As we got promoted to grade four, we had to be a part of one of the three clubs in school, Music, Dance or Art. Art club was out of question, I have my reasons. So, my choice landed onto the remaining Music and Dance clubs. Well, music had always been a part of the extra curriculum but Dance was a new addition. Music was familiar, the notes, the teachers, the instruments in there, I knew them. There was this subtle fragrance of wood and the old carpet, I really liked the room but, it was, as I said- old.
And Dance. It was new and fresh and exciting. The room was at the top floor of the school building, newly constructed and smelled of paint and plaster.
But there was only one thing I could do, either be in my familiar room with known teachers and those old yet vibrant instruments or the new room with something new to learn.
Music always intrigued me. It made me wonder, with the little knowledge I had that how is it possible that all songs and their tunes are so different from one another when there are just 7 key notes.
Dance was this second world for me. In that world, I could just jump around and sway in all directions. Go about circling unstoppable and laugh when I’d get dizzy and how my heart pounded with the beats and my feet tapped in the rhythm. It was all so satisfying.
But then there was this fascinating instrument with blue and green beads on the shell and a pair of ghunghroo in the core, with a handle. It sounded so beautiful when rotated holding slightly with one hand. And then there was this unanimous thud made by the feet of the dancers as together they hit the ground with the melodious sound of the ghunghroo. I so wanted to learn that.
As a child, whenever we are to choose between any two things, be it flavours of candies or colours balloons we choose the one with immediate benefits, the ones that would make us more “socially-accepted” in that moment. But somehow, when I had to choose between dancing and singing, in that moment I thought of how I would want to see myself in the coming years. What I see myself doing when I grow up?
I thought that my life dependent on that one single decision.
So the day came. The decision had to be made. One had to be wronged from both rights.
Where would a timid girl like me go? To her safe place, I went for Music.

Couple weeks passed merrily while I learned about notes and scales and their combinations and my conflicts were beginning to resolve. One day while practising I heard the thuds of feet and jingles of ghunghroo. It sounded so annoyingly good and all of a sudden I started regretting the choice I made and a lump formed in my throat which didn’t allow me to practice and all I wanted to do was to run home and cry.
For the choices I made and didn’t, for all the right and wrong. I am neither a musician nor a dancer.
I am not my choice though in the moment of dilemma I thought I would be.
I am not who I chose to be but I am (may be) who I was meant to be.


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