WHILE THE MUSIC STILL GOES ON

Everyone dances. Toddlers in elders’ arms. Grandmothers who can barely walk. The father’s friends who have left behind home and hearth and place of work to be here today. Brothers, sisters, cousins, relations by marriage, relations by business, relations by family ties deep rooted, often ignored, alive again in the joy of being together. Friends. Friends of friends. Their acquaintances. Young men chasing skirt. Girls basking in the attention.

College goers stare agape at an uncle who knows the moves for every song played, and performs with controlled elan. “He’s awesome!” they say, as they break into cheers and clap their hands to his moves. They seem surprised at the revelation that the older ones also lived a life like they do now.

Everyone dances. Including the bride and the groom. It is the togetherness, the crowd, the occasion, the ambience.

Raunaq.

It is Blessings. It is Hope. It is Love. And the Prana flows. In thanks to God for this moment. For the young couple who brought it about. For the stars in their eyes. For the innocent purity of their love. May it ever be so. May they have their share of sadness and challenges, and rise above them stronger and deeper in understanding and tolerance, and Thanks. May someone translate to them the words that are sung out in the place of worship as they walk around the presence of the guru.

The dance is a prayer.

Everyone lives in one’s own world of children, parents, friends, heartache, tragedy, wants, needs, problems. Everyone has reason to give in to the elation of the moment, and dance.

The deep throb of the Punjabi beats. Interspersed with the bawdy lilt of ‘hot’ Bollywood numbers.  No other music in one’s experience can produce such effect, except maybe the throb of the old Enfield motorcycle held by the knees….. and the tune of an Aarti rising from the heart.

Everyone dances. For what could have been. For what has been. For what is now. For what seems possible in this moment. In this coming together. In this start of a new life with the morning rays of hope, love, warmth, innocence, faith.

The father who lost a young son dances the hardest, from deep inside. He celebrates all other sons. He has been touched. He knows God. The grandma losing the battle to age and health dances the hardest. She celebrates having been there and seen it all. The uncle who is overwhelmed by the presence of the nephews and nieces from far away dances hardest. The father who is celebrating being with his daughter and wants to transmit joy to the son across the globe dances the hardest. The son who feels the blessings of so many gone by dances the hardest. The mother who hopes to marry her son off soon dances the hardest.

Dancing brings hope. Marriages-gone-sour dance, living again the moments of truth that are far sweeter than their meaningless squabbles. Celebrating a new beginning. Today, they ponder over giving it another shot. Marriages-looking-sweet dance. On hope. What-has-been dances for what-could-have-been, what-can-still-be.

Still-deeply-in-love dances.

When love comes on, everything pales in comparison. It is very powerful, this love that encompasses hope and faith and celebrates what is. We often cling to the ill-will and the ‘problems’, yet, whenever it gets a chance, this love creeps in, unseen, unheard, and takes us unawares.

Prana flows. Dance is never about alcohol. Joy makes one dance. Hope makes one dance. And then dance itself intoxicates. Dance begets dance, and everyone dances.