes of the world, lost in the music, till a loud knock forces them to alter that state...
Having been a bookworm for most part fo my life, physical activity has never appealed as a valid passtime, particularly those that involve coordination (video games, sports etc..) So I'd have remained untill I crossed the hallowed threshold towards my post graduation degree.. The world seems a much larger place when you live away from home amidst a brand new tribe of professionals with varied degrees of work experience, all eager to get acquainted and in hot pursuit of management education.. the breed of wanna-be MBAs.. Into this motley bunch I made my lone forage scraping myself a social distinction among these achievers who had a much better idea of what this degree was going to do for their career than I ever did.. Luckily my literary proclivity proved a saving grace and I carved a niche as a poet with rapier wit.. It did wonders to my confidence, I, hitherto someone who was considered barely worth noticing suddenly in the thick of a debate on what the topic of my next composition should be, flooded with congratulatory messages and heartfelt envy by others who possessed not my knack in words.. I doubt if I ever thanked those populace properly but what few words they had to spare went straight to my head (and my heart.. ).. Suddenly I was no longer an CAT application or a roll number I was Someone and the revelation hasn't worn off its welcome still..
Coming back to the issue at hand- MBA courses are famous for the all night parties and mine was no less.. with 100 wannabe managers prowling the campus the parties gained a benchmark for the best music, lights and dancing!!! I was looking forward to entertainment (MBAs with a couple of exceptions, all belong to Sober category..) And on the first occassion I jumped to the dance floor thanks to the anonymity afforded by the inebrieted crowd shuffling away to the music pelted by the huge speakers... I didn't think I'd get noticed in the throng so I let myslef go.. It was simlar to dancing in the confines of mine room- or so I thought... After deancing all night (the last song was at 3:45 am!!) interspersed with a couple of drunks getting out of hand, fresh air breaks and cold water rinses, I made it back to my room with sore feet and aching body parts but a strong joie de vivre.. i never have slept more contently..
The next day proved a surprise of sorts when some half a dozen classmates stopped by to say how well I danced.. I was elated!! Moi- a good dancer... I would've grounded their comments on the fact they were drunk but then compliments don't come that easy.. Now I know the secret to great dancing- Drinks on the House!!! So now, after my confidence booster-shots and compliment-doses, whenever I put on my dancing shoes, I forget about the dance floor hierarchies and who's watching and instead just listen to the music play and let myself just goooo.... after all isn't that what its all about?????